Welcome to Laughlife blogs
Sunday 14 September 2014
Sunday 13 April 2014
When a joke is just not funny
Whist
very much in holiday mode, a sea kayak tour was booked that within a short
space of time diverted from its intended enjoyable course. The manager of the
hire company enthusiastically decides to recount a joke to forge a connection
with his new clients. He takes a look in my direction and deduces that the joke
may not be for my ears, advising me to block my ears, although he seems
confident that it would tickle the fancy of my two teenage sons and
husband. I jokingly respond that if the
joke was not suited to my ears then perhaps it would not be suited to my
younger son. He enquires about his age, but hearing that he is 15, unhesitatingly proceeds to recite the joke inwardly
to himself, conscientiously ensuring that the joke will be recounted correctly,
as we all know how important a punch line is.
Eager
to deliver, with a huge smile on his face in anticipation for the affirmative
reaction he naturally assumes will follow, he begins telling the joke. It’s almost over as soon as it had begun, so
quickly that one could not imagine that in that one moment there would even
have been enough time to cause offence.
I wish this had been the case, but the words that he so animatedly delivered
encapsulated a heinous subject matter; that of pedophilia. The laugh emitted from my eldest son
suggested that he thought it quite funny, whilst my younger son looked perplexed
and my husband most definitely did not feign any sign of humorous response. I
was quite stunned at what I had heard, but with the sun streaming down on the
kayaks as they beckoned to be let loose into the sea, I decided to let it pass.
Well,
I thought that I had let it pass, but in the moment or two in which I hurriedly
took a convenience break I was consumed by an anger so intense that I knew I
could not stay silent. I decided to
approach the manager, as on so many levels I was disturbed by what had happened. Firstly I could not get over the fact that to
some people this might actually be considered a joke, no matter how black humor
has the propensity to be, and secondly I could not believe that he had deemed
it appropriate to share in the company of my two sons, even though I fleetingly
gave him a small amount of credit for recognizing that it would not be suited
to a mother’s sheltering ears. With metaphoric steam oozing out of every pore
in my body and with a fierceness in my footsteps rarely felt, I marched over to
the manager telling him with all the conviction that my small frame could
muster, that I thought the joke was absolutely disgusting, certainly not
appropriate to share in the presence of kids, or for that matter in anyone’s
presence. Rather than apologize, he responded by saying that he thought it was
a funny joke, and lots of people find it funny, to which in whiplash speed I
told him that I most certainly did not find anything remotely funny in the
‘joke’.
Still
without an apology, he tells me that people also make holocaust jokes, somehow
trying to get me to concede that on some level that made the other joke more
acceptable. At this point I should probably divulge that this holiday is in
fact taking place in Israel, a country that arguably would never have been
brought into existence without the impetus from the seismic horrors of the
holocaust. With temperatures rising, even amidst the strengthening sea breeze,
at the insistence of another client, an apology was reticently and
half-heartedly uttered. I turned my back
on the manager, walking over to my two sons who were putting on their life
jackets tucked away in a corner as far from the controversy as could possibly be. Of course this display of emotion and anger
did not bode well with either boys who have never enjoyed being embroiled in
public scenes, particularly when their mother is at the helm of their
deliverance. My oldest son calmly tells
me that these sorts of jokes are ‘in’ now and beckons me to leave it alone, clearly
eager to leave all this behind and remove himself from the heaviness pervading
the otherwise clear blue sky.
The
kayak trip was a success, other than the legacy of my darkened mood, yet there was still a matter of unsettled finances, which the change from a
chocolate bar was summoned to help solve. I most certainly was not going to
return to the sparring scene, sending instead my husband who returned with a
much more sincere apology and a summary of a discussion that had transpired with staff, who he was told had for much of the past hour been
debating the appropriateness of certain jokes, and in what context they may be
appropriate to share, if at all.
I
understand that humor can be very cathartic and it is a wonderful tool to help rise
above painful moments and situations helping find meaning and validation where all sense of
meaning may have been lost in an often senselessly hostile and cruel society. However I
think it is a particularly sad reflection on society when jokes like the one I heard
today, and hope to forget promptly (as I do with most jokes) are ‘in’. This is one of the reasons that I love
working with laughter as a laughter yoga facilitator and educator. Laughter is universal,
whereas humor can be dangerously subjective. I don’t tell jokes to make people
laugh, and even on the rare occasion that I do, I am mindful that ‘getting’ a
joke depends very much on one’s personal and life experience, the context in
which it is delivered and language and cultural differences. So on this occasion I won’t tell you the one
about the Rabbi and the Priest …
In
love and laughter,
Ros
Sunday 16 February 2014
Don't smile for the camera
The other day I had my passport photo
taken, retaken and retaken again. You
see there cannot be a hint of a smile, and for some reason, even though my pearly
whites were securely hidden, something was causing my photo to be rejected time
after time. If it hadn’t been for my
son’s photos on the exact same camera, with the exact same ‘passport photo
technology’ on the very first occasion being so readily accepted with a blazing
green computer tick, I would have assumed there was something wrong with the
camera, or the associated technology.
With the camera lens directed towards me, it
was very difficult to resist the automated temptation to smile, and even though
I was not consciously smiling back at the camera, I did feel that my eyes, like
a gentle hum, were slightly smiling. It was something that I had hoped to conceal,
as those mug shots are so unappealing, but there was no tricking this
technology. Bemused by this I could not
help feeling that, in the search for my true identity, the computer assessed
these mug shots and said. ‘No, that just does not look like her’. In the end I acquiesced and did as I was
instructed to do, draining the smile from every aspect of my face until finally
I was rewarded with the photo that was expected; dull, lifeless, functional.
Smiling to me is the essence of love,
humanity and compassion. There is
nothing richer than walking down the street, sharing a smile with a passerby and
in turn being rewarded with a full-bodied smile. It’s such a giving thing to do, yet takes so
little effort. Smiles are effervescently
loaded with boundless joy, pepping up all those that come into contact with one,
providing happiness-inspired fuel to pass onto the next person making our day,
and hopefully theirs, just that little bit more joyful. It’s such an open and selfless act and I often
ponder how the world could be transformed, with random acts of conscious
smiling. As part of a bid to improve
community connectedness, a few years ago the Maribyrnong Police department ran
an innovative smile campaign to astounding success. Whilst more recently at an
Association for Applied Therapeutic Humor Conference in San Diego last year,
one of the activities was a ‘Smile Squad’, where a group of slightly mad and
far too happy people, carted swags of cardboard cutout smiles on sticks, and
loaded themselves with supplies of smiley faced sweets to hand out. You probably have figured out by now that I
was one of those slightly mad and far too happy people!
As one large smiley movement we waltzed
down to the port area, smiling at as many people as we could, handing out
paraphernalia to willing, and some not so willing people of all ages, ethnicity
and financial means. Some distanced
themselves from accepting both smiles and ‘fake smiles’, yet the vast majority
embraced us, leaving us with a smile and buoyed mood. In the hour or so that we
were on ‘smiley walkabout’ we met an array of people ranging from; policeman,
tourists, homeless people, children with their families, protesters, all so
different, yet with one shared smile, became a united force. Two smile exchanges were particularly
memorable; one with two San Diego policemen who took time to put their arms
around us for a cheesy grinned photo whilst patrolling a permanent fixture of protesters
against US navy ship presence in San Diego.
The other, was with a toothless homeless person, bearing a shoddy piece
of wilted cardboard with the words written in looped scrawl; “My wife’s lawyer
was better than mine”. The mood on the streets sweetly transformed to one more
akin to a street festival or carnival. People stopped to have their photos taken
with us, children skipped away with their smiley sweets; young lovers posed kissing
each other with those delicious cardboard lips.
On our way back to the hotel, on a happiness high and already in
premature reminiscent mode, we were amazed at how many people that we had
passed earlier in the day, excitedly waved at us and flung an array of genuine
smiles our way.
Smiles are such a powerful force and I am
so grateful that I live in Melbourne, where on the whole smiles are given and
accepted freely and willingly. One can never play down the effect that a smile
may have on someone’s day. Who knows, it
might be the only smile that they have received today, yesterday, maybe in a
week, or even sadder, even longer than that.
A smile inherently says I acknowledge you, and all is well with the
world, and when it is reciprocated and shared, for a momentary lapse of time, a
bridge is constructed joining two people together in perpetuity. So don’t waste opportunities to spread the
joy that is so perfectly encapsulated in a smile. Go forth and smile.
In love and laughter, Ros J
Thursday 31 October 2013
Taking a breather
One might think that something as innate as
breathing would be something we all naturally
do well, yet it in my own experience and from observing others, as much as of course
we breathe, many of us, most of the time, do not breathe optimally. One could be forgiven for thinking I’m
stating the obvious here, but breathing is really important! Not just in as
much that if we stop breathing, we cease to exist. The way we breathe has a much
more profound effect than it’s seemingly functional fulfilment as a life-preserving
exchange of air unconsciously and repeatedly flowing in and out.
It is the way we breathe, rather than the
fact that we do breathe, that really matters. One way to test what breathing style
you generally favour is by placing one hand on your chest and one on your
abdomen. Take two normal breaths in and out and observe which hand moves
more. In most cases, unless one has done
yoga, or some other practice that focuses one’s attention on one’s breath, most
people find that it is the hand on the chest that moves more, where the shoulders, rather than the diaphragm move. Moreover when one is
stressed, one’s breathing pattern is characterised by short, shallow and rapid
chest breathing,
To counter this, research has shown that timetabling
periods of deeper abdominal breathing throughout the day can actually revolutionise
the body’s functioning. When one breathes
more deeply and slowly, the parasympathetic nervous system is stimulated. This
is the system, which tends to be the more dormant of the two nervous systems,
the other being the sympathetic nervous system. A great way to remember which nervous
system is responsible for what nervous response it to associate the ‘p’ from parasympathetic with peace and the sympathetic with stress.
Much has been written about the quasi-meditative effect of deep breathing, with one of the more renowned researchers,
Harvard physician Herbert Benson, coining the term the ‘relaxation response’
way back in the heady and hippy days of 1975.
He found that intentional deep abdominal breathing ushers the body into
a physical state of deep rest, altering the physical and emotional responses to
stress, countering the body’s fight or flight response. The heartening news is
that according to Benson, it only takes around 20 deep breaths per day,
equating to around 15 minutes, to induce this state. Doing this, potentially
damaging stress signals are disabled, and one’s immune system is empowered to
work at its optimal best.
Breathing from the abdomen can initially feel
counter-intuitive, as when one breathes in, the abdomen goes out, and when one
breathes out, the abdomen goes in. It
actually takes some practice, not only from a physical perspective, but from a
mental one, with a conscious commitment to shift awareness to one’s breath at
certain times of the day. Encouragingly,
this does not have to happen in the idyllic setting of zero stress or total
peace or quiet; I have even found that mindful or intentional breathing can be
incorporated whilst walking. As I pace, I breathe in for a count of 5, hold for
a count of 5 and exhale for a count of 5, repeating the process until my body
actually start to feel its benefits. I often observe that as I begin this
practice, my walking pace is fast and furious, but after a few breaths I begin
to regain control, gradually reigning in slower, calmer steps which in turn
translates to a calmer, less racing mind.
It is incredibly invigorating, and such an easy concept to ritualise into
one’s daily routine. Of course the idea
of doing this breathing whilst lying down with one’s eyes closed is a real treat,
reaping rewards akin to a ‘power’ or ‘nana’ nap.
Why we are not taught how to breathe is
indeed a mystery to me. So much time and energy is devoted to other, more
complex and costly things, aimed at improving wellbeing; yet the one thing that
it is freely and readily available to us all the time, is our breath. Maybe
that is part of the problem: it’s just too easy; it’s right under our noses
(and within!). We always look for more
complex answers to the things that just seem too good to be true. In Hebrew,
the word ‘to breathe’ comes from the same root as the word for soul, and I can
see why. When we connect to our breath, we connect to our true self, to our
inner spirit, to our soul.
So why don’t you ‘take a breather’ now. You’ll definitely feel better for it.
In love and laughter,
Ros
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