Almost four years ago I was going through a perfectly awful time in my life, you know, one of those big events in life that completely turn everything upside down . . . a divorce. The plan you had for your life is now blowing up in your face -- definitely not a laughing matter. So in starting out once again as a single person, like so many people do, I swore off any further relationships. A month went by, I started working out, caught up on my rest, started writing in my journal, and rented all the movies I had missed over the last few years. I didn't get lonely, but I did feel alone. I decided what I needed was some companionship: someone (or a few someones) to dine with, converse with, laugh with, and to generally have some lighthearted good times to help erase the recent difficult past. I wrote in my journal one night back then that I wanted someone who would make me laugh, someone who would bring back my humor. I had walked around feeling quite dead and heavy inside, and now that childlike side of me was screaming to surface again.
Little did I know that just around the corner of life was the antidote I was searching for. His name was Michael. He had long brown hair, John Lennon glasses, was tall and slim, and was a self-employed artist. He wore love beads around his neck . . . he had such a happy smile and a certain gleam in his eyes . . . I guess you could say I fell for him hard.
This cartoonist with the quirky way of looking at most things made me very happy. His specialty, though, is whimsy, and he gravitates towards everything whimsical. He loves nonsensical lyrics, music, comedy, jokes, comics, and gags. We sat around for hours listening to music (my favorite thing). He introduced me to the humorous and sometimes crude lyrics and unusual music of Frank Zappa, Rev. Billy C. Wirtz, and the pop group They Might Be Giants, among others. I introduced him to Bach and Mahler, among others, and especially my own world of piano improvisation. When I played for him the first time ( a private after-dinner performance) he said, "You should make a CD, and get on a label like Windham Hill". I laughed, said OK, and shortly thereafter laid plans to self-produce a recording. But the tale of its manifestation belongs in another article.
The beauty of our relationship has been the balance we bring to each other -- my seriousness and his whimsy. We put our personality 'ingredients' into the pot, stirred it up, and out came a life together that has made us both very happy. I am still an achiever, but I laugh a whole lot more; he still revels in a daily dose of whimsy but has developed goals, and a plan to make them happen.
Not only did laughter return to my life, but my whole view of life started to change. I could love again and grew so much. Finally I started to become comfortable with myself and others. I found that the humor which was so much a part of my relationship with Michael started spilling over into other areas of my life.
The way I dealt with people started to change. I was working then as a teacher and administrator in music at the local university, and was managing a small staff. Often I could be terse, tense, and demanding. I started to allow a bit of humor to seep in when redirecting a staff person; a little joke, a laugh, a twinkle of the eye, a more gentle approach -- and more powerful results. I started cracking all kinds of jokes with my piano students . . . we laughed a lot in lessons! We had a very good time learning; making music had become more fun.
The change that stands out the most in my mind is how I started to deal with my parents. Parents can often try the patience of their adult children, and mine are no exception. I used to respond with such seriousness; I'd take every comment or criticism to heart, and any difficult situation was cause for great tension. I noticed that I started to inject a lot more humor into our conversations. I was just more lighthearted in general, not to mention more confident. I found that humor had been the missing ingredient in our relationship for many years. Our relationship is far from perfect, but my coping skills are much better now that humor is a part of my repertoire.
I have a couple of friends who literally put in action the phrase "Laughter is the best medicine". Jeannie and Genie are operating room nurses at the cancer research center in town. Jeannie specializes in humor therapy for patients, but the patients are not the only beneficiaries. The type of work they and their colleagues do at a cancer center is not only stressful, but in many cases, heartbreaking. The gags and skits that Jeannie and her cohort in fun, Genie, provide is a relief for patients, the staff, and most importantly, themselves.
So much of life these days is stressful, we need this humor therapy. Laughter IS therapy. Don't take yourself so seriously; poke a little fun instead. The words human and humor are awfully close to each other -- a coincidence? We humans are the only creatures on earth known to have the ability to laugh. What a precious gift . . . a talent to be cultivated . . . like so many others. Piano playing is not the only thing that gets better with practice.
Almost four years later, Michael and I are still laughing.
Judith Cataldo ("Jude"), new age pianist, composer and concert performer. Her first album "Improvising Life" was released last year. Tampa (813) 237-5236.