What’s Your Funny?
What Makes You Laugh When You're Alone?
Laying on my bed, I’d fallen into the black hole time suck of Instagram again. I felt the heat of my dying phone and noticed the little lightning bolt above a 15% red battery sign. A few more seconds and it’d shut off. I exited the apps and tossed it away from me, as if I had to put physical distance between us to pause the addiction.
I flipped over to face Willy, the yellow eyed grey cat. She was in the most adorable sleeping position, her little paws curled up and her eyes shut tight. I leaned in to snuggle my face into her belly, because, what warm blooded human wouldn’t naturally do the same?
She must have sensed my incoming attempt for a squishy cuddle, and instinctively stuck her front paw out and pressed it against my nose. She had stopped me in my tracks without evening opening an eye, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Willy, you’re such a bitch,” I laughed.
I wanted to reach for my phone and capture this moment, but then I would’ve lost it. I decided to stretch the moment out. Feel it. Remember it. The smell of earth in her soft charcoal paw. The probability of her sharp claws scratching my cheek if I jerked in the wrong direction.
I thought about what Kristina’s therapist asked her a few days ago.
“What’s your funny?”
“My funny?”
“What makes you laugh when you’re alone, when no one is around?”
It was a poignant question. I feel much more serious and unfunny when I’m alone. I feel more myself when I’m surrounded by my friends. I’d like to work on enjoying my own company.
‘Willy, your my funny,’ I thought. I stuck my neck out further and she pushed back, down on my nostril until I couldn’t comfortably breathe.
“Willyyy,” I pleaded through a grin. She answered by kicking my chin with her hind legs, pushing herself away from me completely.
I filled the empty air with my amusement. I liked it. I liked the sound of my own laughter when no one was around. It was kind of low and manly, not a very feminine laugh, but it sounded happy.
In the back of my mind, I still wished I could have documented this little interaction. But why? Why did I need to share so much? Who was I performing for?
Is it just my essence, to document and share? Am I a storyteller? Or am I lonely and seeking validation? What really is the purpose of posting everything to Instagram? It gives me so much pleasure, but is it all a waste of time? Shouldn’t I be doing something more important? The world is crashing and burning, but all I really want to do is learn to share good stories, big or small.
Whenever I start to doubt myself, I just think about my sister. She was on top of the world, finally, when she died. A migraine one day, gone three days later.
Nothing matters in the end. Live your life. I’m just one of 8 billion people…and I just want to be happy. Especially when I’m alone.