When I become stressed, the idea that what I'm experiencing might be funny rarely crosses my mind. Challenges are supposed to be difficult, and I've often heard that difficult things are supposed to be humorless. Yet I suspect this is not entirely true, and in fact I wonder if the ability to laugh in the midst of challenge, toil, and difficulty is not a healthy way of emerging on the other side of that challenge in as good or better a state as before.
In one sense, humor can distract us from unpleasant things which are out of our control. For example, some months ago I navigated the local mass-transit system to get to Villanova University for a coaching seminar. I'd used mass-transit before, but with little frequency, and as such I was nervous about the adventure. What if I missed a train, or ended up in Trenton instead of the Main Line? There was in truth little to these fears, since I'd become acquainted with the train-schedule and allowed plenty of time to make the unfamiliar journey. But sometimes one cannot help but linger on "what-if" disaster scenarios, and as a result I felt very uneasy.
With everything planned that could be planned, I found humor a most effective remedy for keeping my disaster-imagination at bay. I listened to a friend tell a funny tale, and later watched a comedy on the television. Both help put my mind at ease, allowing for potential difficulties while remaining confident that all would turn out okay. In the end, I made a few mistakes but managed the journey just fine. I could even laugh about it as it happened; that was helpful too.
Humor can also help in the midst of difficulty. For example, some months ago I played principle bassoon in Beethoven's 9th Symphony. In the final movement, there is a counter-melody passage I could always play correct in practice, but never in performance. At first it was only frustrating, since the part did not seem beyond my ability. But as the date of the concert approached and the matter remained unresolved, I (and the conductor I'm sure) became increasingly alarmed. Why could I play fine at home, but not on stage? To everyone involved it remained a mystery, and one that was solved through the intervention of humor.
It began with Betty, the second bassoonist. She's much better at counting than me, and realized that I kept jumping beats as I played. The result was that I finished the counter-melody faster than the cellos and basses playing the melody, which of course wouldn't do, and sounded awful. So Betty figured out the melody line, and during breaks she would play it while I played the counter-melody. It became a game of sorts, during which I would sometimes miscount, and sometimes she would misplay the melody (she playing whole thing by ear, without music). We laughed about it each time, and tried again. We soon realized that the matter was largely nerves; to ensure not coming in too late, I jumped the gun on tied notes and finished the line early, an equally sub-optimal result as coming in too late. In either case, by imbuing the matter with humor, we managed to relieve those nerves and give me the confidence to count the notes' full value before coming in. Once again, humor saved the day.
These experiences--among others--make me think that humor has value in difficult situations. In some cases it can help us stay relaxed, while in others it can help us get out of our own way, and let our talent and training shine. I wouldn't say humor solves all problems, but I'm beginning to realize its remarkable value.
Happy Thursday, friends :)
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