A few days ago, I met with a group of women. The group is not large, but a little too large for intimate conversation without a small amount of facilitation. So there is a discussion topic for each time we meet that everyone is aware of ahead of time. For this meeting, the discussion topic was as follows:
What do you feel you can do better—or like better—about yourself at this age versus when you were younger?
Consequently, what do you feel you did better or liked better about yourself when you were younger versus now?
The caveat was that we couldn’t discuss our bodies.
I absolutely loved hearing what other women had to share. I personally have so many things for the first question and not many for the second. My initial response to the second question was that I miss having passion for work.
This morning, however, while I was walking my dog and thinking about how often people criticize others for smiling or laughing too much, I realized that what I really miss about being younger is laughing.
This realization began with me feeling a sense of kinship with that kind of criticism. I remember being in class on the first day of school every year and a teacher saying something quite funny that everyone chuckled at—but I laughed. Like really laughed. Ten minutes later I would remember what they said and giggle about it again. It was those times that I felt free and connected. I was engaged and listening and not worried about what other people thought of me. I was open to hearing and learning and contributing—and just being.
I used to laugh with my friends. I laughed so, so, so much. My family—particularly my brother Mario.
When I joined the military and was in Boot Camp, I used to get in trouble for laughing and often for the contagion it caused. The company commanders were quite hilarious when yelling at us or instilling advice.
“It looks like the captain’s cat puked on your belt buckle, recruit! How can you show up looking like this?”
I’d laugh. My friend Brando would catch on. Others started too. The company commander would yell more—which only became funnier. Sometimes that company commander would eventually laugh too. Other times, when they continued to scream, I’d see from the corner of my eye that their lips would turn upward and they were hiding their amusement and light heart from us.
Do I think that because we broke out laughing that it would be okay to show up with a dirty belt buckle for inspection? Of course not. The lesson wasn’t any less powerful because we laughed at it.
Years later, in my early professional career, I would sit in meetings and look around. I would often take a pulse of the audience to see how engaged they were. What I would often see—and most often on women—was a resting frown. Now we have the term “resting face.”
I saw that these individuals were mostly engaged, but their faces told a different story. They looked miserable and angry. I’d take note that my lips probably were resting in the same way and would actually change my expression into a more open, neutral position on purpose. I didn’t want to look miserable because I didn’t actually feel miserable.
When I facilitated meetings and saw this expression on participants, I would throw humor into the mix just so that face would soften. When someone in the room made a funny comment, I’d laugh to acknowledge that I not only heard them, but appreciated the comic relief. What I found was that when people were smiling and felt seen, they were more engaged and open to hearing others.
As I’m pushing 50, I don’t laugh nearly as much as I used to. But I notice I still laugh more than most people and try to smile, engage, and add comic relief when interacting with others. It’s a habit I don’t even think about now.
So what is so wrong with smiling and laughing?
When you smile, people often smile back. No matter how serious the conversation is, having a sense of openness is always appropriate, and smiling often indicates openness. It sends out a sense of friendliness and willingness to let others in. It doesn’t mean that the person smiling doesn’t have opinions or important things to say.
Smiling and laughing does not equal being stupid.
It took a few days, but the question in my women’s group about what I liked about myself when I was younger versus now came back to me.
I laughed.
I laughed, and it felt good.
And it actually made others feel good too.
Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!
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