The Laughter Thief
I read recently that the average 4-year-old laughs about 300 times a day. The average 40-year-old? Only four.
So why do so many of us lose our laughter as we grow older?
Yes, adulthood comes with responsibilities that children don’t face. But still, you’d think we’d laugh a little more than we do.
Who—or what—has stolen our laughter and joy? Part of it is modern life with its challenges and pressures. Four-year-olds don’t have to pay bills. But part of it is our own minds, and the way we relate to life.
Our days can be ruled by a silent tyranny of likes, dislikes, and "should": "Things should be this way, not that way. People should act like this, not like that. The world should be different than it is."
One of my teachers used to say, "We’ve been ‘should’ on our whole lives." We should on others, and others should on us.
And our nervous systems behave as if there’s always an emergency—always something not quite right.
But if we stopped and asked ourselves, "What problem do I have right now?" how would we answer?
Yes, challenges are real. And the world at times needs our care. But how many problems do we internalize?
When we are not aware, our body and nervous system responds as if there is always a danger, even when there is not.
Over time, that constant tension becomes what we call toxic stress. And I suspect that, in our modern world, nearly all of us carry at least some of it.
The remedy is manifold: Time in nature. Time with friends. Time looking inside. Time reflecting on what truly matters.
When we wake up to what actually matters ... to life as it is ... we see that much of our challenge is not "the thing" or "the event" but our relationship to what is arising.
"If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself but to your own estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment." —Marcus Aurelius
We can then act without this constant tension.
When life becomes a journey of learning instead of a test of shoulds, there is more lightness and ease. Maybe our laughter can return.
What do you make of the idea that our laughter diminishes as we age, not because of life's inherent demands but due to our internalized "shoulds" and expectations? Can you share a personal story that illustrates a time when you were able to shift your perspective from stress or obligation to one of ease or laughter despite external pressures? What helps you cultivate a daily habit of reflecting on what truly matters, allowing more laughter and lightness to emerge in your life?
