Seventh Sense: Humour

Without a sense of humour, someone is just another face. It doesn't matter how rich or famous or beautiful, a missing sense of humour makes one forgettable. Very much so. Okay, you say, but how do you know you have one and if not, where do you get it? First of all, saying that, means you must have one. Second of all, I don't have a clue how to or where you can find it. I guess part of having a sense of humour, is to be able to laugh at yourself. Most people can make awful mistakes and sooner or later, laugh at them. It might take a long time, but the ability to look at past mistakes and push them away, giggle and move on, is at the bottom of finding that seventh sense. Those who take themselves too seriously are in need of finding a way to look at life and see themselves as a mere players on the stage, and not the whole stage itself. I know a chap who is extremely serious, polite and soft spoken but someone who never laughs at anything, and certainly never at himself. We named him unkindly, The Zombie. I had a great aunt, then ancient and in a wheel chair, who had an unkind affliction that caused her limbs to fling about. In those days, your relatives came to visit and stayed at your house for a spate of time. Aunt Mabel had been wife, mother and a rather good looking woman in her day. She had means and made sure that all her many relatives had an opportunity to visit with her when she went on tour to survey the masses of us. We all dreaded her coming, especially we younger children who were terrified by her condition. In the day, parents didn't take time to explain things in detail and there was no Google. When she came to stay with us, at one point, when my mother was out, she got stuck in the bathtub and I had to assist her out of it. I was eleven years old and had no idea of how to accomplish the task, but did my best. Aunt Mabel was calling out loudly so the neighbours could hear. A soapy, slippery and constantly moving Aunt Mabel was more than a handful, small as she was, and bony. But when she and I were both doing our best, covered in soap suds and she in little else, struggled in the extrication, we both started to laugh. We laughed so hard and long that we barely got her onto the chair and wrapped in a large towel. From that moment on, old Aunt Mabel and I were friends. She had a sense of humour in a bad situation and I never forgot it,  or her. The other soul I knew, the rich man, The Zombie, who couldn't laugh at himself or anything else, needed to find what Aunt Mabel had. We are rather amusing creatures all told, and there is always something we do that is kind of funny however serious it seems at the time. Finding when and how and where to laugh is a gift. It's a seventh sense we need to foster in these serious times.

Joy Of Alone

All the "lonely people" are among the luckiest people. They live by their own plan. Having recently removed myself from a too-close relationship, I can say that I appreciate my solitary self much more. I know now, the benefits of independence. It's a freedom that takes a long life to discover. After the rigors of having to meet the needs of another person even though well meant, taught me the  value and privilege of alone-ness. During this strange couple phase, however platonic, in which I thought I could live a more "normal" life alongside someone else, I also discovered the need to buy an alarm clock. My life was no longer just mine. The days of arising naturally in the morning, suddenly became having to don runners for the morning walk fest. Afternoons and evenings became dates to go somewhere, to do things, or eat out or shop. At the beginning, it was heady. Wow, I could walk alongside another warm body and laugh, if that ever happened, over a mutual joke. I could sit across from another person at the table and chat. But as the weeks went by, I began to yearn for the days when I could lie abed as long as I pleased or watch the TV programs and series that I, alone, liked. In this relationship, I had to share space and time and do a lot of compromising which started to bore and frustrate me. I suppose most unions, however casual they are, require a massive amount of change, but for me, it was too much of giving up my personal freedoms. When one is young and in love and hoping to find Number One for purposes of marriage and family, it all works out beautifully and lasts for decades. But when all that is long past, and you in your life as a single adult have finally found the you that is you and kind of like that you, rolling back what independence you achieved, makes sharing it a difficult task. First of all, you have remember that at your age, to love what you are doing is paramount. Second of all, it has to make sense to the new mature you that you have discovered. If it doesn't, it can become a constant sore spot and eventually, call for a curative ending. Endings are easy if you do it in anger or vengeance or boredom, but if you simply need to make a change backwards to the life you had before the new relationship, it's tough. There is another human being you might hurt. But it has to be done. You aren't moving off to some other shore, you are just wanting to "go home". I have heard of mostly males doing this, but seldom, females. Most of the single women I know my age, seem to segue into groups doing crafts and hobbies and they are content with that. As they learned, old men want "nurse or purse", an amusing take women say when hoping for an elder romance. I don't need to join something.  I just want to live and enjoy my own life. There isn't a lot more to go, and after all this time, I am not willing to give up the joys I continue to seek, find and love in this beautiful world that is so troubled, but so worth loving. Doing it alone is just fine, too. In fact, finer.