The Serious Consequences of Being Unserious

I probably should have realized that there was something wrong with me when, in the 7th grade, a friend earnestly told me that I was very funny and great to hang out with but that she would never come to me with any of her serious issues. Granted, I probably should have realized that there was something wrong with me a lot earlier than that, but for the sake of this argument, we’ll look at grade seven.

I was, admittedly, thrilled. The label of the funny friend was coveted, the Olympic gold medal in the sport of friendship. I wanted to be seen as funny more than anything, and here was someone that I loved telling me that I was hilarious. 

The latter half of her statement barely phased me; it flitted across my shoulder and I shrugged it off. I didn’t want her, or anyone, to come to me for anything serious. That would make it too difficult to be funny. Not only that, but if I lowered my guard and allowed myself to be sincere, could people still find it in themselves to laugh with me and not at me? To be genuine is to expose yourself to others, and to expose yourself is to hand ammunition to those around you. “Here’s a tomato,” you are saying, “now lock me in the stocks and throw it at my face.”

This ingenuine guard followed me for the entirety of my adolescent life. Between the ages of nine and sixteen, I refused to smile in photos, only making stupid faces much to my mom’s chagrin. Smiling was too serious—people could judge me for an accidental ugly smile but not for a purposeful dumb face. I was a perpetuator of the insufferable “I can’t go to therapy because it will make me unfunny” idea. The one time I tried to lower my guard to a friend, she told everyone how much of a softie I was, and I screamed at her (screaming did not count as emotions).

Not to toot my own clown horn, but years of avoiding anything serious has turned me into a relatively funny person today. I pride myself on my sharp wit, commitment to a bit, and ability to make my friends laugh.

That is, however, the only benefit that I have been left with. It has been difficult trying to worm my way into proper adulthood when I grew up not letting myself understand who I actually am. Forming connections and looking to the future, something many of my friends and peers have spent years doing, has always been at the back of my mind, hiding behind a joke. It is only as those aspects of life have started to get serious that I have begun to realize how truly unserious I am. 

I can no sooner snap my fingers and become someone who has a more meaningful outlook on my day-to-day life than I can turn back time and undo all of my tom foolery. Instead, I have spent the past several months slowly trying to wean myself off of sarcasm and non-answers as remedies for the problems of myself and those I care about. Trying to be a better friend is not an issue I thought I’d have to conquer in my twenties—I was taught that in kindergarten—but I have realized that it’s simply a part of the classic ‘bettering and discovering myself’ aspect that these years are meant to be about. Though instead of the usual realizing that I like working out or reading or country music (as if), I’m realizing that I like having people rely on me.

It has been a process, and I constantly find myself slipping. The other day, a friend asked what she should write her pop culture article about, and I earnestly suggested that she should talk about the Muppets and all the eulogies they have been having to write for the amount of celebrities that have recently passed away. When this was immediately shot down, I instantly resorted to my jokey defense mechanism, telling her, “You should write an article defending Elizabeth Holmes.” As if to say, “Yeah, that last statement was totally a joke too.”

That same day, though, I called a friend from home and tried my best to help comfort her through a breakup. No, I should not be praised for basic human decency. Though I am proud of myself knowing that just a year ago, I would’ve resorted to jokes about the situation or maybe not reached out to her altogether. 

It is okay to smile, to text first, to be honest, or to even just listen. Life is not a stand-up show where everything you say needs to earn a laugh or nobody will like you. Some of my favorite comedians’ best work, in my opinion, has been their more serious stuff (take Bill Hader’s Barry, for example). I’ve also come to learn that, the more often you take things seriously, the harder people will laugh when you eventually tell a joke. Or, maybe, I’m just getting funnier.

Be the funny friend who people can come to for anything. Go to therapy. Write about the cultural impact of the Muppets. Life becomes a lot easier when you are not constantly reaching for a punchline. Veronica Sawyer from Heathers put it best when she said, “If you were happy every day of your life you wouldn’t be a human being. You’d be a game show host.” Just…try not to follow everything that she says. 

• #college
• #funny
• mental health