The magic of homegrown laughter
The other night I came home exhausted from another long day. You probably have those days too. Those gruelling, exhausting, unforgiving days when you can’t wait to come home and walk through your front door.
And when you do, there’s nothing that seems sweeter than the sacred space of solitude. Nothing sweeter than hiding in your room, closing your door, and hanging a ‘do not disturb sign’ on the nob, so no one dares to come in.
But escaping all that noise isn’t like flipping a switch.
You may be home but your insides continue to churn, still caught in the messy motor of a merciless work day. Even within the nest, you hear the senseless cacophony of it all: the rushed commute to work; swimming in unpredictable, curse-provoking traffic; roads filled with cut-throat driving monsters; sidewalks strewn with joyless, tired faces, like a labyrinth of mirrors in a circus reminding you of how unattractive your own spent self must look; the breathless pace at work; never ending lists of tasks and errands; all those people who greedily grab your time and attention.
It never seems to end…
That was my day.
Yet, despite the longing to lock myself in my room once home, I refused to listen to my inner hermit. Instead, I stopped awhile at the dinner table. I sat with family, with those I love, even if half-begrudgingly, just to be there, just to be with voices who comfort, rather than demand.
And I’m thankful I did. Because something said made me giggle. Then, one joke turned into a chain of laughter. Joyous magic, sweeter than solitude, kissed my tired soul. The mindless banter, a soft, invisible cloak to soothe my weakened spirit.
An hour passed. I hardly noticed. And when I stood up, I felt like a new woman, wishing she didn’t have to leave.