Under Grumpa's Hat

I sometimes wonder when we all collectively decided that being an adult meant permanently looking constipated.

Think about it. Children laugh at everything. A dog wearing a sweater? Hilarious. Grandpa falling asleep in his chair and snoring loud enough to rattle the windows? Comedy gold. Someone making a silly face? Instant laughter. Yet somewhere between our first mortgage payment and our annual visit to the dentist, we begin treating life like a board meeting that never ends. We become serious people discussing serious things, all while carrying enough stress in our shoulders to qualify as pack mules.

The truth is, life is serious. Bills need to be paid. Children need to be raised. Roofs leak, cars break down, and governments continually find new and inventive ways to make us question our sanity. But have we perhaps overcorrected? We spend so much time preparing for tomorrow that we forget today showed up and has been patiently waiting in the living room for us to acknowledge it.

If you died tomorrow morning, your boss would have your position posted before the coffee in the staff room went cold. That isn’t an insult. Businesses move on because they have to. Your family would be heartbroken, of course. They would cry, tell stories about you, and laugh about that one embarrassing thing you did at a family gathering twenty years ago. But eventually, life would continue, as it always does. Even your dog, after a suitable period of mourning and confusion, would eventually decide that the person holding the treat bag seems perfectly acceptable.

That realization shouldn’t depress us. Quite the opposite. It should free us.

We take so many things far too seriously. We argue with strangers on social media as though civilization itself hangs in the balance. We obsess over retirement savings while forgetting that some people never make it to retirement. We spend months planning a vacation only to spend half of it checking our emails and wondering what we missed back home. We buy expensive furniture that guests aren’t allowed to sit on and own dishes reserved for “special occasions,” as though Tuesday evening couldn’t qualify as one.

My ex-mother-in-law used to keep her good towels for company. Imagine that. Spending forty years drying yourself with sandpaper while waiting for the Queen to drop by unexpectedly.

The older I get, the more I realize that laughter is one of life’s greatest acts of rebellion. The world wants us worried. It wants us glued to the news, outraged at the latest headline, and convinced that happiness is always one purchase, one promotion, or one election away. Meanwhile, some of my fondest memories involve laughing so hard that coffee came out of my nose around a campfire with friends. Nobody ever says, “Remember that wonderful Tuesday when I finally organized my receipts for tax season?”

The happiest people I’ve met have one thing in common: they have learned to laugh at themselves. They understand that getting older means making noises when you stand up. They accept that reading glasses eventually become less of an accessory and more of a permanent facial feature. They can tell stories about their mistakes without feeling embarrassed by them. There’s a certain freedom that comes with realizing you’re not the centre of the universe. You’re just another traveller passing through, trying to remember where you left your keys.

None of this means we shouldn’t plan for the future. Save your money. Eat reasonably well. Go for walks. Wear sunscreen. But don’t become so obsessed with building a life that you forget to enjoy the one you’re currently living. The future has a nasty habit of arriving much faster than expected, and when it does, it often asks one uncomfortable question: “Did you have any fun along the way?”

In the end, people won’t remember how quickly you answered emails or how immaculate your lawn looked every Saturday morning. They’ll remember your stories. They’ll remember your kindness. Most of all, they’ll remember your laugh.

So laugh a little more. Laugh at your mistakes. Laugh at the absurdity of life. Laugh when your back goes out because you had the audacity to put on your socks too quickly.

Because if we’re all heading to the same destination eventually, we might as well enjoy the ride.

And if you can arrive there smiling, you’ve probably done life right.