Exuberance & Laughter

My sister is in another drama at work.  It’s almost inevitable when you manage a passel of women who sell, and when you are an introvert in that situation well, it is inevitable.  Internalizing brings problems onto you rather than distributing them around.

To me, it means another morning used.  In the last five, there was storm shopping then snow, her needing to swap cars for a few days; my mother needing to go out, and now an early call to move furniture at her work.  She was fired a year ago and hired back, and I know that means I gotta take care, be there, work, work, hard work.

We talked about taking control, of leadership rather than just management, and all the stuff she talked about with her manager and her mentor today.  People can sense her pain and challenge, and that doesn’t make people comfortable, and no one gets out in front to help staff understand how much she does.

But I talked about two things that I think are crucial, and that she has some trouble with.

It’s my experience that laughter is the only thing that can break social ice.  Without laughter, well, the tension just builds.

And the only thing that can really refresh us isn’t softness, rather it is exuberance.  We can sleep all we want, and it is important, but good, positive, enjoyable energy is the real antidote to bad shit energy.

I was throwing songs into a holiday play list tonight, and I realized that what I need are the ones that make me laugh or make me dance.  Delivering her car back to her after working with it — she still gets tense when she hears belt squeal — the oldies station played Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas Is You, and I felt the call to get out on the nice winter day — sunny and 22 degrees — and dance.    I realized that all I want for Christmas is me — and there’s not much chance of her showing up.

I laugh when I hear a great version of Amazing Grace; it unlocks something I usually hold deep inside.

My sister wants to write more now, to see her thoughts in front of her, to keep a record, and to share in a constructed way.  That’s good, I think.  Writing is the only way I have figured out to stay sane and stable.

But I hope she wants to dance more too, to engage the tension rather than just run from it.  I think it would be good for her, and good for me if she wasn’t so freaked by my energy.

But exuberance and laughter.

Those seem so important to get through these dark nights.  And, in this stressed culture, well, it’s often dark.