There was a time a few years back when I lost all feeling. I was so utterly stressed and tired and worried all the time that any chance of emotion was pushed to the side. I couldn't cry, I wouldn't laugh and I definitely didn't find anyone attractive.
Totally numb.
I stopped going to church. Not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't have time. I stopped eating real meals, and instead slurped packets of peanut butter and string cheese. There was only room for basics, and even then, there was hardly room. Sleep, Eat, Work. Anything to move the day along.
There was a friend of mine who was dying, and at the time I was working to keep him comfortable. The days were long in a very crowded space. It was necessary to give them breathing treatments, to change their socks and underwear, to forgive when they forgot who I was. The friend was often unkind, a product of the disease they were battling. It was also required to manage a plan for the person's passing, not the funeral service, but the end of life plan.
I took a comedy class.
I wanted to feel again and learning about laughter felt like a smart thing to do. In class I'd sit on the floor, scribbling notes about the rise and fall of a joke, or the incongruity of a character. Studying people's faces, their bodies and movement was fascinating. Discovering what measurements and moments it took to create a laugh became an obsession. It was like I was at the altar of levity and I would take any and every morsel for a blessing.
My friend died on the day of comedy class.
I considered skipping.
Something felt wrong about going to a course on humor within 24-hours of seeing a dead man.
But I went anyway.
And I laughed.
We ran around the room like buffoons, throwing imaginary bananas and bouncing invisible yo-yos. We tiptoed on tight-ropes and clapped our hands. We used feather dusters, drank mocktails and wore long brown wigs. We wore miniskirts, juggled oranges and chewed 1,000 pounds of bubble gum. We sparkled and hugged one another and risked feeling ridiculous.
After class the students went out for drinks. I walked home instead, the water faucet of tears turned on.
I'd found feeling again. Like a fool I could feel again.
Beauty at the altar of levity. Lovely.
Ah, my heart. It’s there. I felt that.