The other day I was reminded how much I truly enjoy belly laughs.
If you don’t know me well, you should know that I am known for my laughter. People often comment about hearing me laugh out loud. I can’t help it, I guffaw (to laugh heartily and boisterously) regularly. I’m not quite sure if it’s my inappropriate sense of humour or if it’s my inane sense of fun, but I laugh. A lot. Laughter is a gift from my mother. She taught me to laugh, especially to laugh at myself. And I do that too. A lot.
My belly laughs seem to be far between. In fact, I tend to bring it out in others more so than I partake.
You can’t help but love a belly laugh.There’s just something about a belly laugh that is genuine. And deep. From within a soul. It’s light-heartening. It’s uplifting. Your face aches, your stomach hurts, and tears roll down your cheeks. It can take some time to regain control. And, best of all, it can be infectious.
I was sharing my latest frustration with someone, and it provoked laughter. The laughter deepened and then it became a true belly laugh. Completely out of control and completely joyous to hear. Alas, I didn’t catch it. Oh. I recognized the humour in it all; but because it was my frustration, I couldn’t quite laugh.
Even though laughter wasn’t part of that moment, my friend’s belly laugh accomplished what brooding had not. It put the situation in the absurd prospective it deserved. Thank you, dear friend. I needed that.