Ontological Whimsy
“Happiness and the absurd are two sons of the same earth. They are inseparable.”
Sometimes, after a bad week, I imagine myself as a cartoon character scolding a dog who has just chewed through an entire family’s shoe collection.
There I am, in my mind’s eye, standing over a cowering calendar with one hand on my hip and one finger pointed towards it.
“Bad week!” I exclaim with my I-mean-business voice.
“Look at this mess you’ve made. No treats for you!”
The calendar looks up at me. Bits and scraps of frustrating miscommunications, hair-pulling delays, and unfortunate distractions are hanging from its mouth.
The dog ate my homework.
The week ate my sanity.
The image makes me laugh. And in the laughter, there is relief.
—
Ontological whimsy is a seriously underrated practice, don’t you think?
And if you’re sitting there thinking “Wtf is ontological whimsy, Lisa?” - same, same.
So here’s the thing…
Sometimes my brain thinks up phrases that sound cool, only to realize that I have no idea what they actually mean. Inevitably, I call upon the Googol gods to wise me up.
This was one of those phrases. And here’s what it means in a nutshell.
Life is many things, but above all, it’s absurd.
Speaking of…
Did you know that the word ‘absurd’ was originally used to describe a singing voice that was completely out of tune?
Of course, I immediately thought of Florence Foster-Jenkins, and her notoriously difficult-to-listen-to singing voice.
I still remember the first time I heard the recording of her singing Queen of the Night. I was in music school, and a friend pulled it up for us to listen to together. We laughed and laughed at the absurdity of it all.
What was my point?
Oh yeah - I know.
When life feels absurd, I highly suggest laughter.
—
Whenever I think about laughing at the absurdity of life, I am hit with a memory from the graveyard.
Many years ago, I was at the cemetery where a loved one was about to be buried.
A tragic death. A dark day. Sitting in the back of a limo - the mood, the air, the light - it was all grey.
And then, a woman walked by one of the vehicle’s tinted windows.
A former professor had come to profess her condolences in a big green hat, and an oversized leopard print faux fur coat.
Inside the car, on the other side of the heavily tinted window, we erupted in laughter.
We laughed because the outfit was out of place and because the outfit was perfect.
We laughed because we were alive and our loved one wasn’t, and yet, she was somehow just as there as she had ever been.
We laughed because in a moment, we’d have to step outside and face the hordes of mourning people, with their ‘I’m so sorry’s’ and somber faces.
But in that moment, for just a moment, we were laughing.
For a second, just a second, there was relief.
And if that’s not absurd, I don’t know what is.