True laughter is not the use of humor as self-deprecation or deflection; it’s not the kind of painful
laughter we sometimes hide behind. Knowing laughter embodies the relief and connection we
experience when we realize the power of sharing our stories—we’re not laughing at each other but
with each other.
One of my favorite definitions of laughter comes from writer Anne Lamott, whom I once heard
say, “Laughter is a bubbly, effervescent form of holiness.” Amen!
SongFrom the eight-track tapes my parents played in our station wagon to my stack of vinyl records from
the 1970s to my mix-tapes from the ’80s and ’90s to the iTunes playlists on my new computer, my life
has a soundtrack. And the songs from that soundtrack can stir memories and provoke emotion in me
like nothing else.
I realize that not everyone shares the same passion for music, but the one thing that is universal
about song is its ability to move us emotionally—sometimes in ways we don’t even think about. For
example, I was recently watching the director’s cut of a movie. It showed a very dramatic scene from
the film with music and then without music. I couldn’t believe the difference.
The first time I watched the film, I didn’t even notice that music was playing. I was just on the edge
of my seat waiting and hoping that things would turn out the way I wanted them to. When I watched it
without music, the scene was flat. There wasn’t the same level of anticipation. Without music it felt
factual, not emotional.
Whether it’s a hymn at church, the national anthem, a college fight song, a song on the radio, or the
carefully scored soundtrack to a movie, music reaches out and offers us connection—something we
really can’t live without.
DancingI measure the spiritual health of our family by how much dancing is happening in our kitchen.
Seriously. Charlie’s favorite dance song is “Kung Fu Fighting” and Ellen likes Vanilla Ice’s “Ice Ice
Baby”! We’re music and dance lovers, not snobs. We’re not above kicking it old-school with “The
Twist” or “The Macarena.” We don’t have a big kitchen so when the four of us are in there, sock-
footed and sliding around, it looks more like a mosh pit than a sock hop. It’s messy, but it’s always
fun.
It didn’t take me long to learn that dance is a tough issue for many people. Laughing hysterically
can make us feel a little out of control, and singing out loud can make some of us feel self-conscious.
But for many of us, there is no form of self-expression that makes us feel more vulnerable than
dancing. It’s literally full-body vulnerability. The only other full-body vulnerability that I can think of
is being naked, and I don’t have to tell you how vulnerable that makes most of us feel.
For many people, risking that kind of public vulnerability is too difficult, so they dance at home or
only in front of people they care about. For others, the vulnerability is so crushing that they don’t
dance at all. One woman told me, “Sometimes if I’m watching TV and people are dancing or there’s a
good song playing, I tap my feet without even noticing it. When I finally catch myself, I feel
embarrassed. I have no rhythm.”
There’s no question that some people are more musically inclined or coordinated than others, but
I’m starting to believe that dance is in our DNA. Not super-hip and cool dancing, or line dancing, or