The Destroyer Reveals His Form

Laughing yoga takes on a whole different feel when you have just learned your income is going down by 33 percent.
Yes. 33 percent. The Destroyer has come.
Actually, the day got off to a pretty good start. I did the bills and we ended up a little better than usual. That plus the fact that we're making a dent in the credit card (which was driven up last year by--believe it or not--our late dog's medical care) put me in a more hopeful, less scared mood.
It was when I was driving to the grocery store that I got the call. Mike's employer, the Kansas City Star, wanted him to come in.
This could not be good. I had to turn around and bring the car back (we have one car) so he could go downtown. When we met at the house, we resumed our traditional roles of optimist (Mike) and pessimist (me.)
Me: Oh God. You're still don't think you'll be laid off?
Him: No. I think they like me. I bring in readers. It's probably about the pay cut. Maybe they're rearranging and I'll have to work more from downtown.
Let me insert here that we'd gotten an official email warning us that people below a certain pay level would get a 5 percent pay cut. Others might get more. We fit easily below the 5 percent line.
Me: You sure we can handle the pay cut? What if it's more? What if the email was a complete lie?
Him: I'm below the limit.
Me: If they make you work downtown how will you get there? We'd probably have to put up for a second car. Or I'll be stuck here with no car. (Trust me to always think of myself.)
Him: Let's not get three steps ahead. It will be okay.

Later he called back with the grim news. A pay cut of 33 percent. Full time to part time. No more life insurance benefit. No more vacation days. Accept it or take a buyout. But if you accept, there may not be another chance for a buyout. No promises. You have until Wednesday to decide.

Now, I was all prepared to be stoic about a 5 percent pay cut. I wasn't happy to lose the equivalent of two years, but I figured with some more piano students and perhaps monetization of this blog, maybe we could swing it temporarily. But 33 percent. Holy @*&# shit! Nothing in the email said anyone would get a 33 percent pay cut or that anyone would be knocked back from full to part time. And there's no way--no possible way--that my piano teaching can make up even half of what we're losing. Forget the two-year setback. Hello 1997.

And so, only 20 short minutes after pressing a cold cloth to my swollen eyes, I found myself driving my daughter and her friend to laughing yoga. I had promised.
It wasn't so hard to fake laughter. I'll probably be doing a lot of that in the future, so I guess it doesn't hurt to practice now. But...I don't know. It was different. I felt good afterwards, like before. Just not content. Not at peace. Not connected to the resonant good vibe of the past sessions. Maybe it's the shock.

Yesterday I vowed we are going to live not just good but better. We are not going to be just happy but happier.

Today that seems like a pretty tall order.

Ho Ho Here We Go (Again)

Last week was stressful. Unusually stressful. We dealt with rumors of more work cutbacks, a minor health problem, an unexpectedly high bill to repair the rototiller and of course, the continuing stock market saga. So as the week marched on, we had a decision to make:
Should we return to laughing yoga?
My husband and son had scheduling conflicts. My daughter, though, surprised me. She'd been assuming all along we would go again. And--little did I know--she'd been busy inviting friends.
Going to laughter yoga once out of curiosity is one thing (read account here). Going back is quite another. And going back in the company of two or more teenage girls...well, that puts it in a whole different dimension.
Irene, my daughter, is at the age when it becomes obvious that your parents need to be reined in. They should be told to keep their public actions more tepid, beige and uninteresting, lest they embarrass you.
To that end, we have a long list of things we've been asked not to do in public:
Sing
Whistle
Dance
Gesticulate excessively with the hands
Smile too much
Or generally do anything else deemed too goofy.
Now, I am to believe that I will be doing all those things and more, not only in public but in the company of her girlfriends. What's happening here? Am I being punked? Will I see a secretly-taped video of myself shooting "laughter arrows" later on Facebook?
Since I was a little leery about her motives, we had a talk before going. Just to make things clear. You can't isolate yourselves in your little group, I said. You can't talk to each other. You have to do everything the instructor says.
And I better not see you making fun of anyone else there, either.
But she seemed sincere and, just in case she was, I didn't want to be the harsh cop much more than that.
So off we went, with two of her friends.
The class was essentially the same, but with some changes in the exercises. It wasn't any harder to laugh the second time around. We still got tired and we still felt good afterward. Everyone behaved.
And--surprise, surprise--a laughter yoga class seems custom made for 14-year-old girls. Giggling and acting goofy are things they are well practiced in.
I also was happily surprised that there were no meaningful nods or elbow prods at the expense of others in the room. I guess when everyone is laughing together, it's harder to play the critical observer--another thing that teenage girls are often well practiced at.
Which brings me to the reason I like this yoga. It isn't so much the laughing, or even the goofiness of the exercises. It's the fact that you get to spend 45 minutes in a room full of people and they're all smiling and making eye contact with you the entire time. How many other times a month--or a year, for that matter--can you say that?
You're in a room where no one is casting disapproval. (Well perhaps they are, deep in their minds. But you could never tell from their faces, which are smiling. Anyway, I'm not so sure it's possible to be disapproving when you're laughing and doing crazy things.) For a social phobe like me, that's healing balm.
The person who thought this up, I am told, thinks it could hasten world peace if enough people do it. I don't know about that, but I could see it improving the clique-conscious climate of high schools and the anxiety of work. Who knows, maybe it would help the Pentagon as well.
President Obama, are you listening?

Yo-ho-ho-ga

Ok, I'm a failure at the constant, forced smile. I know the research says your brain takes cues from your body. If you smile, then, you really should feel better. I totally believe in the psycho-physiological link, or whatever you call it. If you've ever sung in a chorus, you know the difference a good face can make in tone.
But it's just too hard to remember to smile. And if you have a teenager and you go around in public with a big goofy smile for no reason...well, there are consequences.
So this week I decided to kick it up a notch.
If I can't force a smile, why not force a laugh instead? Specifically, why not go to the laughter yoga class offered once a week for free?
"I think I'll go to laughing yoga this Friday. Who wants to go with me?"
To my surprise, my daughter agreed. To my stupefication, so did my husband and 22-year-old son.

I first heard of laughter yoga during chit chat at the end of my regular yoga class. One of my classmates had read about it somewhere, and explained that you just go into the room in your regular clothes. No downward-facing dog. No bound dancer pose. And you laugh. That's it.
When I heard this, I thought two things:
1. Here's another crystal-worshipping, space alien new age fad to make fun of. Why don't they call it ha-ha-hatha?
2. Sounds cool. Maybe I'll try it.

Actually, laughter yoga and laughter clubs are a growing national pastime. It was invented by Dr. Madan Katarian, who believes laughing is a great exercise and immune system restorer. For a better explanation than I possibly could give, click here.

The laughter club we'd heard about is offered at Plaza Wellspring and is 45 minutes free every Friday at 6. As Friday afternoon arrived, we were all getting a little nervous. My husband started to make noises about backing out. Maybe he wouldn't make his deadline in time. Maybe work would need to call. My son seemed less than enthusiastic but still game when I called him. And my daughter began texting her friends with the address in case one of them wanted to swing by during class and save her.

I was still committed, but a little scared that I might be greeted by this guy:




Or maybe this:

Our instructor, who had no trouble at all with the wide sincere smile, started us with a little explanation and some warm up exercises. There would be no talking or joke telling, she said. Then there were "introduction" type exercises. Walk up to someone else and give a silly handshake, shy giggles, laughing waves. The 15 or so of us could improvise how we liked. The only thing mandatory was the laugh, either real or faked.
Then came longer exercises--the winding up of giggles from a belly button key, bow and arrow, cocktail shaker, kiss throwing. We did laughing "drives" around the wood floor, bumper cars, a long set of silly dancing, during which there wasn't much breath left over for laughing.
Between laughter sets, we clapped with rhythm: HO, HO, ha-ha-ha. And then big yoga breaths for a rest.

I thought the laughter would be strained and unnatural and it was at first. But then, it was easy. The "exercises" are just so goofy looking that the laughter comes from self-awareness of how insane it all is. Turns out smiling is way harder.
As we laughed, I carefully checked my family to see how they were taking it. Here's the great thing about a laughter class: No one's face gives even the slightest hint that they want to kill you for bringing them because--smiling all that's allowed. They were all smiling, just like everybody else.
The best part came during a time when we were supposed to just lie on our backs and laugh at the funny images we pretended to see in the clouds. I looked over at my daughter and tried to come up with her old laugh--the hysterical one she used to do as she crashed into pedestrians in "Crazy Taxi" at age 5.
When I did that laugh, we both lost it. I had tears pouring toward my ears, and I could hardly stop when the instructor told us it was time to take some deep calming breaths.

I also didn't really believe the claims that laughing is a good workout. I'm a regular gym goer and can run 8 miles, for crying out loud. So I was a little surprised that at the end of 45 minutes I was spent. But in a really, really good way.
"That was the most fun ever," my daughter said as we left. "Next week I want to bring my friends." My son and husband also admitted to having fun, albeit a bit more guardedly.
"What's that on your face?" I asked my daughter.
It was big dark smudges where her considerable eye makeup had run.
Yeah. I'd go again.