flood

I woke up from a nap today and saw a hurricane raging outside. Dangerously strong winds and opaque sheets of rain. I started hyperventilating. With each day of record rain, the panic has been creeping in.  I see too clearly the ironic destruction of the place I’ve lived my whole life – Phoenix flooded. 

It passed in a few minutes, as rain does here. Just as I wrote that sentence, a first ray of sunshine passed over my phone. I thank you for that, universe. In the immediate aftermath I frantically packed a duffle bag and looked up the current weather map. The forecast says the worst is over. I’m still shaking.

All I can think is, there’s nowhere to run. Greta Thunberg is the only sane person on earth right now, and I hope there is some karmic reward for her if there is any kind of hereafter. How fast are these extreme weather conditions ramping up? How long do we have? I have to maintain more optimism than my fear would like, for the sake of those who have children. 

I’m reminded why comedy has been such a big deal for me, for my whole life. Sometimes there is no escape, sometimes the conveyor belt to the shredding machine is speeding up in ways you can’t control. My only real respite is laughter. 

I have a theory about comedy, actually, even though armchair evolutionary psychology is usually a fool’s errand. I break it down into two triggers – subversion, and absurdity. If an animal experiences a surprising but safe outcome, the brain would like to re-enforce that as a good situation, a good future risk to take – thus, laughter. The absurdity part is a little darker. 

To me, humans are not enough steps removed from monkeys to be living in the societies we do. We have constructed everything with way too much faith in the frontal cortex.  When I look at human behavior, my own included, it feels like that part of the brain is just kinda taped on the side. Or like it was some alien-implanted chip that couldn’t well integrate into the monkey mind. That’s why the elephant rider analogy works so well – the mind is not unified. 

I imagine the frontal cortex was a mutation that gave humans such a profound advantage, it might as well have been alien tech. But the monkey’s paw (pun intended) was self awareness, and complex empathy. It was the understanding of past suffering, potential suffering, mass suffering, of how cruel and capricious the natural world is. The crushing weight of all this inherited trauma was making the little monkeys so depressed and anxious, they were losing the will to live. Then, one more mutation appeared. 

The monkeys are gathered round the fire pit for the evening meal, two of them are in a heated row. The more aggressive monkey picks up one of the burning logs and bashes the other one in the head. The injured monkey flops over, limp. A hush falls over the camp. Suddenly, one soft giggle floats above the silence. Almost in unison the monkeys snap their head around and find the source is one of their own. Why are you laughing? Are you a psycho? No no, it’s just, the way he dropped, I can’t explain it… That monkey had significantly better mental health, and thus a better survival rate.

All this to tie back into me shaking on my bed with existential dread. I’m listening to a familiar, silly voice. It’s more visceral after hearing it in person. When his voice first came over the PA, it felt like dropping 11 stories in an elevator (I hope he never caught a glimpse of my face any of the times that feeling came up, because I’m sure I looked terrified of him.) The adrenaline from that memory is feeding into the giggle fits. In a moment the darkness starts to lift, the soot sprites are evacuating to the sound of raucous laughter. 

Live, Laugh, Love – the quintessential example of “cheugy”, but also a succinct summation of what makes life worth persevering through. What transmutes tragedy? Joy, and Love. Comedy is the realization that joy is not dependent on circumstance. It’s a spark intrinsic to human consciousness, which makes meaning out of suffering. Love is how we share joy, and amplify it. The act of making someone laugh, with no ill intent, is life affirming. It’s a reminder that we share the same spark. We are all on this confusing, terrifying ride together, and finding fun despite it all. Finding funny.

…..So the other reason this experience was so scary is I took an edible right before my nap. The last thing you want when you are half asleep and half high is to look outside your window and see the inside of the Wizard of Oz tornado. Now the tornado is inside my brain and the THC is increasing the theatrics. 

In the growing daylight, I feel grateful to be safe, and alive right now. I’m grateful for all the reasons why I want to stay so.