You tell someone something and they start laughing.

What a great feeling. Either your story is amusing, or something you said made them laugh… you’re funny.
You’ve managed to find something that touches this person, you’re in, you’re awesome, they will come to you again because of who you are.

Then you feel your face collapse as if you were having a stroke as they try to break their laughter so they can tell you how it reminded them of this one time, this other person, really funny…

You’re not funny, you’re a catalyst or proxy of funny.
You must be so dull that while you were telling something you thought was hilarious, they zoned out at the beginning, hearing only enough to remind them of someone else who is funny.

That crushing feeling, “Yay, I did good! Wait… no… no no no! ME!”, as you politely listen to their story, while trying to decide which of your knees will have the pleasure of finding out if their face has a seam down the middle from the manufacturing process.

But, it’s not always about you.
Following your belief in fairness, it should rarely be about you, everyone deserves their equal time-slice.

Conversations work through exchange of stories, and only some people will find me funny, I get it, that’s how the world works. But being so willingly outcastish is tough sometimes, you’re finally in a moment where you’re out of your element, you can shine, this is your moment… except, it’s not.

Too easily wound up?


Memo to self: listen to people again, fully, focused. No thinking of “funny” retorts or “me” stories.

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