Laughing at Myself: A Survival Skill I Apparently Need Daily

Life has a talent for tripping me at the exact moment I’m trying to look competent. It’s almost like the universe is running a sitcom and I’m the character who walks in confidently, then immediately hits the doorframe. No matter how prepared I am, there’s always a plot twist involving spilled coffee, a missing shoe, or a moment where I tell someone to “have a great flight” even though they’re a cashier at the grocery store.

The beauty of this is that I’ve stopped pretending I’m above the chaos. I’ve made peace with a basic truth: my life is a collection of moments that make other people feel better about their own.

For example, there was a morning recently when I tried to multitask like the efficient adult I claim to be. I was brushing my teeth while mentally reviewing my to-do list, feeding the dog, and trying to decide whether I could wear the same pair of pants two days in a row without anyone noticing. In this highly choreographed ballet of productivity, I somehow dropped my toothbrush into my tea.

Two things happened:

I briefly considered starting a new life in a different state, and I laughed. HARD!!

There’s something oddly grounding about catching yourself in these ridiculous moments. It breaks the illusion that adulthood is something we’re ever really going to master. The truth is, I’m not failing—I’m just improvising. We all are. Some of us are just better at pretending the improvisation is intentional.

Laughing at myself makes the world kinder. It takes the sting out of mistakes and turns awkwardness into a personal brand. It’s easier to shrug when I remember everyone else is busy managing their own internal circus. And honestly, if I can’t laugh at the spectacle that is me trying to function before 7 a.m., then I’m missing some of the best entertainment available to me.

So I’m leaning in. I’m embracing the dropped toothbrushes, the mismatched socks, the brilliant texts sent to the wrong person, and the moments where I walk into a room and immediately forget why I’m there. These small disasters are basically my greatest hits album.

Laughing at myself doesn’t diminish me. It frees me. It keeps my ego from getting too big and my stress from taking over the whole stage. And somewhere in the middle of this ongoing comedy special, I’m learning to love all the imperfect, quirky parts of who I am.

Besides, life’s funnier when I’m not the straight character.