The Recipe

It was 5:34pm on a Friday afternoon. I was exhausted from my work week and excited to get home and get on with my evening plans.

I was wearing a black long sleeved shirt, a black knee length skirt, and fantastic black boots worth every last penny I spent on them. I had my bag strewn on my shoulder, my keys and security badge in my right hand and a bright red covered, holiday edition of “O” magazine in the other. I looked every bit the part of an executive woman ready leave.

As I journeyed to the glass door which separates my department from the general lobby of our building, I prematurely threw the force of my body into this door before I had adequately pushed the release bar to liberate the latch which secures shut the access.

Upon so doing, the most thunderous crash, followed by a metal scraping discharge of lever, while finishing with a pop from the sheer forcing of the door open drew all of the attention of the my two male co-workers lounging in the lobby to me.

A great deal of laughter commenced. The boys were roaring in amusement and I myself broke out in the most lively, hilarious mirth I’d experienced in an extended period of time.

My high school choir teacher once paid me one of the greatest compliments I have ever been given. One I have frequently treasured and thought upon when labeled with characteristics such as boisterous and the likes.

She told me she couldn’t help but laugh every time I laughed. She told me my laugh was one of the most authentically jubilant laughs of all the people she knew. She said I laughed from the toes of my feet to the hair on my head and was certain every part of my body partook in it.

In my more recent adulthood, for many reasons the world feels more comfortable with, I have learned to stifle this hearty laugh of mine. I have scaled back and toned down my merriment to be more appropriate for public displays of gaiety.

Yet on this darkening, autumn, Friday evening, I laughed what I have long since laughed. And I felt it in my toes and on my head.

The boys joked, “sheesh, you couldn’t wait one more second to get out of here, could you?” which sent us each into this gleeful fit all over again.

I’m grateful for laughter. This often socially inappropriate, audacious, roaring bellow of goodness which tingles life into every element of my being. I love when others laugh. However, I love it more when I get to do it myself. The sound of laughter is medicine.