Being Able to Laugh at Myself

“You don’t have to keep the sign up,” my cube mate said when he walked in.

I turned and smiled. Yesterday, he readily admitted to being the one who put up the sign while I wasn’t in the cube.

Since my car got stuck in the mud, I’ve told the story three or four times. Each time I tell it, I laugh a little more.

If there’s one person who has taught me to laugh at myself more than anyone else, it’s my husband. Living with him for four and a half months, I’ve learned more of my faults and inconsistencies than I ever wanted to know.

I turn the heater on when I should have turned on the air conditioning.

I worry (out loud) too much while he is driving. Backseat driving isn’t actually helpful.

We almost smoke ourselves out of the apartment while making steak in the skillet.

Though they were either humiliating or frustrating or both when they happened, I have learned to laugh at each of these things, and many more.

They have become some of my greatest stories. Slowly but surely, I am learning to laugh at myself.

By laughing at myself, learning is easier.

By laughing at myself, I keep myself humble.

By laughing at myself, I’ve realized that it’s all worth it in the end.

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