"O, for a muse of fire"

Motivations to one's actions are without number. Sometimes in my life, I have had cause to wonder out loud at the unbelievable course of events. Occasionally, something occurs that is completely outside of my ability to explain, or even to reason out. So much of my personality is drawn into trying to see situations from multiple angles. There are still times when I am completely at a loss.

It is my reaction to such things that I laugh out loud. Situations that are so ridiculous that I cannot wrap my brain around them. It is a paradoxical reaction, much as laughter can bring tears and its own brand of sadness. A friend called me on it, during the most recent such episodes. Relating horrible events that were transpiring to others, I mocked it with hearty laughter. She rightly chastized me for finding such levity in the misfortune of others. It certainly stopped me in my tracks: she was right! What sort of person am I to heap scorn on the mounting troubles of another? It is an ugly thing, and very weak dealing.

But I don't know if I could do anything other than laugh. This certain circumstance (which thankfully did not involve me) was so outrageous as to be inconceivable. For sure, I certainly could not even begin to understand it, even after spending many minutes picking it apart. It was as counter to the natural course of events as anything I could imagine. I could not believe that any human being would make such a choice! It was (and is) completely and utterly absurd.

And so I laughed at the absurdity. Misfortunes piled on each other to such a degree must be humorous. Surely no man can be made to shoulder such traitorous events; it is not possible.

It is more than possible: it is true. Most likely I laugh to keep from crying. It bars an onslaught of osmotic grief. I barely know this man, yet I feel that I should commiserate with him. It's not even the regular matter of "There but for the grace of God, go I". It is more that his misfortune is almost tangible to me. I must laugh, to distance myself and escape from volountarily lowering myself into the mire.

It would indeed be easy for me to be overwhelmed. It has occured in my past, too. But in stepping back from the tendrils of despair, do I count myself a stronger person for resisting a failing? Or am I diminished, for not exploring those things that move my emotions?

"I've never been able to plan my life. I just lurch from indecision to indecision."
--Alan Rickman