Scary Close-Reflections For Finding True Intimacyنموونە

Dropping the Act

WANT TO KNOW WHO DOESN’T THINK I’M FUNNY? My wife, Betsy. I can remember about five times when I’ve made her laugh, and God knows I’ve tried. The only way I can make Betsy laugh is if she’s had a couple of drinks. I’m killer if she’s tipsy. Mostly she sees my humor as a defense mechanism, though, a costume she has to put up with so she can have a relationship with the guy inside.

I heard once that Will Ferrell isn’t funny to his wife and family. When I heard that I thought it was beautiful. It made me happy for him.

And yet this can be terrifying. I remember once when Betsy and I were hanging out with another guy she used to like and she kept laughing at his jokes. It was like he was throwing my ace cards around. Every time she laughed I felt like I was shrinking. And he was this dopey rock-climbing kid who wanted to be a fantasy football coach or something. He was ridiculous and I was way funnier, yet he made her laugh four times before we’d even ordered dinner. It was killing me.

But when we got back in the car at the end of the night, she leaned into my shoulder and held my arm and I realized she’d liked the guy a lot—but she loved me. And as we drove home she held my hand and it was obvious she was having a bonding moment, as though all the pleasantness of the evening, even the other guy’s humor, only meant something because she’d shared it with me. And for once I was glad I wasn’t the guy doing the entertaining. Somebody else had to go back to the green room that night and obsess over his performance. I got to go home with the girl.

I began to wonder what life would be like if I dropped the act and began to trust that being myself would be enough to get the love I needed.