I think it was my dad who taught me to laugh at myself. I am convinced that this skill is absolutely essential.
This morning I was remembering a particularly embarrassing experience from a month or so ago. You know how sometimes those memories fling themselves at you without warning? It's amazing to me how much of a reaction is produced from a simple memory, but there I was, cringing inside.
I found myself laughing. Here I am, weeks later, and there's not a thing I can do about my month-old tactlessness. But I can laugh. I can log away whatever information might be helpful in the future, spread out my arms and let out a full-breathed laugh to the Montana sky while I squelch through the mud in my running shoes.