ReMemoirs

I was first introduced to David Sedaris during my junior year of high school. My creative writing teacher photocopied a story of his that she particularly liked- one about strange neighbors and Halloween candy- and read it aloud to us in October. I'm not sure what was funnier- the situation described in the story, or the fact that my teacher laughed so hard and so much that she had to stop several times to collect herself. I went out and bought that book shortly after.

In the years that have followed, I've read dozens of Sedaris stories, and even better, have gotten a hold of recordings of David himself reading them aloud. And I love them. They are clever, they are poignant, they are relatable, and they are just so funny. But here's the thing that I love the most and envy the most about the way that David Sedaris tells a story- the graceful way that he handles situations. Several of his stories deal with times that must be painful to recall- often David feels embarrassed or downright humiliated through the telling of it, and yet the story is still hilarious. He is able to laugh at himself, and so we are, too.

How does he do that?

Often when I think about a time that I've felt humiliated, it is with a twinge of pain and blushing and telling myself , "I don't want to think about that." I know that many of these events have the potential to be humorous, but I doubt that I'd be able to manipulate them so that I thought they were funny, let alone someone else.

Maybe I need more life experience- I could try and cast these memories aside for a while longer, and revisit them when they've had even more time and space. But how long should that take? In some cases, it has been YEARS and still the thinking of it brings a pained expression. I suppose it's worth a shot. I could get a little notebook- maybe in an ironic and brightly- colored pattern, and write down all the things that I don't want to think of now, but that might be funny later. Or when I'm 40. Or after that. Yeah, that might work. But I think that that strategy, however helpful it may seem, is still putting off the inevitable. I think the real secret to finding the humor in painful circumstances deals more with facing those beasts head-on. If I ever WANT to find the good in these memories, I will have to embrace the bad. I will have to re-live the stomach lurches and shaky breaths and the "Mandy, why are you turning so red?"'s. And then I will laugh at it. And let it go. I'm not sure that I am quite ready for that process.

Maybe later. Or when I'm 40. Or after that.