Humor can help you cope with the unbearable so that you can stay

In the words of Allen Klein, a man who understood the silent medicine of the heart, we are reminded: “Humor can help you cope with the unbearable so that you can stay on the bright side of things until the bright side actually comes along.” This is not a call to mock sorrow, nor to flee from pain with laughter, but to wield humor as a light — a small but steadfast flame that endures the night until dawn breaks. In every age, mankind has known suffering; yet those who endure with a smile are not the foolish, but the wise, for they have found the alchemy that turns despair into strength and endurance into grace.

In ancient times, when storms raged and kingdoms fell, storytellers would gather the weary around the fire. There, amid ruin and loss, they spoke not only of gods and heroes, but of the absurdities of fate — how kings tripped over their own crowns, and how even the mightiest warriors sneezed before battle. The laughter that followed was no act of ignorance, but a sacred defiance. It said to sorrow, “You may strike me, but you will not take my spirit.” Thus, humor became a shield — not to deny the darkness, but to survive it, to breathe through it, and to remind the heart that even the unbearable has an end.

Consider the story of Viktor Frankl, who endured the unspeakable horrors of the concentration camps during the Second World War. Amid the hunger, the cruelty, and the endless despair, he discovered that laughter — even a moment of it — could be a form of freedom. One day, he and another prisoner made a pact to find something each day to laugh about, no matter how grim their circumstances. It was a fragile act of rebellion, yet it gave them a reason to live. In that laughter, they reclaimed a fragment of humanity that no tyrant could crush. Thus, Klein’s teaching echoes through time: that humor is not denial, but resilience made visible.

To live with such strength is to understand that the bright side is not always visible, but it exists as a promise — like the sun hidden beyond the clouds. When the weight of life becomes unbearable, when grief turns the world gray, it is humor that reminds us we are still alive, still capable of joy, still human. It does not erase the sorrow, but softens its grip; it allows us to breathe where breath once failed. Those who can smile in the midst of hardship are not naive — they are warriors of the spirit, bearing torches through the storm.

Even in the courts of kings, the jester was not merely an entertainer but a philosopher disguised in laughter. He spoke truths that others dared not, cloaked in wit and mirth. His jokes pierced the pride of rulers and eased the tensions of war councils. Through laughter, he delivered wisdom that might otherwise have been rejected. Thus, humor has always been the voice of courage — the gentle rebellion of the soul against despair, arrogance, and fear.

And what of our own age? The burdens of the modern heart are no less heavy — loss, loneliness, uncertainty. Yet the same cure endures. When the world feels unbearable, when dreams crumble, and hope seems distant, we must not surrender to bitterness. We must seek laughter as medicine, even in small doses — in the warmth of friends, the absurdity of our own mistakes, the little joys that pierce the gloom. For in laughter, the heart remembers that pain is temporary, and joy is patient.

Let this then be the lesson carried forward: humor is light — fragile, yet immortal. It is the bridge that carries the weary across the river of sorrow. To those who suffer, I say: do not despise laughter, even when the world seems cruel. Laugh gently, laugh bravely, laugh as a declaration that you still believe in the return of the bright side. The practical wisdom is this: each day, find one reason to smile, even if you must create it yourself. For laughter is not escape — it is survival; not foolishness — but faith that the dawn will come, and when it does, you will be ready to meet it with open eyes and an unbroken heart.