I have the humor of a 9-year-old boy, and sometimes I've had

In the words of Megyn Kelly, “I have the humor of a 9-year-old boy, and sometimes I’ve had laughing fits on-air.”
Though spoken with jest, these words conceal a profound and ageless wisdom — the sacred truth that laughter, even when innocent or childlike, is the soul’s rebellion against heaviness. Kelly, a figure often known for her composure and sharp intellect, confesses here that within her dwells a child untouched by cynicism — one who still finds delight in the absurd, and who lets laughter burst forth even in the solemn world of broadcast. Her words remind us that joy is not immaturity, but a mark of strength — for only those who can laugh freely have learned the art of living.

To say one has “the humor of a 9-year-old” is not a diminishment, but an invocation of something pure and powerful — the innocent wonder that most adults lose as they ascend into the rigid towers of seriousness. The laughter of a child is not calculated; it is spontaneous, unguarded, and deeply honest. It springs from the simplest things — a funny word, a clumsy stumble, an unexpected sound — yet it carries the weight of eternity. For it is the laughter of being alive. Kelly’s admission reveals not foolishness, but the wisdom of retaining that spark — the ability to find lightness even amid duty, to rediscover in adulthood the joy that first awakened in youth.

The origin of such laughter lies deep in the human heart. The philosophers of old, from Aristotle to Epicurus, debated the role of joy in the good life. Yet even the sternest among them admitted that laughter is not weakness, but renewal. The Stoics, though they preached discipline, saw humor as a safeguard against despair. Marcus Aurelius himself, emperor and philosopher, once wrote that when life becomes absurd, one must smile — not in mockery, but in understanding. So too does Kelly’s laughter reflect this timeless truth: that laughter does not make us less serious about life; it makes us strong enough to bear it.

And what of those “laughing fits on-air”? Here lies the beauty of imperfection — the acknowledgment that humor breaks through even the walls of formality. The polished world of news, built upon gravity and precision, leaves little room for human warmth. Yet when laughter enters, it transforms the sterile into the sacred. The momentary collapse of composure becomes a revelation: that even the most serious among us are still human, still capable of joy. When Kelly laughs before millions, she does not lose authority — she gains authenticity. Her laughter becomes a shared act of grace between speaker and audience, a reminder that truth need not always wear a frown.

History, too, honors those who understood the power of laughter amidst solemn duty. Winston Churchill, burdened with the fate of nations, often broke tension with a joke. His humor was not frivolity — it was fortitude. When facing darkness, he quipped, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” His wit kept despair at bay, proving that even amid catastrophe, the human spirit could still laugh — not because it was blind, but because it was brave. Like Kelly, he showed that laughter is not the absence of seriousness, but its companion, ensuring that the heart remains unbroken even when the world grows heavy.

The lesson within Kelly’s words is clear and radiant: do not outgrow your laughter. Keep the child alive within you — the one who finds delight in the ridiculous, who can laugh even when the world demands composure. For in that laughter lies resilience. When life presses down with gravity, let your humor rise like air — defiant, playful, and free. The wise know that laughter is the language of endurance. It lifts us above the moment’s burden and reveals that joy is not fragile, but eternal.

So, dear listener, remember Megyn Kelly’s simple yet profound confession: “I have the humor of a 9-year-old boy.” Let this not be heard as immaturity, but as mastery — the rare gift of keeping joy alive in a world that often rewards severity. Laugh deeply, laugh often, and never apologize for finding mirth in the mundane. For laughter, when born from sincerity, is the breath of the soul — a song of freedom, echoing from the child you once were, reminding you that even as you grow wise, you must never cease to be alive.