If you could choose one characteristic that would get you through

In the long arc of human struggle and triumph, when storms have battered the soul and time has tested the spirit, the actress Jennifer Jones spoke words that glimmer like sunlight breaking through clouded skies: “If you could choose one characteristic that would get you through life, choose a sense of humor.” These words are not the idle musings of a performer, but the distilled wisdom of a woman who lived through both the splendor and the sorrow of fame, love, and loss. They remind us that humor is not mere laughter — it is strength disguised as mirth, courage clothed in joy, the quiet armor of those who refuse to surrender to despair.

For what is a sense of humor, if not the soul’s ability to turn pain into perspective? It is the rare alchemy that transforms tragedy into teaching, humiliation into humility, and chaos into calm. To laugh does not mean to ignore life’s wounds; it means to rise above them. A person who can laugh, even softly, when the weight of life presses heavily upon them, has already claimed victory over the darkness. Jennifer Jones knew this truth intimately — for she, who once stood radiant on Hollywood’s golden stage, also walked through the shadows of personal loss and heartbreak. Through all of it, her laughter was not the echo of denial, but the proof of endurance.

The ancients, too, understood the sacred role of laughter. In the courts of kings and the temples of wisdom, the fool — the jester — was often the only one who could speak truth without punishment. His humor was not frivolity, but insight veiled in jest. He reminded rulers that power without levity becomes tyranny, and that wisdom without joy becomes despair. Thus, the fool’s laughter was divine; it kept balance in the world. And so it remains: those who can laugh in hardship do not lose themselves — they return to the essence of life itself.

History has shown again and again that humor is not weakness, but resilience in its highest form. When Nelson Mandela sat in his prison cell, he did not allow bitterness to rule him. He told stories, shared laughter with his guards, and found humanity even in captivity. His laughter was not escape — it was resistance. It was his declaration that they could imprison his body, but never his spirit. A sense of humor became his companion, his shield, and his proof that dignity can survive even in the harshest of places.

There is profound logic in Jones’s advice: to choose humor above all else is to choose perspective, lightness, and hope. Wealth may fade, beauty may wither, and power may crumble, but a sense of humor endures. It allows one to fall without breaking, to stumble without shame, and to begin again with a smile. It binds the hearts of strangers, softens the pain of failure, and turns even sorrow into story. Without it, the heart becomes brittle; with it, the soul remains supple, ready to dance even amid the ruins.

And let us not mistake laughter for foolishness. True humor does not mock; it understands. It does not blind itself to pain; it redeems it. To possess a sense of humor is to possess clarity — to see life for what it is: imperfect, unpredictable, and gloriously human. Those who can laugh at life’s absurdity walk through it with grace. They do not drown in sorrow, for they have learned to float upon it. They are the quiet heroes of existence — not untouched by suffering, but undefeated by it.

So, dear listener, take this wisdom as a lamp for your path: cultivate your sense of humor as sacredly as you would your faith or your courage. When life wounds you, let your laughter be the balm. When it humbles you, let your humor be your teacher. Smile often, especially when the world gives you reason not to, for that is when laughter is most powerful. Carry it with you as armor and as offering — a reminder that even in the deepest night, the soul can still find light. For as Jennifer Jones said, if you must choose one trait to carry you through this life, choose humor — for it is the language of the unconquered heart.