If you're funny, if there's something that makes you laugh, then

The words of Tom Hanks—“If you’re funny, if there’s something that makes you laugh, then every day’s going to be okay.”—shine like a quiet flame against the shadows of despair. Beneath their warmth lies not simplicity, but ancient wisdom: that laughter is the heartbeat of endurance, the unyielding spirit that keeps humanity alive through trial and uncertainty. Hanks, a storyteller of both sorrow and joy, reminds us that humour is not escape—it is survival. To find something that makes you laugh, even in the darkest hour, is to defy the forces that would drag the soul into silence. It is to declare, “I will still find light, even here.”

When Hanks speaks of being “funny,” he does not mean the shallow jesting of mockery, but the deeper humour that springs from understanding—the kind that sees life in its fullness, its absurdity and grace intertwined. To be funny, in this sense, is to possess vision: to perceive the irony of existence and yet to love it anyway. The man who laughs is not blind to the pain of life; he simply refuses to let that pain have the final word. His laughter is a form of courage, a small rebellion against despair. It is the weapon of the wise—the way of the heart that refuses to be broken, even when the world gives it reason to be.

This truth is as old as humanity itself. In the ruins of war, in the depths of poverty, in the weariness of exile, people have always found ways to laugh. The philosopher Epictetus, born a slave in ancient Rome, taught that while fate may bind your body, your mind remains free. Humour, he would have said, is that freedom in motion—a reminder that the human spirit cannot be chained. The soldier’s joke in the trench, the farmer’s laughter in drought, the prisoner’s quiet smile—they are not signs of folly, but of unconquered humanity. So too does Hanks remind us that as long as something in life can make us laugh, even softly, the day is not lost.

Consider the story of Viktor Frankl, who endured the horrors of the concentration camps. Amid starvation and cruelty, he noticed that those who found reasons to laugh—at a small irony, a foolish error, or even at their own suffering—seemed to keep a spark of life that others lost. He wrote that “humour was another of the soul’s weapons in the fight for self-preservation.” Hanks’s words echo this timeless insight: that laughter, when genuine, is not frivolous but sacred. It does not deny suffering; it transcends it. It transforms pain into resilience, sorrow into perspective.

There is also tenderness in Hanks’s reflection, for he speaks not only of humour but of gratitude—the awareness that laughter, however small, is a gift. To find something that makes you laugh each day is to find reason to live each day. It might be the clumsy fall of a pet, the unexpected kindness of a stranger, or even the ridiculousness of your own mistakes. The one who can laugh at life has already made peace with it. Such a person does not chase perfection, but accepts imperfection as part of the divine comedy of existence. In this way, laughter becomes a form of wisdom—the realization that life, with all its flaws, is still worth loving.

Hanks’s words also remind us of balance—that seriousness and humour are not rivals, but companions. The wise do not reject laughter in pursuit of depth, nor do they reject depth in pursuit of laughter. The philosopher who cannot laugh has not yet understood the full measure of life; the fool who only laughs has not yet felt its weight. To live well is to walk between the two—to mourn when it is time to mourn, and to laugh when laughter comes. In laughter, the heart exhales. In sorrow, it inhales. Both are necessary for the breath of the soul.

From his words, we draw a sacred lesson: guard your laughter as you would guard your hope. When the world seems heavy, do not surrender to despair; seek something that makes you smile, however small. Let humour be your companion, not your mask—your gentle reminder that life, even at its hardest, remains beautiful in its absurdity. Speak kindly. Laugh freely. Forgive quickly. For in doing so, you not only survive—you live.

So, my friends, remember this ancient truth disguised in modern words: laughter is the proof that the light of the soul still burns. If you can find something that makes you laugh today, then today is already redeemed. For the gods have always smiled upon those who, even while trembling, can still find joy. In laughter, we reclaim our strength, and in humour, we rediscover our humanity. As Tom Hanks reminds us—if we can be funny, if we can still laugh—then every day, no matter how heavy, will indeed be okay.