Whenever I'm sad, I just put on 'SpongeBob' and I cheer up.

In the lighthearted yet profound words of Richard Harmon, there lies a truth more ancient than it first appears: “Whenever I’m sad, I just put on ‘SpongeBob’ and I cheer up.” Though born in the age of television and laughter, this simple phrase carries the same spirit that guided philosophers and poets of old — the understanding that joy is medicine, and that even in the depths of sorrow, the human heart seeks light. Harmon's words may seem playful, yet beneath their humor beats the wisdom of endurance: that when the soul grows heavy, the smallest spark of laughter can rekindle its fire.

For what is ‘SpongeBob SquarePants’, if not a modern myth of innocence? A tale of friendship, of persistence, of unending optimism in the face of absurdity. The ancients had their jesters, their storytellers, and their sacred fools — those who taught that laughter is divine, that joy disarms despair. In Harmon's confession, we hear the echo of that tradition: that happiness need not be grand to be healing, and that the remedy for sadness may sometimes be found in the most unassuming forms — a cartoon, a song, a smile, or a memory.

This truth is not new. The philosopher Epicurus, centuries ago, taught that the good life was not found in wealth or fame, but in small pleasures — in companionship, simplicity, and moments of delight. Even in hardship, he said, one could choose peace by turning one’s mind toward what nourishes rather than what wounds. So too does Richard Harmon, by watching SpongeBob, choose to direct his spirit toward the childlike joy that still lives within him. He reminds us that the heart does not heal through grand philosophy alone, but through laughter — the most ancient of medicines.

Consider the story of Charlie Chaplin, the silent film genius who lived through poverty, exile, and heartbreak. Yet in his art, he gave the world laughter so pure it reached even those who could not hear his words. “To truly laugh,” Chaplin once said, “you must be able to take your pain and play with it.” This is precisely what Harmon’s quote expresses — that laughter does not erase sadness, but transforms it. It turns pain into play, heaviness into air, despair into melody. The soul, once bent, straightens again beneath the touch of joy.

When Harmon says, “Whenever I’m sad, I just put on ‘SpongeBob,’” he reveals a great act of self-care disguised as simplicity. It is an act of defiance against sorrow — a refusal to be consumed by it. The ancients would have called this a form of resilience, the inner discipline to lift one’s spirit even when the world feels gray. To laugh, to smile, to allow oneself a moment of light amid darkness — these are not acts of weakness, but of strength. The one who can still find joy has not surrendered to despair, but has chosen to live despite it.

And yet, there is tenderness too in these words — a reminder that we must not scorn small joys. In a world that glorifies seriousness, people often forget that lightness is also wisdom. The mystic Rumi wrote, “Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment.” In other words, let wonder, not weariness, be your teacher. The laughter of SpongeBob — pure, unpretentious, and eternal — is a reminder of that bewilderment, the child’s ability to marvel, to giggle, to find delight in the simplest things. That is the secret of renewal: to return, even briefly, to the innocence we once knew.

Thus, the lesson is clear: when sorrow visits, do not chase it with sorrow. Seek laughter. Seek the warmth of stories, the playfulness of art, the gentleness of joy. Watch your favorite show, dance to a foolish song, share a joke, or sit beside a friend who makes you smile. Do not wait for happiness to find you — create it. For even in darkness, laughter lights the path home.

In the end, Richard Harmon’s quote teaches us what sages, poets, and dreamers have known for centuries — that the soul, no matter how weary, still responds to joy. The laughter of a cartoon may seem small against the weight of life, yet it carries the same eternal power as the lyre of Orpheus, which could charm even the underworld. So when you are sad, remember this: even the smallest laughter, sincerely felt, is a rebellion against despair — and in that laughter, life itself begins anew.