Yes, I have a good sense of humor to sort of last a long time in

When Jane Krakowski said, “Yes, I have a good sense of humor to sort of last a long time in show business, and I think to be able to find comedic value in who you are and the people that you work with is always a good thing,” she was not simply describing the craft of a performer—she was revealing a philosophy for endurance in life itself. Her words speak to the power of humor as a sustaining force, a shield against the wear and tear of time, ego, and struggle. In a world as fickle as show business, where fame flickers and applause fades, laughter becomes not a luxury, but a necessity. To laugh at oneself, to find joy even in failure, is to remain unbroken in the face of impermanence.

The origin of this reflection comes from Krakowski’s long journey through the often merciless world of entertainment. From Broadway to television, from triumph to rejection, she has lived within an industry built upon illusion and competition. Yet, through her roles in comedies like 30 Rock and Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, Krakowski has embodied the truth that humor is both armor and art. She has seen how those who take themselves too seriously are consumed by bitterness, while those who embrace laughter—especially at their own expense—survive and shine. Her words are not boast, but confession: that to “last a long time” in any field, one must carry within a heart that can laugh without cynicism and endure without despair.

To find comedic value in who you are is, in essence, an act of wisdom. It is the humility to see one’s own absurdity, to know that perfection is neither possible nor necessary. This self-awareness is not self-mockery—it is liberation. The ancients understood this well. The philosopher Socrates, known for his wit as much as his intellect, once said, “I know that I know nothing.” His humility was his strength, for in admitting his foolishness, he transcended it. Likewise, Krakowski’s humor reveals the same truth: that to see one’s flaws with laughter is to be free from shame. In laughter, the self becomes light—no longer burdened by vanity or fear.

And to find humor in “the people that you work with” is an act of compassion. For in every gathering of humans—be it stage, office, or home—there is conflict, misunderstanding, and ego. But humor, when born of kindness, turns friction into fellowship. It transforms tension into play, pride into perspective. History has shown this time and again. Consider Abraham Lincoln, who, amid the horrors of the Civil War, used humor to soothe his weary aides and bridge divisions among his cabinet. His jokes were not flippant; they were acts of mercy, reminding those around him that even in grave times, humanity must not lose its lightness. In laughter, Lincoln preserved not only his sanity, but the morale of a nation.

Krakowski’s words also reveal the deeper secret of longevity—not only in art, but in life: resilience through joy. To laugh is to renew the soul’s strength. Those who can laugh at the absurdities of their journey do not crumble under them. In show business, as in existence itself, rejection and uncertainty are constants. Fame, like fortune, is fleeting. But humor is the fountain of endurance; it keeps the spirit supple, unafraid of change. To “find comedic value” in life is to resist despair, to turn even misfortune into a story worth telling. The one who laughs at the storm, after all, has already learned how to dance in the rain.

Yet humor, as Krakowski teaches, is not born of carelessness—it is born of perspective. It requires the ability to step back from one’s emotions, to see the grand comedy of human endeavor. The fool sees only the failure; the wise see the irony, and in that irony, the beauty. When you can laugh at your mistakes, you are no longer their prisoner. When you can laugh with others, you become part of something greater than yourself—the shared heartbeat of humanity. Thus, humor is not escape; it is communion. It is the recognition that we are all, in the end, actors upon the same vast stage, fumbling our lines, missing our cues, yet still striving for something noble in the spectacle of it all.

So, let this be the lesson drawn from Jane Krakowski’s insight: laughter is longevity. Cultivate it not only for your amusement, but for your survival. When you fail, smile. When you are misunderstood, find the irony. When those around you stumble, laugh with them, not at them, and offer them the grace of shared humanity. For humor, rightly used, does not divide—it heals. It turns hardship into harmony and keeps the spirit young even as the years advance.

And so, remember this truth, my friends: the one who laughs wisely cannot be defeated. Humor is not weakness—it is courage in disguise. It is the soul’s refusal to grow bitter. As Krakowski herself lives and speaks, laughter is the art of endurance, the quiet strength that allows us to face the world not with cynicism, but with sparkle. May you, too, find that light within yourself—that ability to laugh through storms, to see joy in imperfection, and to last a long time, not only in your work, but in the grand performance of life itself.