I don't think it's possible to have a sense of tragedy without having a sense of humor.

Humor and heartbreak belong together

We live in an age that pushes us toward picking a lane: either laugh at everything or take everything seriously. But the people who actually survive hard times—who don't get crushed or bitter by them—tend to do something stranger. They hold both feelings at once. A parent dealing with a terminal diagnosis still finds themselves laughing at absurd hospital situations. Someone losing a job makes dark jokes about their résumé. This isn't avoiding the pain; it's actually proof they understand how deep it goes. The humor isn't a distraction from the tragedy—it's proof you've looked it square in the face and haven't flinched.

Without some ability to laugh, tragedy just becomes a weight you carry until it breaks you. But without understanding what's actually tragic, your humor becomes hollow—the kind of forced funny that makes everyone uncomfortable. The real thing is when both exist together. You're not laughing because things don't matter. You're laughing because they matter so much that the gap between what we want and what we get becomes almost unbearably absurd. That recognition—that we're fragile, mortal creatures trying our best anyway—that's where actual wisdom lives.