In all seriousness....

More often than not, lately people have been asking me, “geeze, Angela! Are you ever serious?” I continually find myself answering the same way: “I’m serious when I need to be,” topped with a smile, but smothered with an invisible layer of curiosity, confusion, and self-consciousness about the unsaid implications of the question. The audio-visual component of my response is almost always retaliated with a demand for proof of my seriousness, and that’s when I’m stuck, soon to be suffocated by said curiosity, confusion, and self-consciousness. The only way to survive is to shift into 4-wheel distraction and say or do something funny to get out of conversation all together. I’ve never kept a running log, neither written nor in my head, of times I have acted serious or taken things very seriously. Yes, I admit it’s true that lately I have been spending more time smiling, laughing, and joking than other possible serious bodily functions, such as sleeping, scowling, or serving jury duty. But I always wonder what exactly do they mean by serious? What kind of lifestyle am I projecting that would make so many people feel compelled to ask? Are they maybe onto something and I am totally unaware?

My personal philosophy is that seriousness is a tool to be used when needed- You don’t need a knife every time you are in the kitchen, do you? But before we start playing with knives here, I’d like to set some serious guidelines for this blog: I’m not necessarily writing all this to prove myself. I’m also not at all offended by these situations. I am, though, genuinely stumped. For my own good, I would really like to explore the idea- what is being serious? Seriously! What does it mean to be serious?!

When people ask me to come up with examples my seriocity, I think of my most recent and applicable, though generically global, example: Work. People seem to identify well with work. I work a lot and take my work very seriously. But still, to my own confusion, even at work, I am laughing, messin' around, planning themed surprise parties for unsuspecting co-workers, and doin' stuff that still compells people to ask, “are you serious?”

To my defense, however, at work I also spend a lot of time talking about serious topics with serious people about serious programs and I have serious confrontations with students about their non-passing grades. I also have the resume-worthy ability to create an environment in which people are taken seriously; very, very stressed and unhappy people enter my office or classroom crying, grinding teeth, or in crisis, and exit smiling, looking relieved, and saying, “Thank you, Angela!” I currently don’t have a dictionary around to check my accurate usage of the word "serious" for these examples, but that all sounds like serious stuff to me.

Although I consider work to be a serious thing, my hang-out friends never see me in a working capacity, so my reply doesn’t lead them to goblet they seek, and I am also still puzzled as to how a serious Angela should act. Curious of my own serious capacity, my brain deduces that serious must be the opposite of true facts, knowledge, or experiences I make available about myself for others' evaluation. This must mean that if I am not serious, serious is not smiling, not laughing, not playing, not bringing cookies. But I know for a fact that some of those who question me have witnessed me not smiling, not laughing, not playing, or without cookies on occasion. Serious as a heart attack, maybe, since no one has never seen me have a heart attack? I like to say spontaneous and non-sensical things, so maybe serious is all in the vocabulary- Cuss words? Angry words? Talking about my experiences as a road rager? Pondering philosophy? Check. Check. Check. Check. Hummmmm….. I'm at a loss.

Oops. I just farted while typing. Please excuse me.

Then there’s the other part of never being serious- the image I am (or am not) projecting. I can’t help to wonder and worry that I am extinguishing credibility as a person capable of living a normal life, or worse creating credibility as someone who shouldn’t be taken seriously. I’m hesitant to accept those options, though, because my friends keep me around and people seem to be laughing with me and not at me. I am also still being offered professional jobs that require increasing amounts of responsibility, I don’t find mysterious packages of pharmaceuticals on my doorstep, and no one has caringly confronted me about visiting any types of medical services. Based on those factors alone, it seems like I'm in the 98th percentile for being a normal person who should be taken seriously.

Regardless, though, I wonder if I am somehow creating an unhealthy divide between the extroverted me and the introverted me (there’s a blog on Facebook about that that I may or may not have deleted yet, if you’re interested): the Angela that the world (or at least anyone I’ve ever met in a social setting when I’m not being “serious,” which apparently, is always) sees, and the Angela who likes to be quiet and alone or with just one other person… not smiling, laughing, or playing; things I imagine are considered "being serious." Where the introvert roams, you will find the Angela who likes dreaming big but acting small, ponders thoughts and feelings, researches investments, longs for love, considers the future, thinks about others while baking or knitting them stuff, gets angry, ruminates, writes, works for a non-profit from home, pets the cat, lays on the floor feeling overwhelmed, stares at an intimidating pile of laundry that seems absolutely unfoldable…. That’s a serious list, folks. Though many people may never see me actually participate in any of those activities, I don’t think of myself as a closet serious person. I just use it as needed. Like that knife. Let's continue to carve this turkey....

Chapter two: Carving This Turkey

Two people who overtly challenge my seriousness more than others are my good, good friends Matt and Kurt. These are two men who have been slowly, or not so slowly, trespassing into a certain black hole in my life, wherein fester infinite and unconditional friendship and appreciation. Matt is many, many wonderful and amazing things, and one of those things happens to be my “laughing counterpart.” Though that’s not his real title, nor is it mine, it should be, because one night a group of our good friends said that they don’t know anyone else who laughs more than Matt and Angela [and Hannah B. (an aside because I don’t want to confuse, but I do want to give due credit)], and therefore like us.

Matt is hilarious, in my opinion; a naturally funny guy. Plus he genuinely laughs at my stupid antics. I figure anyone who finds sense in my oddball humor has got to have a brilliant sense of humor of his own. I can easily imagine Matt being serious, though his default when I see him is smiley, light-hearted, and pleasant. I know Matt can be serious because he’s said it before. I’ve heard it: “I’m serious,” he'll plead. But usually, when he says it, he can’t help to crack a smiley. His girlfriend says he’s a goof. I say he’s friggin’ hilarious!

Kurt is Kurt. Honestly, there’s just no other way to describe him other than using his name. Yeah, Kurt. I’m talking about you. For those of you know don't know Kurt, though multi-facted is not the word I want, paradoxically he is so multi-faceted that using only one word to describe him would be insensitive. But for the sake of your wanting me to get to the point, already: Kurt can be really, really silly. Kurt’s not whoopee cushion or fake barf silly. He's more of a quiet, sly, looks-at-what-you-just-said-from-a-different-angle-that-you-didn’t-consider-and-didn’t-intend,-but-could-technically-be-true-and-you-can’t-deny-it,-so-you-become-completely-embarrassed-you-even-opened-your-mouth-while-Kurt-just-laughs-quietly-and-sits-back-satisfied-as-you-flounder-in-your-own-words-trying-to-re-prove-or-re-define-what-you-meant type of silly. Kurt’s say-off-the-wall-things-dryly-that-you-wouldn’t-understand-unless-you-are-on-the-same-track kind of silly. Catch-your-invisible-thoughts-and-make-them-obvious silly. Makes-shit-up-and-you-actually-believe-it silly. You get the idea. Because Kurt’s kind of silly is more subtle, I think it’s easier for me to imagine him belonging to a stern this-is-no-laughing-matter pedigree of seriousness. Plus I’ve heard him say “I’m serious” without smiling before. And boy, did he mean it.

So, anyway, with all this in mind, I’m having two silly guys asking me if I know how to not be silly ever. What am I, Bozo? How do I come off to the rest of the world, exactly? Supposedly these types of people are my friends because they appreciate me (which they say…), but really is it because they secretly feel sorry for me (which, maybe, now that I think of it, I think I also remember them saying…)?

Seriously, though, how do I transfer my seriousness into the public world? Do I need to? Should I? What if I'm the one who's onto something? Am I required to start a revolution or paradigm-shift for others to consider the art of serious fun-having?

Seriously, though *aaah! Now I can’t stop saying seriously! Transitional sentence, take two:* In all honestly, I think about the life I’ve lived and the life I have now, and I feel thankful and fulfilled. Though there are definitely areas of my life I would like to grow, harvest, or challenge, there is nothing really that I would change. Perhaps my blueprint was specifically designed to include non-serious structures and qualities that will serve some grand purpose in my future. Although I have no idea what that future may entail, I have enough support, experience, and concrete proof of divine intervention to give me all the hope I need that my days will continue to stitch themselves together into a life tailored perfectly for me. And if that tailored life takes shape as a white straight jacket and I am best suited for a destiny as a non-serious whack-job, so be it. At least I will die very, very happy and lookin' great. Seriously.