Over years of guiding white-water rafting trips through the wild mountain rivers of southern Oregon, I have witnessed moments that still surge through my memory like the currents themselves. Recollections of black bears, curious otters, and mountain lions mingle with the thunder of helicopters scooping water from the river to battle nearby bushfires.
Yet what lingers most is the memory of evenings around the campfire after a long day on the river. Laughter rose softly from tired bodies through the smoke and starlight, working its quiet medicine on all of us.
When a river guide tells a story at his own expense, admits to a blunder, or when someone shares a quirky, rap-like rhyme that gently teases our masculine habits, something opens. The silliness and laughter seem to loosen the body and disarm bravado; they open a door to honesty. For a moment, the air feels lighter, and the glow of the fire touches places usually hidden by silence. In that space, laughter connects, it heals, and it reminds us that vulnerability and strength can share the same breath.
But there is another kind. In pubs, locker rooms, or bachelor parties, laughter can sometimes be sharp and cruel. For too many decades I have watched men bond by putting women or gay men down, often through jokes that the group rewards with laughter. The sound may be the same, but the effect is the opposite. Instead of opening hearts, it closes them, rewarding ridicule and punishing empathy.
The difference lies in intent. Campfire laughter lifts everyone; some pub laughter does too, yet other kinds can push someone out. One builds belonging, the other feeds exclusion. Around the fires, supported by my fellow river guides who at times wore counsellor hats, I saw how, when guided with care, humour can become a bridge to humility rather than a weapon for dominance. It reminds us that joy and compassion can live comfortably within men, and that real strength begins where ridicule ends.
Here is my quirky take on it...
Two Laughs
One kind of laugh can lift the soul,
it joins the heart and makes us whole.
By firelight or river bend,
it heals the wound, it helps us mend.
Another kind can cut and bruise,
mocking hearts it dares to use.
It builds a wall, it shuts the gate,
feeds the fear, and fuels the hate.
So choose your laughter, true and kind,
the one that frees, not traps the mind.
For when we laugh to lift, not shove,
our humour turns to healing love.
By Pip Cornall, The ManGood Project