I think of comedy as a way of being in the world. When something goes horribly wrong, or we’re embarrassed beyond belief, we can choose to laugh it off. Or we can dwell over it, allowing the pain to consume us. We can choose a less stressful existence by choosing how to react: we can choose laughter.

But is it really that simple?

When our survivalist brain kicks into gear, there’s not room for much else. Is comedy a luxury available only to those who can afford to laugh things off? Life without access to water is not a joke.

When we’re suffering, is it possible to make ourselves laugh? I suppose the well-disciplined mind can find humor in everything, even extreme suffering, but most of us aren’t at that level.

Even when we’re not in survival situations–if we’ve just had one too many bad days in a row–we need someone else to make the joke first. Perhaps you’re on the couch recovering from getting your wisdom teeth out, or in the hospital bed every day due to a terminal illness. By yourself in that hospital room, you’ve got a TV, which means you have access to shows that can lift your spirits.

I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to help that man from Pakistan. I don’t know if he can choose laughter. If I were to tell him that my ideal job is to write for a comedy TV show, what would he say?