Learning to let go with a ho-ho-ho
Some find healing on the laugh track
From the sidewalk, you can hear them - explosions of laughter from the white clapboard church.
"Ah-ho-ho-ho-ho!"
"Eeeh-heh-heh-heh-heh!"
There are high-pitched Wicked Witch cackles; donkey brays; deep belly chuckles; and "Whooh!" shrieks like the reaction to the down-drop of a roller coaster.
But what's so funny?
"Absolutely nothing," asserts Wakefielder Bonnie Hobbs, an otherwise soft-spoken secretary leading the chortling chorus assembled in the Unitarian Universalist Church in downtown Wakefield. "We laugh for no reason."
Despite the fact that "LOL" (Webinese for laugh out loud) has become a cliche of the harried Internet age, laughter, it seems, is endangered - stifled by responsibility, economic frets, and the simple burdens of adulthood.
It is the job of "laughter clubs" to battle the trend.
The clubs have formed in Arlington, Wakefield, and Somerville, and the "laughter leaders" who direct them say dedicated bouts of chuckling can provide a trove of mental and physical benefits.
According to Laughter Yoga International, an extended session of laughing provides a solid diaphragm and abdominal workout; it's also said to diminish stress, depression, blood pressure, arthritis, and asthma, and boost the lungs and immune system.
"You're taking your internal organs for a jog," said Amanda Melhenbacher, a co-leader of the Wakefield Laugh Club.
At least 6,000 such giggle gatherings - all non-profits - have formed around the world since 1995, according to Laughter Yoga International, the organization that oversees them.
Club participants range from doctors and psychologists to Little Leaguers accompanying their moms. To stimulate snickers, members partake in various quirky miming exercises (anything from pretending to dunk a basketball, to simulating a trolley ride). Similarly, they're encouraged to practice on their own - some giggle at their plants, others in the shower, many more bray in the car.
In the beginning, it can be a little awkward.
"What am I doing this for?" Fran Demiany, of Wakefield, recalled of her first meeting at her hometown club. "I don't laugh at nothing. It was strange at first."
Admittedly, it sounds a little crazy, noted Hobbs and her Wakefield Laugh Club co-leaders, Mehlenbacher and Sue Herz. That's why, they explained, they always point out the exits at the beginning of each session.
But once people move beyond the initial oddity of it all, they build a "laugh connection," Hobbs noted. "We are all just here in that moment."
Facilitating these sessions of hilarity takes more training than you might imagine; it's essentially organized and disciplined laughter, based on what's known as Hasya, or laughter, yoga. Leaders must be certified; many have done so directly with workshops led by the "Guru of Giggling" himself, Madan Kataria, an Indian doctor who founded the laughter mission.
Each gathering begins with an introduction: All attendees, whether they know each other or not, shout out their name in turn, and the return greeting is a wallop of chuckles.
"Fran!" Came the cry during an animated Wakefield session recently.
The 21 assembled in the room responded with a chorus of shrieks and hee-haws.
"Bob!" LOLs and snickers.
"Bonnie." Chuckles and claps.
After the pleasantries came the crux of the meeting: a series of short exercises.
Leader Hobbs first demonstrated each exercise (this afternoon they were all sports themed); then the group circulated, miming dunking baskets (jump, hand flip, laugh), skating on slick ice (tentative feet shuffle, chuckle), and catching fly balls (hop, hands up, pleasant shriek).
Later, they lined up for the "trolley" - snorting, tittering, gyrating, jittering, hands up in the air and swaying left, right, backwards, forwards, to simulate a rumbling car.
With each vibrant display, the laughter cycled on and off, like a track to a sitcom - erupting suddenly, then stopping like someone hit the mute button.
"It opens up a wonderful avenue of laughter without having to worry about dirty jokes," participant Dennis Buckley noted afterwards, wiping the sweat from his shiny dome. The retired firefighter, from Lynnfield, brays with confidence; his is a deep, highly contagious bass.
Indeed, nearly all of the drills are merry and wholesome - participants have "visited" chocolate factories and casinos; "credit card laughter" and "Murphy's Law laughter" alleviate more tense scenarios. But in the end, leaders say, the reason to laugh isn't important.
"You don't need Jay Leno, you don't need Ellen DeGeneres, or whoever hits your funny bone," Herz said
And ultimately, it's a spontaneous, irreverent practice with dramatic payoffs.
"It totally changed my life," asserted Lorraine Lombardo, of Everett, a newly-certified leader who participates in the Wakefield and Arlington clubs.
So often as kids, we're told to "behave, be quiet," said Lombardo, who does facials and spa treatments for a living. But laughter, by nature, lures people, she said, and it also helps in tense situations - such as in the car, when rage and frustration threaten.
"Ninety-five percent of the time, I feel better using my laughter," said Lombardo. "If people would just brush off sadness and encourage laughter, everyone would be more at peace." 