Learning How to Be Silly (Again)

Children laugh - on average - 300 times a day. Adults, about 17. Somewhere between homework and quarterly reports, we traded in our giggles for gravitas. We call it professionalism, maturity, or leadership. There's even an unspoken rule on LinkedIn (which is quickly evolving) that the only posts worthy of sharing are career changes, company milestones, or trending videos masquerading as leadership insights, with the ever-so annoying (but not so obvious) pat on the proverbial back. But statistically, laughing and letting one's hair down is in decline among adults: a measurable loss of spontaneous joy. 

For most of my early life, I lived in the serious camp. I started college at fifteen, built/sold a company before I was 21, and learned early that intellect was kind of social currency. That was culturally heightened for me living in Sweden when I was out walking my half-wolf half-Siberian dog (Tryggve) only to feel like socializing was a game of jeopardy I hadn't studied for. But everywhere we look, the faster we think, the fewer mistakes we make; the fewer mistakes, the more doors open. Seriousness became the core operating system by which 20-something me operated. It worked - until it didn't. 

Because when you lead long enough you start to see what humorless systems produce: tension, hierarchy, brittle logic, and people too afraid to innovate (or speak up). Just like how schools "kill creativity" - so too do corporate environments, stifling both humor and innovation in the process. By the time I hit my early 30s, I started to recognize that efficiency without levity breeds fear. And fear doesn't build anything worth inheriting. 

Mind you I've lived with levity - legally - since 2011, when I officially changed my last name to Laughing. The epiphany I had was that life was too short to be so serious and that doing seriously good work didn't require a serious mindset. On the contrary. Coming up with novel solutions to complex challenges requires out of the box thinking, or thinking about what you can do with the box you've been given. Both apply. 

Since this time I have delivered some seriously complex projects across the globe. I paused blogging here in HTTF to meet the demands of a career that took me to over twenty countries, that required I pack (sometimes with less than 24 hours notice) and drag my family across the globe, regardless of prior plans. I'm not complaining. It was the nature of the role, serving as global CEO. But the more serious I presented myself on LinkedIn, in meetings, and in research communities, the less silly or joyful I became. I stopped writing for fun. I stopped doodling my Stick Figures, and I stopped laughing. Imagine, Sophy Laughing not laughing. 

So, lately I've been unlearning the overcorrection. I'm learning how to be silly again. Not the forced kind that comes with corporate "team building" (I never liked that), but genuine absurdity: where laughter isn't permissioned and curiosity isn't edited for optics. Granted, I no longer serve as Chief Executive Officer of Cobeal, but I remain on the legal advisory board and have a vested interest in the company's success. I just can't sign off on the whole "boring as melba toast" marketing strategy that most corporate partners want to portray. In fact, the people who have made Cobeal successful are the same people who don't compress complex challenges into canned responses. They are the people who dare to experiment, who are resourceful and inventive, and who don't stop noodling on a client's issue long after the project has been delivered. These are the kind of people I like working with because innovative thinking is what we need to propel our world forward. Pretending smart people are a bunch of stiff shirts doesn't do anyone any good, and it certainly doesn't help those smart people solve complex problems for clients - who have enough on their plate. They need solid partners to come to the table with a relaxed open mind, ready to be part of the solution, rather than adding more stress and conflict. And you can't come to the table openminded unless you lighten up a bit. 

But this isn't as easy as it sounds. In fact, it's an advanced practice. Reclaiming silliness requires intelligence, restraint, and courage. It means dismantling the mental structures that insist everything must have a deliverable. It means remembering that play is not the opposite of productivity: it's often the engine behind it. 

When I watch groups like Portland's Secret Roller Disco, I see that same energy in motion: silliness as subversion, joy as a tactic. A skating protest might look ridiculous, but so did half of the great revolutions when they began. Play has always been political. The laugh, the costume, the dance ... all ways of saying you don't own my spirit. Can't get any more creative than that! 

After decades of navigating law, contracts, and geopolitics, I've come to believe that sincerity, genuine interest, and the ability to laugh freely, in defiance of structure and in celebration of living, may be the most serious leadership we never teach.