My laugh has gone through many iterations during my lifetime. Perhaps yours has too.

As a child, I laughed like Ernie from Sesame Street. In my pre-teens, I added a snort; in my teens, a long sucking-in of air; and in college, a high-pitched cackle. I sounded like a hyperventilating seal.

People laughed when I laughed. “We’re laughing with you,” they’d say.

People laughed when I laughed. “We’re laughing with you,” they’d say. But I knew they were laughing at me, because they continued to laugh long after I had stopped. Some people even instructed me to laugh on command, as if I were a circus act for hire.

In my senior year of college, I made a decision to change my laugh. I remember the moment. It was December break. We were on a family vacation in Los Angeles, and I was exercising on the floor of my aunt and uncle’s guest bedroom.

…I made a decision to change my laugh.

“Ha, ha, ha,” I experimented, as I lay on my back in pelvic tilt position.

“What are you doing?” my sister Sarina shouted from the next room.

“Nothing.” I turned onto my side and began the scissors kick. “Ha-ha, ha-ha,” I laughed in what I thought was a whisper.

“Elana, what are you doing?” Sarina shouted again.

“Nothing! Nothing!”

A moment later my sister stood over me.

“Okay! I’ll tell you,” I said. “But promise you won’t laugh.”

“I promise,” she said.

“And promise you won’t tell anyone.”

“I promise,” she said.

“I’m trying to change my laugh. I’m applying for jobs. I need a professional laugh.”

My sister laughed so hard she had to brush the tears from her cheeks.

“You promised you wouldn’t laugh!” I said turning away from her.

“Right,” she said. “Sorry.” She left the room, still wiping. Undeterred, I continued my experiment, trying on laughs like some try on clothes. One laugh was too demure. Another, too wimpy. All, too artificial. The laughs I tried on didn’t fit. How could they? They weren’t mine. I had no alternative but to stick with my laugh. At least, I was used to it.

It’s been 29 years since I graduated college. Twenty-nine years filled with jobs, relationships, degrees, a marriage and a child, and to this day I continue to laugh like a hyperventilating seal. No more snort. No more cackle. Just one long medium-pitched sucking in of air after another.

I asked the 20 elders attending my study session to describe my laugh. No one spoke. No one made eye contact.

One morning, a woman in the retirement community where I work came up to me. “I couldn’t stop laughing during our exercise class,” she said. “Every time I bent over and I heard your laugh in the background, I had to stand up, because I was laughing so hard I was afraid I’d fall over.”

Later that morning, I asked the 20 elders attending my study session to describe my laugh. No one spoke. No one made eye contact. No one whispered to his or her neighbor. The room was silent. No one wanted to insult the rabbi.

“Please,” I said. “I need your help. What do I sound like? Don’t worry. You won’t insult me.”

The elders shifted in their chairs. Their eyes focused on their feet. Finally, the same woman who had buttonholed me earlier spoke up. “Something not human. Something animal-like. Maybe a hyena.”

Gasps of shock.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ve been told I laugh like a hyena before. It’s not like my laugh’s a secret. You all know I’m in the building before you see me.”

Sighs of relief.

It’s taken me years, but I’ve come to appreciate my laugh.

Since that morning, I’ve read dozens of Website articles on laughter. Did you know that laughter reduces stress hormones, leads to bonding in groups, and is recognized as therapeutic by an increasing number of mental health professionals? One doctor even claimed that 20 seconds of deep laughter gives the heart the same workout as three minutes of hard rowing.

It’s taken me years, but I’ve come to appreciate my laugh. No longer am I annoyed when people laugh at my laugh. No longer am I annoyed when people request me to laugh on command. I’ve come to understand that the laugh I once thought would be a professional liability has become a professional asset. I’m known by my laugh. And if my laughter contributes to my health and to the health of our society, I’m satisfied. So, join in. Transform yourself through your laughter. Transform those around you with your laughter. Contribute to your health and to the health of our society. The more laughter the better.