My high school English teacher told us something I’ve been trying to disprove ever since with no success: that all humor is surprise. She said surprise is the core element that makes anything funny. If you fully, completely, expected something to happen, there’s no way you’re going to laugh at it. That was her theory, and she was adamant. At the time I disliked this theory, for I always considered humor something ineffable and mysterious, without rules or formulas or codes. And yet, It’s been over a decade, and I have yet to see any evidence that Ms. Firth was wrong. Nothing can be funny without surprise.

To be fair, it’s an oversimplification. Surprise may be necessary, but it isn’t sufficient to make something funny. Humor isn’t just surprise. I can surprise my friends by punching them in the nose and they aren’t going to giggle. Disasters are usually surprising. Cancer diagnoses are surprising. They are not funny. But on the other hand, let's say you're at a church for a funeral and someone farts really loudly. You think nobody's even going to crack a smile? I can only speak for myself. But I sincerely hope someone does that at mine.

I think there’s something really fundamental about surprise to the human experience. It isn’t just about humor, life without surprise would be a sad facsimile in many ways. Can you be romantically attracted to someone whose every word and gesture you can predict? Would sports be interesting at all if we knew exactly how the game would play out? Hell, it’s almost Christmas as I write this. Why do we even bother wrapping up gifts? Just so we can tear the wrapping off and be surprised. It’s not just about the gift. It’s about the anticipation, and the moment of revelation. It’s the ritual of wrapping, concealing, and unwrapping gifts that makes Christmas feel like Christmas. (. . .that, and, y’know. Jesus.)

The opposite of surprise is, I suppose, predictability. And predictability is downstream from control. The more we can control, the more we can predict, the more we can avoid surprise. This brings safety and comfort. These things are important. But here’s my point: we might benefit from cultivating surprise in our lives the same way we cultivate control.

Maybe they aren’t even opposites! Surprise and Control, I mean. Maybe they’re like the salt and pepper of a life well lived. So what would it look like to cultivate both?

Here’s an example from my own life. In my work, our team periodically gives presentations to show what we’ve accomplished. We all take turns, and since public speaking is stressful for most people, some are more comfortable with it than others. We all have our strengths, and I have over time garnered a reputation for being pretty good at giving these presentations. I have two dirty secrets: the first is, I actually enjoy it. Always have, ever since school. The second, and this is where my point comes in, is that I think I’ve figured out my approach. My approach is basically this: over prepare, and then improvise.

It’s inspired by one of my favorite journalists, Cal Fussman, who has produced some of the best written interviews I’ve ever read in his What I’ve Learned column at Esquire Magazine. And he describes his preparation process as such: in the days and weeks leading up to the interview, he reads and consumes everything he can get his hands on about his subject, everything they’ve done or written. He researches obsessively and writes down every single question he has for the person. He literally writes down everything he wants to know, and everything he wants to talk about, on a sheet of paper. And when the day of the interview comes, he folds that paper up, puts it in his pocket, and never looks at it again. From there, it’s nothing but a free-flowing, organic conversation. He doesn’t try to steer or direct it in any particular way. He has all of his research and preparation in the back of his mind, and they inform him as he and his interlocutor explore the conversation together, but where it ultimately goes, he says, is always a mystery.

I have completely stolen this approach for presentations. I write down everything I want to cover. Arrange everything I will need so it's ready and available. Record myself running through it on my own once or twice. Find the speed bumps and smooth things out. This preparation acts as my sandbox. It lets me relax in the moment, trust in my preparedness, and play with the experience as it unfolds in real time. Who knows what kind of questions I’m going to get? Or what new time constraints might pop up? And if I’ve ever made a joke that landed, I can guarantee it came to me in the moment, and was not something I prepared the night before.

I think preparation, preparedness and control exist not to eliminate surprise, but to facilitate it in the best possible way. Without the guardrails of control, unpredictability and surprise threaten us. They are snakes in the grass. What could go wrong? But after you have dutifully planned, arranged, and controlled what you can control, something wonderful emerges. The opportunity to play and be surprised. Athletes practice so they can improvise on the court. I prepare so I can improvise in presentations. You bring your best self to the date, so you can relax and see what the evening brings. It's all the same: you work to put the pieces in place, press play, and see how the game plays out. The same thing applies to sports, romance, public speaking, whatever. Ultimately, there are so many things we will never be able to control or predict. Life is tragic enough already with all of the surprises that cause us pain. The least we can do is learn to appreciate the occasional funeral fart.