A young writer/friend of mine asked recently whether I found it hard to write comedy in the face of tragic events. The answer is, “I don’t know.” I haven’t written anything funny since September 9th. That’s when I turned in my piece about LA Car Chases. Gosh, I hope that was funny. It was meant to be. I think my funny-meter needs recalibrating now.

And it’s not just me.

As I write this essay, it is nine months since my mother passed away. I miss her every day. I remember, for the first few weeks after she died, I’d walk around, see people out in public, and wonder, “How can I know what loss you’ve experienced?” It occurred to me that we never know what someone else may be facing, yet we treat one another as if we know how we all feel. We haven’t a clue.

I considered grabbing an old essay, dusting it off, and turning it in, hoping that the humor would endure and that everyone would be satisfied with another cynical rant. And then I thought about the kids I mentor. I am a cyber-mentor to a handful of students at a school in New York. How can I ask them to let their feelings come through their writing, when I choose not to do the same?

So, what’s my point?

Well, I think it has something to do with an activity that takes place right outside my front door every day.

I live on the street that leads, although complicatedly, to the Hollywood Sign. The view from right in front of my apartment is awesome (in the non-’80s sense of the word). Every day, several cars stop right in front of my front door so that the drivers may get out, snap a quick photo of the sign, and then hop back in to see if they can get closer without getting lost (they cannot).

Recently, the neighbor across the street sat on her balcony, enjoying the view and a phone call. After a driver stopped and interrupted her to ask the best route toward the sign, she resumed her conversation, now complaining about the constant tourist parade we, the residents of the Hollywood Hills, endure. She was clearly very disturbed that she, because of where she lived, had to answer questions of non-English-speaking, elderly, or clueless tourists.

I say, pass the burden to me. I love where I live. I love my life. And I am well-aware of the fact that countless others wish they had the life that I, too frequently, take for granted.

So, is it hard to write comedy in the face of tragedy? Yes. Will I still do it? Yes. I must. I have worked my ass off to live the life I lead, and I do not take for granted a single gift included in this life. I miss my mother every day, but there is not a day she lived since my birth in which she doubted how much I loved her.

I love what I do. I love where I live. I love the people in my life. And I love giving complicated directions to gawking tourists in rental cars.

Bonnie Gillespie is living her dreams by helping others figure out how to live theirs. Wanna work with Bon? Start here. Thanks!