My repertoire of walking routes has expanded. As I’ve been taking more and more walks in my neighborhood, it seems I have come up with more and more paths to fit the occasion or my mood.

I have come to expect certain sights along different routes. When I walk down Leland, I know I will see the house with the exquisite yard and 18 bird houses hanging from a great oak tree. If I walk west, I will see the neighborhood’s housing stock change from mostly single-family homes to two-flats to red or blond brick courtyard buildings. Sometimes though, I’ll encounter the unexpected, and I will just come to a complete standstill simply because I see something I’ve never seen before.

Last week, I was walking on a dead-end street not three blocks away and saw an oddly detailed maroon van. Parked between other cars as if it was no big deal, I noticed that a large swatch of its side was painted with the image of Dan Aykroyd, Saturday Night Live alumnus and favorite son from Second City and Blues Brothers days. Next to the familiar grinning face, scrawled in yellow paint, as if written by a kindergartener, were the words “Van Aykroyd.”

I burst into a wide grin. I laughed out loud.

Then I got a little self-conscious. I started to ask myself questions. Was this van always parked here and I somehow missed it? Can anyone see me? I must look like a real goofball, I thought, standing on the sidewalk, laughing like this. And anyhow, what’s so funny?

A good question. What makes me laugh? Some people run brain scanning programs continually so they can insert puns into conversations. Puns are a risky sort of humor. Sometimes, I think they’re extremely clever. Sometimes I don’t get the pun right away and I feel stupid. And sometimes, they simply make me groan. You can see one coming seconds before its spewed out of the punster’s mouth.

I like listening to people telling jokes, but I realize my enjoyment is often less from the shock of the punch line than it is from seeing an unpracticed speaker trying to personalize a funny story while being true to the way he first heard the joke told to him. People can be so vulnerable and charming in their efforts to be entertaining.

I am not normally one for slapstick comedy or for burlesque. I usually like things that are ironic, clever and use words well. I go gaga over Stephen Colbert and his nightly news show; over the top exaggeration with a scary amount of truth (or should I say truthiness?).

Of course, I had to Google my Van Aykroyd sighting. I found out that it was done by a famous street artist who also created a similar visage on vehicle piece called Vanny DeVito. But the facts of the encounter mattered less than the laughter. I really yucked it up. Alone. Right there on the sidewalk.

I love to laugh. I think most people do. I have shelled out cover charges for comedy clubs and learned how to set up DVR recordings of 30 Rock (which, I think airs 4 times a day) because I want to believe I have a little rapid synapse firing Liz Lemon in me. But my Van Aykroyd moment was special. It reminded me that I don’t need script-writers or stand-up specialists to make me laugh. I just need to keep my eyes open to what’s in front of me and keep my mind tuned up to see incongruities in what I come across naturally.

I can laugh at myself or laugh at my own thinking when I am willing to see contradictions. I can laugh at the world when I see something surprising or when I decide it’s really okay not to take everything heart attack seriously.

Knowing you can make yourself laugh is no small thing.