I never thought I’d go back.
After being exiled from the America’s Got Talent stage in Season 13, I didn’t think I’d be welcomed, let alone invited. A barrage of angry fans, hundreds of messages ranging anywhere from petty scorn to actual death threats, and a genuine internal feeling that I had completed my task all led me to believe that this experience was once in a lifetime.
But then...the internet spoke up.
Over the past two years, I have learned a valuable lesson: I don’t need everyone to like me.
Sometimes that’s a difficult message for an artist because criticism lies in wait around every corner like a predatory thief ready to steal your soul. But it’s true. I don’t.
The reaction to my first performance on the show flabbergasted me. Over 75 million views and thousands of people still watch it every day. I struck a proper nerve because since it’s release, this cut has never stopped bleeding.
One day it hit me. What if this wasn’t a singular moment? What if I could go back, with a new approach, and do it all over again?
So I contacted the producers and told them my plan. I could practically hear their saliva hitting the floor through my phone. I was in.
Six days before I auditioned for the current season, I did a weekend retreat to heal my body and mind. If you’re not familiar with plant medicine, it has been used for millennia to dramatically improve the lives of people who may not be able to figure out what they need. Addiction, generational trauma, guilt, shame, blocked memories, it doesn’t matter. What grows from the earth knows how to replenish our soul. If you allow her, she will reveal deep truths within yourself.
To say it’s magnificent is an understatement. My experience was enlightening. I saw and felt both the new and familiar. All of it with a powerful magnifying glass that illuminated parts of my psyche I had been ignoring.
In one moment, hours into my spiritual quest, I was transported to the AGT stage. I looked out over the same 3000 people that had ostracized me after my first performance. I stared into the eyes of the four judges as they anxiously waited for me to open my mouth. I flipped my tail one time for good luck and began…
Cut to one week later. It’s March 14th. I arrived on set to shoot my audition. I have already been informed there will be no audience. While I’m disappointed, I’m not scared. I’ve been doing comedy in LA for 11 years. No one is more prepared for this than me.
I’d only been there an hour when they sent 75% of the crew home. Story producers, backstage cameramen, PA’s, everyone who was not essential to shooting that day packed up and left. There was still another week of auditions but none of them were going to happen.
“We’ll get to as many of you as we can,” they assured us. None of us knew what to believe.
I sat in the giant waiting room. A room that is normally a flurry of scales being sung, dancers polishing their routines, a mother wiping the snot from her monster child that has been forced into a life she could never have for herself.
But today, SILENCE.
This is when COVID-19 began to be more than a “possible worry” for me. I already had 3 shows canceled that week but I assumed it was simply overprotective measures. Now, sitting in this room of brightly-colored rainbow people from across the globe, I knew that this was much worse than I ever imagined.
Thankfully I had two friends auditioning to help appease the situation. John Hastings and Sam Brillhart are both comedians I’d worked with before. In any social situation, especially one where we are competing, comics cling to each other for comfort like a small child holding their mommy’s hand in a crowded subway car. We crack jokes, drink coffee, eat the ridiculously shitty sandwiches that are shoved in a fridge by someone who has never played Tetris. Being around like-minded individuals makes time move in a place where it often does anything but.
While the nerves bludgeoned me from the inside out, I did what I always do before a big performance. Find a quiet space, away from everyone, and meditate. Just breathe. Thank the universe for all she has given me. I remind myself numerous times: This is what you were born to do.
I’m waiting backstage to go on. The act before me is a marching band and even without an audience, I can tell this is one hell of an act to follow. They have energy, excitement, loud music, and everything else that goes into the perfect AGT package. Following this will be an uphill battle. Fortunately, I love being the underdog.
A week before, when I had been under the guise of my transcendental earth mother, I had seen through my own eyes exactly what was going to happen. The judges remembered me. I’d make my “apology”. And as soon as I started spitting jokes, they laughed. This isn’t the same as the first time. This time, they get me.
Of course, in my vision, the crowd was there and the reaction was overwhelmingly positive. Some of them still didn’t like me, but that didn’t matter. As I said at the top, I don’t focus on them. If I’m not for you, that’s OK. I’ll find my people.
Aside from the audience, everything else I pictured came to life as it had in my mind. They not only got my act, but I could see the thrill on their faces as I lit them up one by one. In my previous encounter on that stage, I couldn’t hear anything. I was being drowned out by the groundlings that had been swept off the street and into a theatre with the promise of a free T-shirt. This time the only faces I saw were Howie Mandel ( a turtle who’s been burned alive), Sofia Vergara (a backup rodeo clown), and Simon Cowell (an overdone tater tot.)
As I finished I did my standard pirouette (as any fancy boy does) and received my standing ovation. It was only three judges, but that’s all I needed. I was there to win their approval. And I got it.
Simon: “You’re such a dick. Please come back and insult us again.”
Sofia: I love everything. Your outfit, your jokes, your tail. I can’t wait to be destroyed.”
Howie: “I was wrong about you the first time. You’re absolutely hilarious.”
Redemption was mine! I had stared down the belly of the beast. And that takes talent. Or at the very least, a huge set of balls that I’d squeezed into my unitard a few hours before.
Even without the audience, I knew I had accomplished what very few others have ever done on the show. I came back after being eliminated, performed a similar act, and drank from the cup of success.
I pranced off stage with the supreme knowledge that I had claimed my trophy. What had been merely a dream a year before had now come to fruition. It felt wonderful. And now, I get to go back and do it again.
Quarantine began the very next day. As I’m writing this, it’s officially been over four months of stay-at-home orders. While I’m extremely grateful for having this moment under these extreme conditions, there is one thought that keeps plaguing me: I wish when the medicine was devouring the negativity in my body, it had thrown in a quick addendum about Coronavirus.
It wouldn’t have changed anything. But I would have bought stock in a puzzle company.
BONUS TREAT:
Since they cut my Sofia jokes in the final edit, I’m going to share them with you here.
Sofia is from Columbia. If you’ve ever heard her speak you know I don’t mean the university.
You sound like a chihuahua in a blender set to high.
I can’t think of one reason why you’re famous. But I can think of two!