For the past ten years, I’ve been going 100 mph. Non-stop. I’d wake up early to go to work, then come home and immediately begin doing my actual work - comedy. I’d write jokes, send emails, organize shows and projects, then stay out as late as I could jumping from spot to spot. Full throttle, always gunning it and looking straight ahead toward a future so sweet I could sell it in a cupcake shop.
On March 15th my fully fueled rocket ship slammed into a brick wall. I didn’t see it coming, nor did anyone else. A large part of me believed that I had hit it with enough power that I would smash through, barely losing any speed. But we all know, that wasn’t the case.
Instead of annihilating the wall and watching it explode into oblivion, I’ve been forced to break it down, piece by piece. I’m physically removing each brick that was obstructing my path, putting them in my mouth, and painstakingly chewing my way through the hardened clay.
Does it hurt? Yes.
Is it an inconvenience? Yes.
Does it taste good? Fuck no. It's brick. Masticating through a single crumble is torture.
Luckily, my teeth are strong as fuck.
By having this forced sedation from the stage, I’ve learned a lot about myself. I never allowed myself to slow down because I was too afraid of the consequences. As long as I kept pushing, more opportunities would congeal out of the gutters of slime that we commonly refer to as the entertainment industry.
Tenacity was always at the forefront of my mentality. GO GO GO! Don’t stop to ask for directions. If I get lost, I’ll find my way back and relish in the lessons learned from my unplanned excursions.
I didn’t always want to do my work, but I could justify it by going on stage. Maybe I didn’t write that pilot or shoot that sketch, but my invitingly delicious black tar heroin known as stand up comedy was always available. As the yellows of the day transitioned into the blacks of night, my veins would pop out causing my otherwise unnoticeable bloodstream to resemble a road map across my skin. They would burst at the seams waiting for audiences to inject them with laughter, at which point my entire body would enter a state of relaxation and euphoria that few will ever come to know.
Stand up is my drug. Along with a bunch of other actual drugs but let’s face it; All of those are synthetic versions of what I really want, the energy, approval, and pure joy of other humans. As much as I love candy-flipping, it can never come close to what I feel when I have the total attention and control of a room that has come to listen to the random silly anecdotes I’ve concocted in my comedy cauldron.
It’s a feeling that simply cannot be replaced with likes, retweets, and shares (but please for the love of all that is holy keep giving me those in the meantime). Without live comedy, I’ve had to mentally tackle emotions that haven’t come up in years.
I thought I had beat depression. Ha! Turns out it was lying dormant in the backseat while I was busy putting the pedal to the metal. I never stopped to turn around, so I never realized it was still there, waiting to poke its ugly, unmasked face. Remember me, motherfucker?? Get ready for a wave of sadness to wash over your entire existence.
Same goes for anxiety. By continually moving, I didn’t ever stop and face the things I was afraid of. I know fear is present but who’s got the time? I planned to grab my life by the balls and pleasurably twist until I came hot joke juice all over the world. I can’t measure my worries if I never let them pierce the surface.
Slowing down is for wimps. Real artists push through the pain to get where they want. Remember the prince in Sleeping Beauty? He tore his way through miles of thorns and brambles because he knew what was waiting on the other side. If I slog my way through shit gigs, open mics, atrocious bombs, eventually I’m going to arrive at a clearing of this torrid forest. I’ll kiss my perfect future on the mouth, waking it up to infinite possibilities of happiness and love. In a totally non-rapey way of course. Consent is the epitome of sexiness.
So here I am. Opening my eyes to a daily struggle to figure out what to do with myself. I’ll go on long walks, read in the park, write in my journal, meditate. Those are the days when I win. Other days I can’t stop refreshing the endless barrage of shit known as Twitter and Instagram or playing Words with Friends with people who are definitely not my friends.
Who am I without the stage? What do I do with all this energy brewing inside of me? It doesn’t dissipate so I need to find ways to redirect it.
Luckily, I’ve found a few things that have helped tremendously.
Protesting. Joining a cause that I believe in has made my presence feel needed again. Being a tiny part of a huge movement has inspired me in all sorts of new ways. It’s taken the importance off of myself and allowed me to find compassion in my fellow humans.
Fundraising. Finding charitable organizations that I believe in couldn’t be easier thanks to social media. My friend Tema and I have raised over a thousand dollars by doing Instagram Lives. I can watch in real-time as friends and fans donate money to try and make the world a more suitable place for all of its babies.
Writing. I did force myself to finally bang out a pilot. It doesn’t quite have its wings yet but the base and general idea for where I want it to go is laid out with some very funny scenes and characters. It was a way for me to crank out jokes and be productive without needing an audience.
Pickling. Yes, you read that correctly and it’s not some weird sexual term (please don’t google it). I began making my own pickles and kimchi even though it was never an interest of mine. I simply needed an activity and one that I could be proud of the results. And let me tell you, they have been absolutely scrumptious.
For ten years, I thought about myself and how I could thrive. Sure I did it with love, but it was always for the betterment of my own life. But coming to this dead stop has opened something inside of me that I don’t think I would have discovered without slamming into an invisible barrier.
I’ve always been compassionate, but now I have time to really see the struggles of those not like myself. Whether it be gender, skin color, socioeconomic status, sexuality, or whatever the hell makes you different from me, I finally understand the injustices that are stricken among those that are not straight white men. Now that I’ve got the knowledge and time, I can educate myself on how to be better going forward. I can read books, watch documentaries, listen to the struggles of those who have been oppressed. When you realize how unfair it all is, it’s almost impossible to not get involved in this worldwide revolution.
I can’t say this shutdown is beneficial for me. But it has compelled me to view the world with a fresh set of peepers. The smoke from my bong has cleared and the haze has settled. My career is not the most important thing in the world. Doing what’s right, fighting for what I believe in, doing my damndest to make sure I’m on the right side of history, that’s what’s paramount right now.
Eventually, I’ll have gnarled my way through these durable bricks and I can start flying again. And honestly, I can’t wait to be sweating under those bright lights.
Until then, I’m going to keep taking in the lessons that are being showered on me from every direction. Since I can’t stand on stage and talk, I might as well sit up and listen. I’ve never been very good at it, but now is the perfect time to learn.
