There’s so more that goes into doing stand up than just
writing some jokes that trigger laughter in dark clubs that require a two drink
minimum. I’m sure it won’t come as any
surprise to say that it also takes a measure of courage to stand in front of a
group of people and talk. But it takes
real guts to expose your fears, vulnerabilities and all the goofy things that
make you, you.
Going to class every week, I had the rare privilege of
watching other people in the class evolve. I found myself wondering what it would be like
to run a school like this. I saw that my
teacher juggle multiple roles: part Sherpa, part parent, part therapist,
full-time comic and sometimes drinking buddy.
Class was like the Our Gang clubhouse where “girlz” were allowed. The studio was a place where people aired out
their lives in complete safety. For
some, what started out as a bucket list item became the flicker of a new career
dream. For others, it was the “me” time
they needed away from family and work demands. Most of us discovered new friendships
that were instantly and deeply important. What about the school teacher/grandmother who
is raising her grandkids? She found a
place to be blue and we laughed until we cried.
It was safe and wild at the same time.
We dug around in our lives for something to joke about and confessed all
the unfunny things that were happening to us in the days between class because
we knew that’s where the comedy gold was.
Almost everyone struck a vein worth mining.
Despite our differences, we found each other’s stories
compelling and relatable. There’s the
girl who smokes a little too much pot and has a boyfriend no one particularly
trusts or likes. Hard to resist her reaction
-- No one else has to fuck him, so why should you care? She’s right… unless he breaks her heart and
she winds up sofa surfing until she gets her feet back under her. Perhaps the most profound event was also the
most heartbreaking and brave. One
comedian lost his dad quite unexpectedly and he managed to share the story of
pulling the plug as one of the most honest, real and funny things any of us
ever heard. Everyone who heard him felt what he was saying. It
was, indeed, a privilege.
People survive divorce.
People survive cancer. People
survive, but not without wounds that get broken wide open when they decide to
stand up and joke about it. Should you try
your hand at comedy? If you aren’t
willing to be truthful about who you are and accept that you are an average
fucking snowflake that’s unique just like all the other fucking snowflakes out there,
then no. You don’t have the guts.
But I double dog dare you to give it a try.
