The First Time I Did Standup

It has been over 10 years since I first performed standup

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In March of 2007, I dipped my toes into the realm of improv comedy, joining Central Michigan University's improv club to hone my comedic skills and break out of my shell. That group would introduce me to some incredible people who inspired me to challenge my perception of myself.

One of those individuals was a person by the name of Danny Crowle, a quirky and neurotic fellow who I connected with on many levels, perhaps because of my own neuroticism and because I needed someone to cut through the bullshit. Danny was one of the most brutally honest people I have ever met.

We would spend plenty of late nights discussing our dreams for the future, how we wanted to be involved in comedy or theatre in some capacity, and how we didn't want to end up working jobs that didn't inspire us.

I took the next semester off to resettle myself after a chaotic semester

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During this time, I dealt with one of the most extreme bouts of depression I've ever experienced. The kind that keeps you in bed most of the day, incapable of facing anyone, most especially myself. Feeling alienated from yourself is one of the worst feelings in the world, and I wouldn't wish it upon anyone.

It took me many months to pull myself out of this everpresent looming darkness. Fighting my depression made things worse, and it was only the act of accepting this feeling as being part of a difficult growth spurt that finally got me out of this situation.

During this time, Danny had graduated and was getting ready to move to Chicago to start a job at a radio station. I didn't see him prior to his move, and I would never get the chance to again.

On the first day of 2008, I received the news that Danny had died in a car accident.

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It was the first time I had ever experienced the loss of a friend. I had learned of his death through a friend's facebook status, an unfortunate symptom of our hyper-connected world.

I didn't really know how to make sense of the experience. Asking why seemed like a dead end, one that would never fully satisfy my grief.

Instead of wallowing in my sadness and anger over the event, I decided to use this terrible event as a catalyst to push myself to get back on stage. Life doesn't always give you the second chance to pursue your passion, and there are no guarantees of rectification.

In January of 2008, I performed standup for the first time

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I had returned to CMU for the spring semester and the fire to take it to the stage had been lit. I was alive and able to pursue my dreams, so I had no excuse.

I prepared a small setlist of jokes and signed up for an open mic at the school's cafeteria. In hindsight, my jokes weren't the best, but it didn't matter.

As soon as I picked up the microphone, I knew things were going to go well. Many times in life, the fear of something is far worse than the act itself, and this was certainly the case with my first time performing standup.

I was immediately comfortable, so much so that I cracked a few unplanned jokes that came to me in the moment. It was exhilarating. My low expectations allowed me to perform at a high level. I felt like a natural, like I would conquer the world of comedy in no time.

Of course, this was a bit of beginners luck

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I would bomb my next few performances. My heightened expectations sabotaged my ability to perform at a similar level. My ego tricked me into believing every performance would go the same way, but this was certainly not the case.

What I learned is this: standup is an act of zen. You're constantly battling your inner demons, the itty bitty shitty committee that convinces you that you're a breath away from a panic attack and a complete mental breakdown on stage.

If you want to face your self-doubt head on, I strongly recommend taking to the stage. Regardless of the outcome, you will come away believing that you are capable of much more than you give yourself credit for.

I've taken a break the past few years from doing standup or getting on stage in any form. But a recent shift in my perspective has driven me to get back up there, in front of a crowd of strangers, in an attempt to communicate ideas that produce laughter.

Though it's been over a decade since he passed, Danny remains in my thoughts as a persistent inspiration to not fall into complacency. I don't know when my death will arrive, but I do know that I don't want to live in fear while I'm still here.

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