You suck. So do I. And that's OK.

After my first couple of attempts at doing stand-up, I messaged a friend of mine to bounce some thoughts off of him about the process of it all. I was riding pretty high going into our chat. The main reason why is that people are so paralyzed by the thought of getting up in front of a crowd in such a vulnerable way that being able to do it at all felt like a major triumph. And frankly, the crowds were very kind to me, so things were feeling a bit too easy. My friend Erik was quick to caution me to stay focused and humble. He said "most of the folks you'll be sharing the stage with will suck. And you do too. And I do too. You just keep at it and eventually you won't suck." Then he tossed out a quote from a very wise cartoon dog.

He also mentioned that eventually, you're going to bomb. And that bombing is not a bad thing, because it will keep you grounded and show you exactly why you suck, and the parts of your act you need to change so that you'll suck less. 

It turns out he was dead on, because last week, I got my first taste of bombing. I went up first, which it turns out is WAAAAAY harder than a cushy spot towards the end of the show. It's up to the "bullet" spot to get the crowd relaxed and ready to laugh. I did not succeed at that. I mumbled my way through my first bit, and looked out to a small crowd of dead faces. Not even a cracked smile. Right here is where a pro would make a crack about how bad the last joke was, or at least regroup and come at them even harder. I did not succeed at that either. Instead I tightened up and showed fear. This is a cardinal sin for anyone on stage, because the crowd usually starts feeling bad for you, and nobody laughs when they feel like that. I spewed the rest of my set out, in the most rushed and tentative way possible. Then the host mercifully lit me, meaning it was time to wrap it up. Thank you Clint! And Jeebus. Thank you Jeebus!

I was shaking as I sat back down. I felt shame and embarrassment. Two full scoops worth. For the rest of the night, I was stewing over what went wrong. By the next morning though, I was OK with how things went. More than OK actually. Going up there and sucking knocked me off of that smug little cloud I'd been on. It shattered my illusions about how I was actually doing, and reminded me that making strangers laugh on command is F#%$ing HARD. I learned that I need to tighten up my set, figure out what hits and make it even better. I also need to dump what isn't hitting, and write better stuff. And no matter what, I need to be able to fail up there with total relentless confidence no matter how ugly it gets. 

I embraced the suck.

This lesson applies to pretty much everything. If you aren't failing, you aren't trying. Put yourself out there. Blow up your comfortable little bubble and try something you've always wanted to do. Don't worry about how you're going to do, because I'll tell you right now: It's probably going to go terribly. And that's awesome. Dust yourself off and do it again. And again. And again. If you love something, don't let failure discourage you, let it push you. 

I'm going to do another open mic next week. I'm probably going to suck. The week after that, my second season with my improv troupe, Bullksit starts up. I REALLY suck at that too. 

And I can't wait.

Suckfully yours,

B