you always have to throw out the first pancake

About a month ago I decided that I was going to try standup comedy. I committed my self to a venue and a date, and last night I preformed three to five minutes of original material at my favorite bar’s open mic night. Yea me!

My material didn’t come out the way I’d rehearsed it, I talked 175 words a minute (that’s a literal ratio), the nicest way to describe my performance is to say to was bad, and it is one of the best things I have ever done in my entire life.

I had a hard time preparing for the event and I realized that, left to my own devices, I’d never really prepared for anything before. I’d written papers without reading the books they were on. I‘ve never spent more then two hours studying for a test. It took me five tries to get my drivers license because I wouldn’t practice the maneuverability and continuality failed. The worst part is that I have spent a lot of time feeling good about the fact that, while only putting forth a nominal amount of effort, my life is just fine. Nothing more… just fine. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but I’m sick of being fine and I’m not going to do just anything anymore. So I practiced. It was difficult to stay focused on the work, I kept thinking ‘that’s good enough for now’ and would begin to allow my self to get distracted by something else. Sometimes I would overcome this urge, and even when I gave into temptation it wasn’t long before I was back on the road to Carnegie hall. I knew that backing out at the last minute because I wasn’t prepared wasn’t an option. It wasn’t an option because a dozen my friends and family members were coming to see me perform.

I needed to tell as many people as I could about my commitment to do standup. To me, each person who knew represented one less excuse I could make. The problem with telling all of these people about my performance was that many of them would want to see it. The problem with all of these people coming to see my performance was that, well, I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be very good.

Once I’d decided on making my comedic debut I came up with the idea for my first routine. After working with the idea for a while I started getting lots of other ideas for different routines. These ideas seemed more appealing than the first, better reflections of my personality. I almost strayed from my original vision but, as not finishing what I start is a habit I’m determined to break, decided to stick with it. Once I got over that hump a lot of walls started breaking down. I wanted this experience to be different, to be something that I could feel good about for my self, but I was having a hard time not daydreaming about the after show praise I was sure to receive. When I was committed to performing the material that had first come to me I realized that this was my first try at something and that, more likely than not, I was going to make mistakes and fall down and get hit with a cream pie and be sprayed in the face with seltzer water. All of that should be expected when you try something for the first time. At the very least I’d have to get used to the environment, the rhythm of telling jokes in front of an audience. I got the idea that uncertainties are inevitably linked to the very first of anything, and the only way to know how you will respond in situation is to pour your self out on the griddle. That’s just what I did and I was scraped off in a gooie mess, and that’s ok. There’s plenty of batter left.

Although it was bad, I conceder my performance a success. I learned a lot about standup and about my self. Best of all I was humbled for, as far as I can tell, the first time in my life. I was sure I had it all figured out, but when I was in the middle of it all I couldn’t have told you which way was up. It was sickening and it was wonderful. It brought about a major shift; focusing my consciousness in the direction I’ve been wanting to travel but haven’t been able to turn. On the horizon I can clearly see living a life based on the act.