Letting Go Of Standup

My last stand up show was in January of this year, back in New York City. I didn’t want to do that show either, but I had already committed to it and didn’t feel like backing out of yet another show. I had been doing it a lot during the previous year, and maybe something in me knew it would be my last one for a while.

I had been a standup comic for over 5 years, and the enthusiasm and love I had for the craft was slowly turning into ambivalence and dismissal. I wasn’t interested in performing any material I had or writing new material, I wasn’t interested in going out - I just wasn’t interested. This caused me a lot of internal turmoil, as being a comic was pretty much my identity for a long time, and now I didn’t know who I was.

I was producing a comedy show for about a year and a half, when after a particularly scorching weekend in New York where not one person came to my show (because why the fuck would they? It was 105 degrees. I would never have left the house that day if I didn’t have to) it got cancelled by the venue. I should have been bummed, but all I felt was relief. I considered finding another room and told myself that if after a break from producing, I still wanted to run my own show again, I could probably find some bar with a makeshift stage somewhere and do it all over again, but I just never wanted to.

I had recently started a new relationship with a man I wanted to spend my evenings with, who gave me all the love I needed in the most effortless way. I hated leaving the warmth of our apartment, trudging it through the heat wave, the snow, the rain, changing trains, pouring my soul out to an audience who may or may not have had a shitty day, and come back home with less money in my pockets, not more. I just wanted to be home with him, where I knew I was not being judged by the way I looked, my sense of humor or my level of enthusiasm. Some married comics I happened to chat with were always talking about their personal lives crumbling, their wives fighting with them, being away from their families, and I knew this was not the kind of relationship I wanted to have. I’m not saying it doesn’t work for some people, because it does. It’s just not for me, and it took meeting the love of my life to realize.

So yeah, I didn’t know what I was going to do. I felt guilty and scared all the time. I felt like I had no business calling myself a comic, but I had nothing else to call myself. I had dedicated so much energy to this endeavor for years (I don’t care if you think 5 years is not a long time to be doing comedy, but 5 years is a long time. Period.) What was I going to do? How would I feel if I quit? Would that make me a quitter? I had already switched my gaze from acting, to improv, to sketch, to standup, always assuring my friends and my family that this was it – I was going to succeed at this. And I did, on a small scale, and it did make me happy, because I was always passionate about whatever it was I was doing.

I needed a new passion. I had always told my parents when asked about a backup plan, “I can always write.” Because I always have. I had submitted a few writing packets for TV shows during my last year in New York. I would get notice about them about 2 days before they were due, and just devote myself to the task at hand. I so enjoyed the deadline, the process and the possibilities. If I could write a 5 page treatment, I could write a webseries, a pilot, a something. And a new passion was born, even though it has always been there.

People still ask me if I’ve gone up and performed anywhere since I moved to LA. I haven’t performed in over six months and for the first time, I say it with confidence. I tell people I haven’t felt the need. I may perform again in the future, but right now, I’m happy where I am.

I love screenwriting. I love learning about it independently, and I’m thrilled that this time next year, I will have a screenwriting certificate from UCLA and a completed feature film, maybe two. I love seeing movies and TV shows in a whole new light, and I love creating comedy for the screen. I’m grateful for all the passions I followed to get here. They have given me confidence and experience, and made me a better writer. I think a lot of times people stick with something because they believe it is who they are, or they’re afraid to start over. But I personally think that starting over is great. It freshens your brain, it revitalizes you, gives you something new to learn and love. If you are not happy where you are, if you are doing something because you don’t know what else you would do, if you’re doing it because you are not a quitter – let it go. You should only be doing it if it makes you happy.

There is no reason to be embarrassed about letting go of something. It doesn’t mean you weren’t good at it, it doesn’t mean you are a failure. It means you’re brave enough to be honest with yourself.

For fuck’s sake, just be happy.