Have I ever told you that I am the type of person who values experiences over tangible things? Well I am. I have some "things" in my life that are important, but in the case of a fire, I know the handful of them I'd grab on my way out the door. Don't worry, the cat is one of them.
With all that considered, I've been taking advantage of weekend free time to do away with the things in my possession that have become superfluous space-wasters. I've got a few bins and boxes in my closet of things I am "storing." Storing for what purpose, though? I went through those bins and boxes to discover mounds of photos, clothes I hadn't worn in a year but still somehow felt the need to hold on to. Documents from yesteryear, even notebooks from my senior year in high school. Even more college stuff. Financial documents from banks that may be out of business by now.
I had a blast tonight with a fun group of people over at The Pinhook. Wolf Nipple Foofaraw, hosted by Megan Stein, was a conglomerate of area musicians who get together periodically to jam out with acoustic instruments. The intent is to encourage musicians of varying skill levels to play together in order to have fun and play kick ass music. It worked for me. I've been playing guitar for less than a year now, and this was the first time other than playing with Cameron on the front porch that I have played with other people. I felt I could hold my own enough to keep rhythm and play most of the chords, but whether I played well or not, the experience was a lot of fun and a good chance to hang out and play with other musicians.
Everyone was very accepting and friendly, and I have to hand it to the guys whom I followed for keeping it at a pace I could keep up with. We played some country greats, and some classic rock, including Dylan, The Band, and others. The group was about 12 strong, complete with a drummer, a mandolinist, a uker, a violinist, and a dude with a washtub bass. Yes, it was awesome.
After a while, people started to peel off and only a few of us remained. During a particularly decadent hoedown, we were joined by two gentlemen who I can only describe as "digging it." One of them broke out a harmonica and jammed with us for a while, and the other stomped and "freestyled" while we "jamboreed." He insisted on telling me to "pick that sh*t, mutha f*ck*!" and poked me and put his arm around me while I played the mandolin (rather well, considering) and I could basically taste the battery smell of malt-beverage-energy-drink on his breath.
Nonetheless, I had an awesome time jamming with Megan and friends, and it certainly inspired me in a way I haven't felt in a while.
My epic, over dramatic post yesterday made me think about my recent creative endeavors and the amount of time I spend doing them. I also started thinking about creativity in general, and though I have a project I am working on that will launch in the near future, I wanted to use my momentum to write something today, too.
I'm going to do a little experiment I'm calling Blog-ust. Yes, you're reading that pun right, and I'm sure its been used before, but for all intents and purposes, I made it up. For those of you who don't know, I make my living as a blogger. I'm a social media copywriter, to be specific, but I spend a lot of time writing blog posts for my clients. So much, in fact, that I don't often find the time to do exactly what I am doing right now: blogging for myself and for those of you who care enough about my life to read what I have to write. (Not that those of you who DON'T read this don't care about my life, you just don't have time. I understand.)
About 10 years ago, I began my comedy career training with The Other Side in Wilmington, NC. I learned the basics of improv comedy, and I figured out how to use my talents for making others laugh even more to my advantage. The feeling was addicting, and I wanted more. The instant gratification of saying something in front of a room full of people and having the place erupt into laughter was a rush for me.
The Other Side became my entire life. I waited tables to pay the bills and keep my liver pickled, but who wants to be a career waiter? Not me. I wanted to take my comedy career above and beyond what I was getting in Wilmington. That's not to say that I didn't love every minute of being on stage and playing with people whom I adored as friends and equals. I did. I relished in it. I met some of my best friends in the world during that time. But I needed more. I needed to prove to myself that I could "make it."
So I did what anyone did who wanted to "make it" in comedy: I moved to Chicago. At the time, Chicago was comedy Mecca. It's where you went when you wanted to learn. To make a name and a face for yourself. To experience the best shows in the world and hobknob with the best in the biz. To stand on the stage where Del Close once yelled at his classes and made magicians or failures out of them. I enrolled in classes at iO and went to shows all the time. I met people who were extremely kind and talented, and I met a lot of assholes, too. (The week I moved up to Chicago, I went with my roommate to a party where I was asked by this one asshole: So what are you doing here in Chicago? to which I replied Oh, comedy. Improv, you know. and was met with the response: Great. That's exactly what Chicago needs is another fucking improvisor.) Well, that didn't seem to stop me because I kept going. I played with an indie team with my classmates and on a team at The Playground (which is still around, I understand.) Improv was, again, my life. I waited tables and worked temp jobs in offices around Chicago, and I hated everything except for the time I'd get to spend with my friends and on stage or watching shows. So many shows. So many wonderful shows. But. So. Much. Crap.
The shows I saw made me furious because I knew I was better than many of the performers, but I wasn't getting a chance to play on the big stage. So after about a year of that, I did what any frustrated Chicago performer does. I moved away.
I had the opportunity to move back to NC, where I'd have the chance to perform again with a group of people whom I'd known and who I respected. I was welcomed back to NC with a new job, a great girl, and a new chance to show off what I'd learned in my time in the Windy City.
I moved in with a group of guys who were all very amazing players and even more amazing friends, and I had the time of my life. I started doing shows weekly, sometimes multiple nights, and I taught classes and again, surrounded my life with comedy and comedians. I traveled to other cities and brought the house down. I helped produce a festival. I felt respected and appreciated as a teacher and a leader, and it felt very good. Then things started falling apart. My friends started moving away to find whatever it was they were looking for, and I got cocky and bitter. Then the girl I loved moved away and I was heartbroken. I was sad and angry and I noticed I carried that on stage with me. My own performances felt phoned in, and I felt it affected others, too. So I did what I felt I needed to do. Something I hadn't done since I had started comedy. I took a break.
The break lasted about 3 months or so before I felt better, I felt like I needed that outlet in my life because it had always brought me so much joy. I missed it. I missed that instant gratification. So, I tried to come back and pick up where I had left off. Only it wasn't that easy. Because of the management of the theater where I had been performing, I was not welcomed back in the capacity which I had left. I was not allowed to perform or teach, and barely allowed to practice. I figured it would be an opportunity for me to push myself and try harder. See if this was what I wanted. But the harder I worked, and the harder I pushed, the more resistance I was met with. The director resented me, and didn't want me to succeed because he no longer trusted me. So I left that theater. It wasn't worth it to fight so hard to be in a community that had turned its back on me.
I enrolled in a class in Raleigh, and it was nice to get a fresh perspective. But my experience limited me more than it helped me. I understood all of the exercises because I had taught them before. It was like someone trying to tell you how to do a magic trick when its something you've known how to do for years. I couldn't learn any more tricks. Nonetheless, I found some more friends whom I enjoyed playing with, and we started a team. We played a few shows and practiced weekly, and yes, it was lots of fun. But fun wasn't cutting it. I felt like I was just doing it because that's what I do. But it got
easy again.
Around that time I heard news that my old friends from Wilmington were planning a reunion show, and I wouldn't miss it for the world. The show was fun, and it was wonderful to see my friends and perform with them again, but I knew that this was significant. It needed to end where it began.
If there was anything I did learn from comedy, specifically improv (and all in all, yes, I learned quite a bit) its that the end is in the beginning. Things have to come full circle in order to feel complete, and that show was significant in that way. I did do a couple of shows and a couple of practices after that, but for me, the TOS reunion show was the end of my comedy career.
Will I do shows again? Probably. (I'm very good, you see.) Did I make it? I never made much money from it, but I did get a lot of experience and I learned so, so many wonderful things about myself in the process. So in that way, yes, I definitely made it. Did I get famous? Absolutely not. But the thing I loved about it most was meeting the people I met as a result. Some of my best friends are still going at it, and I wish them the best of luck. I know I have some true friends out there who will ALWAYS be my friends, and I probably would have never met them if comedy hadn't been such a huge part of my life.
So thank you friends, teachers, fellow performers, and influences. I appreciate everything you've done for me over the past decade, but it's time for me to hang up my "comedian" hat for a while. Maybe some day, when I'm older and grayer, we'll do this again. Until then...
