earned, not given. You don’t know anybody in the room, and
you don’t know what these people are gonna laugh at, if
they’re gonna like it or not. It’s very scary.
But the weird nip side of this is that I know I’m safe up
there. I know they can say whatever they want to, but
nobody’s gonna hurt me up there. If somebody does hurt
me, it’s gonna be in a room full of witnesses. I just feel the
safest there. And even if I bomb and they say terrible things
about me, people will laugh at me, and I’ll get paid anyway.
In the worst case, I get paid to make people laugh!
And the power that comes with it is intoxicating. It’s
better than any drug. As soon as I step my foot out on that
stage, all these eyes are on me. I feel like I’m the bravest and
safest person in the room. Everybody’s anticipating what I
have to say, and I have this power that I don’t have
anywhere else. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t,
but it feels so fucking good.
And then, when I come oĉ the stage, I’ve got this high.
Even when I do bad, I get that high. And then the high starts
to come down, but once they hand me my money, then I’m
back high again. Whether it was a good experience or a bad
experience, I was compensated for it.
That’s validation.
I felt all of this then in a nash—at that moment the guy
gave me $50 for doing mfteen minutes of terrible comedy. I
knew, at the core of my being, that my job was going to be
to get onstage and make people laugh, and get paid for it.
ann
(Ann)
#1