Hi! I know, it’s been a while. Glad to be back.
Before we get into it, I would be remiss to not mention that I was recently interviewed by my old friend
for her excellent Substack . You can read it here:Anyway, on to the words!
“Inelegantly, and without my consent, time passed.”
– Miranda July, “How To Tell Stories To Children”
I have said goodbyes to three friends in the past month. Ian, at a coffee shop downtown where our friendship really began to bloom. Jared, at a bar in North Hollywood that, instead of Red Bull, had a nameless off-brand energy drink on tap. Ken, at a house party in Reseda, where I arrived late but brought a box of doughnuts, because nothing says “let’s keep this going way party rocking!” like a box of doughnuts.
I have learned, in my 13-ish years in comedy, that these kinds of goodbyes aren’t really permanent, barring death or dementia. They’re less “goodbye,” more “see you down the line.” We will inevitably run into each other on the road, or at a festival, or on a trip to get out of our home scene and do some shows in another city for a hot second.
During each goodbye, I ask why they’re leaving. They all answer with variations on one theme: because it just makes sense. Cheaper cost of living, more enticing opportunities, family needs – they’re all factors, but none of them are as easy to boil down as “it just feels like it’s time to go.”
The one thing that my mom has always liked about my comedy is my sense of timing. She doesn’t always like my jokes, but she has praised the way I tell them. The first time I remember her mentioning this was as a teenager. The church we went to then had an annual youth group-led service, and the lone graduating senior in our ranks had just finished his sermon. The only thing I remember was him tying in his faith to Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children, which I’m sure confused the hell out of the baby boomer-heavy congregation.
Later, in a very sincere ceremony, he was given a gift by his parents and the pastor. I was supposed to do a Bible reading right after this. After taking the podium, before I recited my portion of the New Testament, I quipped: “well, that was touching.”
The congregation erupted into laughter. This became the first of many times I’d say something and get an unexpected laugh. I didn’t even know why it was funny, but later, my mom told me that it was my timing. The whole situation was the kind of disruption to the norm that I expected her to be mad about, but even she couldn’t help herself from chuckling as she reminisced in the car ride home that afternoon.
Comedians are always told to get off stage on a big laugh. It’s enough of a trope that when people don’t stick the landing in a set, they’ll get a guaranteed laugh by saying “y’know, most comedians like to end strong…”
The worse sin, the one I am most guilty of, is chasing the big laugh when it’s time to go. The closer doesn’t land the way I want it to, so I speed through a surefire ripper to give myself the satisfaction of a big laugh. It’s a selfish, ego-driven habit. And, after hearing myself on multiple sets where I run the light trying to prove that I can nail that big laugh, it’s one I am trying to break.
In early sobriety, after I felt recovered enough to go to parties again without fear of picking up, I decided to abide by a simple rule of thumb: stay for at least an hour. An hour is the perfect amount of time for the party to make it on the calendar and carry some weight, but also enough time to get a read on if sticking around is going to do me any good. No party host is mad at someone only coming for an hour! They’ve got so many more people to talk to! And besides – there’s a subtle thrill in getting to make an Irish goodbye while completely sober.
It’s hard to know the right time to leave. Comedians and addicts love to chase, you see. We chase whatever will make us feel different – substances and sentences alike – and when we find it, we never want to leave. But we should leave before we need to, because it’s better to leave them wanting more. We want to have people greet us with open arms and big smiles, not to shrug you off and go “him again?”
This is why I admire folks who know when to leave, then actually leave. They prove that it’s better to go on your own terms than wait for your time to be up.
There was a time in my life when I was the guy at the party who did not know when to leave. I was the guy at the party who was the party trick, the bartender, the guy wanting everyone to be as drunk as me.
Now, I am the guy who might leave after one glass of club soda and a handful of conversations, or who might stick around and play Mario Party until midnight. It’s nice to give myself options – I wasn’t always that kind to myself.
I’m in Chicago for two nights. Tuesday, I hang out with Ian at the Lincoln Lodge. I meet his wife. We all talk shop. We go eat hot dogs and ice cream with magicians. Ian teaches us how to make balloon animals.
Wednesday, I’m on a show with two L.A. comics I haven’t seen in literal years. (Thanks, Covid!) We catch up, watch each other’s sets, laugh at each other’s jokes, wish each other well.
Thursday, I’m in Wisconsin. Daisygreen’s sorority sisters have rented a cabin on Lake Geneva for a couples’ vacation. After many weddings attended together, these couples have gone from being her friends to our friends. Once we’re all there, we pick up where we left off.
Friday, we’re watching this show Alone about ten survivalists who get dropped into the wilderness and try to survive as long as possible to win half a million dollars. Two episodes in, there’s this 23-year-old dude who gets emotional after killing a squirrel. He can rationalize the need to kill and eat the squirrel for nutrients, but he can’t explain why he’s feeling depressed at first. He seems to slowly realize that because he has no one to talk to about his feelings, they are eating him up. He calls the helicopter to come pick him up.
Although I have never had squirrel stew before, I understand his plight. Time is something I can understand intellectually, even if it still fucks with me emotionally. I can’t help feeling sad as I drive to say my goodbyes. I can’t help feeling afraid that I’ll be forgotten if I don’t get off while the crowd still wants more. I can’t help feeling nervous that I’m overstaying my welcome.
Even with the knowledge that it’s not “goodbye,” it’s “see you down the line,” I still find myself feeling those pesky feelings. The big difference now is that I can give the feelings room to exist instead of pretending they don’t. It’s a whole lot easier to give myself options when I’m not letting my emotions dictate my decision-making.
Saturday morning, I’m at O’Hare Airport, waiting to fly back to LA. My plane is delayed two and a half hours. Although I’m feeling a little fear of missing the next edition of my game show that night, I’m not super worried. I planned my return trip with plenty of buffer time to make it back to the West Coast before I needed to be at the Alamo Drafthouse. Sure enough, I make it back with hours to spare, and I’m in a great headspace for the show that night. Who knew making an exit strategy was one of the nicest things I could do for myself?