I have been in a very quiet, contemplative place lately, watching as some new energy percolates and rises to the surface, and I am now in a place where I am ready to declare independence for myself. I am declaring independence from the belief that I have to make my life match up to anyone else’s definitions of success for my life, as well as from all the places in my mind telling me that my life should somehow be in any way different from the way it is right now.

About six years ago I decided to leave the work-a-day world and go into business for myself. I’ve spent a large portion of those years with different classes, workshops, books, seminars, and programs designed for entrepreneurs. It’s all great information, especially since I was on a pretty steep learning curve. But I’ve reached the point now where those products are actually keeping me out of my life.

I realized that what I genuinely desire, and what the people who produce those products desire, are not the same thing. And I’ve been making myself wrong and feeling guilty for wanting what I truly want, and not wanting what they say I should want. Let me explain.

After six years of trying out a lot of different possibilities, I realized that my goal in life is not to be a worker/earner. If I had to give a name to my “reason for being”, I would say that I am a spiritual contemplative/mystic/writer/professional dreamer. So I like working about 10-12 hours a week, with lots of time left to create a nurturing home, take care of the errands of daily life, maintain my connections with other people, think, observe, process life, and create.

I like that the way I contribute to and help change the world is through working on myself, and transforming my connections to the people around me, one encounter at a time.

Unfortunately, even in the personal growth/New Thought community, that business model is never really presented as a viable option. It seems to me that whenever people are talking about things like The Secret, and The Law Of Attraction, and other principles of Deliberate Creation, the emphasis is always on BIGGER, and MORE. If the concept of “enough” is ever addressed, it only seems to be in the manner of finding a way to temporarily let what you have be “enough”, only so it can move you to a different place where you can finally get MORE. There doesn’t seem to be much work addressing the question of genuinely being satisfied and feeling like you have enough.

And that is where I started to feel disconnected from the popular concept of personal growth, because I could no longer ignore the fact that I am really satisfied with my life right now.

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Lately I’ve been reading the book Mayflower by Nathaniel Philbrick. I always enjoy learning the stories behind history, but this particular part of history has a special place in my heart because I am the 15th generation descendant of 4 people who came over to the New World on that ship.(Important Side Note: Which does not at all cause my husband to crack frequent jokes about “inbreeding” at my expense.)

This material is dovetailing nicely with all the things I was thinking about after reading Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, back before my intestines became the unfortunately fertile breeding ground for Hostile Alien Bacteria. Specifically it’s helping me to answer the question, “What’s my word?” Because not only have I realized that, of course, my word cannot be anything other than FREE, all this reading about my ancestors has given me a good idea of where that might have come from.

Of course we all know the traditional story of the Pilgrims and their desire for freedom from the king of England and his church, but it’s the way that Philbrick describes these desires that sometimes has all my hair standing on end in amazed recognition.

When I read things like, “…the Puritans had chosen to spurn thousands of years of accumulated tradition in favor of a text that gave them a direct and personal connection to God,” I remember how powerful an experience it was for me to go through the workbook of A Course In Miracles for the first time (Philbrick, p.8).

Or when I read that they wanted to be “…free to establish themselves on their own terms”, I think about how I have done the very same thing in creating my own work, my own contribution to the world, and my own role within my marriage (Philbrick, p.16).

And when I read that during their services, “…the entire congregation had participated in a passionate search for divine truth”, I almost shot out the top of my head, because that is what my entire life has been devoted to (Philbrick, p. 12).

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As you may recall if you’ve been reading this blog for a while, last spring I participated in Jeff Justice’s Comedy Workshoppe. For graduation we each performed a 4-minute routine on stage at the Punchline, and while I don’t yet have the video I do have the audio, which I have handily turned into my next podcast offering.

Enjoy!

Last weekend we went to the Tennessee Aquarium which is, without a doubt, one of my absolute favorite places on earth.

As we were innocently walking through the doorway into the exhibit of seahorses my husband suddenly grabbed my elbow and said, very calmly, “Just keep moving.”

I was instantly alert, because that is his code for informing me that, “HOLY F*&%, THERE IS A SNAKE IN THE IMMEDIATE VICINITY!!”

Once he had deposited me at a safe distance he went back to check out the snake, because he is a guy, and guys think snakes are cool, and apparently there’s nothing anyone can do to change that. As a matter of fact, when I was telling this story to a friend of mine this weekend he said, “Cool. Did I ever tell you about the time that I kissed a snake?” (Me: Hm, really? Great. Never touch me again.)

There was quite a crowd of people surrounding the aquarium worker who wanted to touch the snake, despite the fact that every few minutes she would occasionally broadcast such helpful alerts as, “Make sure you stay away from its head.”

My husband, of course, was very excited about the whole experience and wanted to tell me all about it when we met up again.

I had a hard time listening due to the fact that he had let the snake coil its tail around his arm, ON PURPOSE, and not only that, but he had actually enjoyed the entire experience.

Me: Why did they make you wash your hands before you touched the snake?

My husband: They wanted to make sure I didn’t give it any germs.

Me (dripping with sarcasm): Oh yeah, wouldn’t that be a shame?

Last week, the final week of our comedy class, was grueling. We met Monday and Tuesday nights in order to hammer out the final version of our routines, and even though I was a lot better at the writing, it was still a lot of work.

After the whole Having To Swallow My Pride thing the writing was actually the hardest part for me, because I have what I would call a very hedonistic approach to writing. I love words, especially adjectives and adverbs. I love sentences that run on for an entire paragraph, building up in a gradual crescendo that leads to a big humor payoff at the end.

But if I learned anything over the past 6 weeks, it is that writing for stand-up comedy is definitely more of a “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” proposition.

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Last night I successfully performed my very first stand-up comedy routine at the Punchline here in Atlanta. Even though I did start to lose all feeling in my hands and feet two people before I was supposed to go on, and even though after 6 weeks I still could not work the microphone correctly, I did remember all my lines, and people genuinely laughed.

It was a pretty huge experience for me, and I still haven’t taken everything in yet. So I’ll be back with a more detailed story after I’ve processed things a bit more and figured out how to get all of the spray wax out of my hair (more on that later).

But I did want to let you all know that I survived, and to say THANK YOU!! to everyone who has been so nice and come by to leave me encouraging comments, and to tell you about this one way cool thing that happened last night.

As I was standing outside the Punchline waiting for the show to start, I looked over at the people standing in line and who should I see but the amazingly awesome Miss Doxie, who it turns out is good friends with one of the other members of my class.

After the show I went up to talk to her, and even though she was having a wonderful time preparing for a fun evening of Not Being Accosted By Me, she was totally gracious and friendly, and did not at all mind the fact that I and my spray-waxed, 1980’s-style, frizzy, bushed-out, bouffant-ish hair (pivotal to one of my jokes) came up to confess our undying blog-love for her. Miss Doxie TOTALLY ROCKS!

By the time weeks 3 and 4 of our comedy class rolled around, it was time to get down to work. I’d written and performed about 2 or 3 original jokes by this time, and even if I did not have my classmates rolling on the floor with laughter, I’d realized that it was highly unlikely that I’d actually contract Death By Sucking.

This was hard work. Especially on the days when I’d written what I believed to be the most brilliant piece of comedy ever known to man and the teacher responded with comments like, “That’s the third time I’ve seen that joke and I still don’t get it.”

It was especially hard for me because I so Want To Be Right. And I believe that I am right, and that if I just will it hard enough I can convince the world that I Am Right and They Are Wrong. That my work is funny, and they should be laughing at it. (I’m sure you can imagine how well that worked.)

I finally realized that I had a choice here. I could be “right” and miserable, or I could be willing to be wrong, willing to learn what actually works in comedy, and learn how to write jokes that actually would make people laugh. But I really had to think about this before I could decide. Like, for months.

But I finally decided to swallow my pride (Important Side Note: Pride? Does not taste good, even washed down with regular Coke) and admit that I was going to have to be bad at this for a while before I could learn how to be good. And, I was. And, it sucked. And, I did not die.

And then, one day, a miracle occurred. I wrote a joke, and lo, it was funny, and the class, they did laugh. And it was very good.

Especially since the teacher is just as much of a smart ass as all of us, and every time we grudgingly came around to doing things his way he’d say things like, “Hm, it’s almost as if I know what I’m talking about.”

So I’m off now to the Dress Rehearsal. If I can still form a coherent thought when I get back, I’ll let you know how it goes.

The week before I had to perform my very first original joke could be summed up in this way: Extended Nervous Breakdown Accompanied By Painful And Prolonged Migraines.

This was the scariest thing I’d had to do since I had to take my 3-hour oral exam/thesis defense for my Master’s Degree, discussing abstract, graduate-level literature and linguistic concepts in an entirely foreign language. But at least for that I had 4 years of college and 2 years of graduate school backing me up. Whereas with the comedy performance I was pretty much on my own.

And let me tell you something. When you are standing so far out of your comfort zone that it’s not even a blip on the radar, feeling as though you’re about to dive headfirst into the Grand Canyon Of Suckiness with nothing to break your fall, Believing In Yourself and Focusing On The Positive can just go ahead and suck it.

The problem was that I knew what was coming. While I have gotten pretty good at writing humor that people read, I had finally been forced to admit that truly, I did not have the first friggin’ clue as to how to write a joke that was funny when it was spoken. I’d been made painfully aware of this fact by the numerous times that my carefully crafted written jokes landed with all the grace of the Hindenburg plummeting to its fiery doom when I attempted to transfer them into a “humorous” Toastmaster’s speech.

So I was pretty sure that this class was going to be like the military, in that we and all of our old notions about humor would be broken down, in order to be reformed into something shiny and new. (I mean, I sort of assume that’s what they do in the military-I don’t have any personal experience in that area. I’m such a wuss that the only military that would ever take me in would be “The Army Of People You Send In When You WANT To Be Conquered”.)

And I was right. Since everyone was still pretty much operating out of defensive mode, and since we’d received no actual instruction in joke writing at this point, most people tried to go for the “clever”, easy laugh-sight gags, puns, references to sex. (I played it safe by poking fun at my big, bushy hair.)

And after each of us had performed we had to remain standing in front of the class while he critiqued us what (if anything) worked, and what did not. And so the break(ing) down began.

I think for me, the most interesting thing about taking this stand-up comedy class, besides the process of learning how to write spoken humor that will actually make people laugh, has been all of the personality “buttons” that this experience has pushed in me.

And so, being who I am, I decided that it wasn’t enough that I had to-in just 6 weeks-learn how to get up in front of 281 people and deliver a 4-minute, funny, stand-up comedy routine. I decided that this would also be The Perfect Time to take apart various pieces of my psyche, mess around with them for a while, and then attempt to put all the pieces of my mind back together again. Because really-who wouldn‘t?

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So yesterday I had to perform an original joke that I wrote in front of my teacher, The Professional Comedian, and all of my classmates, AKA “We Who Are Now TOTALLY Convinced That We Absolutely Are. Not. Funny. At All.”

I pretty much spent all of last week having an extended nervous breakdown, dying 1000 tiny deaths every day and feeling as though my skull was slowly pulling itself apart into painfully sharp pieces that then lodged themselves deep inside my brain.

I was completely unprepared for this class. I felt that because I am comfortable performing in front of people, and because I can make people laugh pretty easily, and because I write a humor blog that I would of course be an immediate expert at stand-up comedy.

It was a bit tough, the fitting of My Inflated Head through the classroom door last week. However I soon realized that, deny it as I might (and Oh, how I did!), I really had no choice but to admit that I was going to suck at stand-up comedy for a while, until I actually learned how to do it. And since I would rather swallow jagged shards of broken glass than ever suck at anything, this has proven to be quite a challenge.

Especially when I tried my very first joke out on my husband, and there was Total. Silence. This did not bode well for either of us, nor did it do anything to sway me from my belief that all of my joke writing attempts up to that point warranted Immediate Death By Stoning.

However I did survive last night, and my joke even got some laughs. So when our IT department gets back from its ski vacation, and if I can watch the recording without hemorrhaging from the eyes, we might see what we can do about adding some video to the site.