From Make-Believe to Make-It-Happen... and then back to Make-Believe

Living in the house I grew up in, nestled safely in my parents’ basement, hidden from the dangers of truly independent life, I get to do a lot of pretending. I can stay up late or wake up early and imagine all the possibilities that my life holds. These are wonderful moments had in the dark of my room, wrapped up in the warmth of my blankets. I imagine myself writing a screenplay that not only makes you laugh, but makes you think as well. I imagine myself traveling again through Latin America, or Germany, or even some place completely new to me like India or China, pen and camera in hand and having life-changing conversations and experiences that I can bring back with me and share. Sometimes I’ll humor the songwriter in me and daydream about myself in a coffee shop, winning the hearts of ladies and gents alike with my gentle acoustic strumming and my clever socio-political lyrical commentary.

Then I turn on the lights and it all disappears. In a flash, I’m hurled back to reality, back to my cluttered bedroom, back to my business slacks and button down shirts that seem just a little unnecessary for the work I do, back to driving down the Turnpike, back to the reality that it’s a lot easier to play make-believe than it is to take any real steps toward fulfilling any of my night/early morning visions.

That’s how I felt, at least, until the start of December. I decided no more of this pretend scheisse, it’s time for me to get outside of my head and do something. Anything. I settled for two things: trying my hand at standup comedy and – get ready for it – joining a barbershop quartet… temporarily.

Let’s work backwards here. Yes, I joined a barbershop quartet. No we didn’t wear funny bow ties, boaters or suspenders, and there were a lot more than four guys; it was a whole choir… of old men. It started with a letter I received randomly. “Come join us for four weeks free and learn some Christmas carols on Monday nights.” I literally had no excuse not to do it. I showed up at the Rahway Senior Activity Center and was greeted by over a dozen old-timers with snappy one-liners and lots of Brut cologne. Side note: no one checked a cell phone.

I’m not the best singer, but the guys were encouraging and I had a great time singing alongside them. I learned two things in these four weeks. 1) The human voice is an incredible phenomenon and when harmonized can sound powerful, beautiful and rich. 2) Christmas carols get old very, VERY quickly. (Side note 2: they’re called the Jerseyaires. Check’em out and I dare you not to smile watching them).

I also have been doing some standup comedy. I started with a little five-week comedy course taught by Joe Matarese, a comedian you may or may not have heard of. Each week we had to get up on stage for about 5-8 minutes and try out our jokes. I thought I had some killer stuff, but when it was class-presentation time suffice it to say that I did not fill the room with belly-busting laughter. Maybe this isn’t for me, I thought. Or is it?

I wasn’t going to give up so easily. I made up a list of all the open mics hosted throughout NJ that I could find online. I found one up in Rutherford, NJ at a little coffee shop the following Friday. It was time for me to do what I feared more than most things in life: talk in front of more than three people.

The café was tiny, and to my initial dismay the audience consisted of six teens and their parents, along with my faithful companions/unconditional laughers Paul and Joe. A few other comedians turned out as well. The first three comedians went – a long-winded EMT and two high school kids with some pretty funny jokes – and then it was my turn. All day I had feared this moment. It’s hard to express how irrationally afraid I’ve always been of speaking in front of people. It should be a psycho-physiological case study for the power of anxiety on the body. My speech usually increases threefold in speed. My tongue tends to hide under itself. And I completely lose the ability to make eye contact with anyone. Not this time though. I was going big, laying it all out there.

Looking back, though my act was far from perfect it was also infinitely better than I could have anticipated. I was confident (maybe too confident). I joked with the crowd. I got laughs… occasionally. Most of all, I had fun. I left with a high I’ve never felt before. As sad as it may sound, that night was one of my proudest moments since moving back home. I did something I never thought I would have the balls to do. (Side note 3: I’ve done a couple more open mics since then. If you’re around, this Sunday, January 9, is my comedy class’s “graduation show” at the Stress Factory at 7:30. Tickets are $20 a pop with a two item minimum – and we’re not talking New York prices here. The tickets are also good for any non-special event night at the Stress Factory, so it’s two shows for the price of one! https://rsv.stressfactoryreservations.com/tix/default.aspx?selsh=01092011).

So, let’s go back to the beginning. Am I anywhere closer to moving out or finding a better job? Probably not. Do I feel like I’ve gone somewhere? Yes. Looking at my life sometimes feels like looking at a blank MS Word document: it seems like I can create anything out of it and also nothing at the same time. Sometimes I worry about making the “right choice,” but I’ve been feeling like this so-called “right choice” is just an illusion. Maybe Nike had it right all along. Just do it. Am I a great singer now? Not by any means, but I’m better than I was before. Am I hilarious and a wildly successful standup comedian? Yes. Point being, I’ve been feeling more fulfilled. Instead of daydreaming about the infinite possibilities that life holds and then lamenting how many of them I won’t ever get to taste, I’ve zoomed in on one field. Now I can daydream about jokes that I’ll actually use.

And now, back to sleep :).