Why I Stopped Doing Stand-Up

"Self-deprecating humor is the lowest form of comedy. And I can't even do that right." - unknown

From my stand up days. Yes, I had blue hair.

Sometimes, in the middle of a conversation, I'll stop what I'm saying and mumble something about how I could totally write a stand-up bit about that. That's not just me being fanciful-- I actually used to perform stand-up comedy at a local open mic bar.

At the time, I was 19 or 20 years old and one of the two female performers who would regularly pop in to the twenty or thirty person open mic. I couldn't drink, but the open mics were taking place at 10:30 pm, so I was plenty delusional and weird anyway.

I tried different styles, I got laughs, and it felt good. I would heckle the other comics (basically boo or shout something from my seat). I could be myself, I could be sarcastic and weird. And it was fun.

In my last post, I wrote about my journey sophomore and junior year to becoming the woman I am today. Stand-up comedy was a gateway to self growth, but it was something I had to leave behind.



Humor was my defense mechanism. I made fun of my resting bitch face because it was easier than learning how to smile. I joked about the patriarchy because that was easier than fighting the system. And I laughed along with the guys because I wanted to feel like I belonged, even when I didn't quite fit in. Almost, but not quite.

My dad talks a lot about "finding my people". This past weekend, for my birthday (on March 7), I went to Planner Con. Yes, you read that right. It was two days of pure heaven, free sticker tables and journaling workshops and classes on setting goals and developing habits. These were my people.

The stand up comics I performed with, they were fun. A lot of them had similar struggles to me, struggles with suicidal ideation and depression and self harm. And comedy was how they let loose. This was how they-- we-- managed the unending darkness. By standing up and trying to cultivate some lightness in others.

I wasn't a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. More like, I was a round peg trying to fit into a slightly too large round hole. I wanted so badly for these to be my people. They were cool. We hung out at the 24 hour Denny's and brainstormed comedy ideas. The emcee would give a bro hug on the way in. It was so close to being my space, my people. But not quite.

Because these people weren't facing their problems, weren't trying to make a change. I mean, maybe they were. I don't know them. But for me, stand-up was just a way to divert my anxiety into comedy. And there came a time I wanted to face my anxiety head on, and I no longer felt I wanted to keep trying to fit in there. This was a place where I felt release, but not relief.

Will I ever go back to stand-up? Probably not. A big reason is a lot of the culture is shaped around late nights, and I like to go to bed early and wake up before the rest of the world, to get a good productive start on my day. Plus, I don't have a car, so getting to open mics in the area is difficult. But it's not just the time issues, or transportation concerns. It's who I am, and who I have become.

I still incorporate humor into my everyday conversation style. I truly love making people laugh. Once, in a writing workshop, we had to brainstorm what we thought the most beautiful sounds were. My personal favorite: the sound of laughter through tears.

Now, I blog. I suppose this is how I express myself, not guarded and jaded with humor, but honest and open and present. I am here, and I am smiling. Some days I cry, some days I laugh. But I no longer hide behind my humor.

As a friend once said, I am unapologetically myself.

And that makes me happy.

With love,

Rivi