I have a rule of thumb about sitting in a room of comedians.

If you’re sitting amongst them for long enough, one of them is bound to bring up the idea that comedy is pain multiplied by time.

Granted, in the rooms I find myself in, I’m usually the one to bring it up, but I actually learned that rule from Drew — the person I’m guest writing this blog post for.

This week, I had a chance to perform at Drew’s Joke Gym. It’s a really cool space, and if you’ve been reading this blog for long enough, you’ve heard him allude to all of the work he has been doing to get the Joke Gym up and running.

I consider myself a “reluctant comedian”. Someone who has done more than 100 shows in more than five cities, but I will never let someone call me a comedian. Rather, I’m someone who does comedy. But, something I’ve observed about myself, and other people who do comedy is that no matter what the subject matter is, we can probably turn it into a joke. It’s a form of alchemy — some might consider it a weakness. “Can’t you be serious?!”, but it’s a really valuable skill.

This week, I did my first show in nearly a year. Before I stepped on stage at the Joke Gym, I felt anxiety coursing through my veins. Will I be funny? What will I even talk about? What if I totally fail.

Drew challenged me to do 10 minutes at his show, and I wanted to challenge myself to do material that I had never done before. If I bombed, whatever… It was a basement in a church and I might never see the audience again.

Writing material the day of, my pencil felt heavy on the page, as I imagined what I was going to talk about. Then, I thought back to the rule of thumb that I learned many years ago from a good friend of mine. “Comedy = Pain x Time”.

Stepping on stage, I talked about things that inherently weren’t funny by themselves. They were actually tragic. Not to say I performed alchemy that evening, but I did my job, which was to bring a new perspective to something and make it “interesting”.

If I learned anything from comedy, it’s that humans are storytelling creatures, and the way we perceive something depends completely on the story we tell ourselves. Something can be funny in a weird way, or funny in a humorous way. Circumstances can be enraging, or inspiring. Situations can be challenging, or a growing opportunity. Improvisation is similar — it relies on the concept of “yes, and”. This is shitty, AND, it can become awesome. The economy is bad this year and it can be better next year. I stubbed my toe and I’m going to feel better in a few minutes. I’m hungry, and I’m going to make a sandwich.

That’s not to say that comedians are miracle workers, but they are great teachers, delivering one of life’s greatest lessons (at least the ones I’ve met).

Is It Funny Yet?