I get nervous once a week. My palms sweat, I get nauseous and queasy, and every one of those fight or flight indicators gets put on red alert. I’m not an air traffic controller or a cop or a surgeon. In fact, the thing that makes me nervous is something I choose to do: On occasion, and when I’m not completely terrified, I do stand-up comedy.
I’m a very shy person. So shy, in fact, that when pizza places started providing online ordering I rejoiced in the fact I could finally eat pizza again. The thought of speaking to strangers, even on the phone, makes me want to crawl into my bed and never leave it.
But I like telling people jokes, so when a few of my acquaintances started doing stand-up, I got interested.
Every week I would head off to the open mic with my friends. After a few trips, I started to wonder what it would be like on stage. I decided – during the day, when these decisions are easy – that I would get up. But at the club, I would always change my mind even before I signed up. When I left, I would feel terrible for being so white livered.
Then, finally, after encouragement from several people (plus the memory of the previous week’s guilt fresh in my mind), I decided to put my name on the list. As I sat in my chair, waiting for my name to be called, I felt like I was about to take a test to determine my entire future that I had failed to study for. I almost decided to leave, but I remembered something from my past.
When I was young, I was terrified of roller coasters. My parents enjoyed them, so they dragged me onto a roller coaster while I was crying, and I ended up loving it. The same went for snowboarding. Hitting large jumps scared me, but the adrenaline rush I would feel post-jump made it worth it.
And it has always been like this for me. While I was in high school I joined drama club and I was scared shitless of being in a play, but I made friends and enjoyed myself. More recently, I’ve met people through Twitter in person, and despite feeling like I was going to die prior to talking to them, they are now among my best friends.
So I got on stage. The jokes started flowing out of me and it was like I wasn’t even in control of my own brain. I was still very nervous, but I took advantage of the fact by doing jokes about being awkward, and I didn’t even puke on anyone. The amazing part was that people laughed and enjoyed it. I got invited to start doing a monthly stand up show.
Last week I did my third such show. You might think the nerves would have gotten better, especially now that I’m such a veteran. Plus there’s all the practice: I spent the three weeks leading up to it preparing jokes and practicing them in front of my mirror. My fear of talking in front of people makes it impossible for me to share my jokes with others before the show and the number of times I practiced them started to make me believe they weren’t even funny.
So maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t have been as nervous as that first time. But no. Before the show started, I considered bolting from the theater and giving up altogether.
But I didn’t.
The other six comics, all of whom were male, did their bits, and then I took the stage. I told my first joke, “I’m guessing by now you noticed there is a glaring difference between myself and all of the other performers tonight… The fact that I’m actually attractive.” The crowd broke out in an uproar of laughter, the adrenaline hit, and I filed the feeling away for the next time I’m scared to death of something I’m not sure I want to do.
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