A Year Without Stand Up... by Amanda Brooke Perrin

I haven’t done stand up comedy in a year.

To normies (sorry, that’s what I call non-comedy people…) it might not seem like that big of a deal. But to comedians, I have all but quit comedy.

I realized pretty early on in my comedy career that being a touring comic was not in the cards for me. For those unfamiliar, tour life can sometimes* (OFTEN*) include driving hours in sketchy weather conditions to a brightly lit rec center to perform in front of people who may or may not hate you for your all too liberal views. And to cap it all off, you get to stay in a motel where the mortality rate must be high given the amount of bloodstains on your mattress. Obviously this isn’t ALL road gigs… Some of them come with a free drink ticket!!! (insert SO many fire emojis).

But seriously, the loneliness of even the best road gig was enough to ensure that I stuck to the rivers and the lakes (see also: comfy comedy stages around town) that I was used to.

I moved to Los Angeles two and a half years ago to pursue writing, acting and yes, stand up. Friends who had done the Canada to Los Angeles move before warned me that it was going to be an uphill battle. “You’ll quite literally be going from the top of the totem pole to nowhere near the totem pole. You’ll e-mail the totem pole to see if there are any spots available and the totem pole will either tell you there is an 8 month waitlist to get added to the totem pole or it will just not get back to you at all.”

After doing open mics for a few months and spots on booked shows that were like, 3-minute spots, directly in front of an Indian buffet where a shirtless man yells obscenities at you off stage for 2 of those 3 minutes, I noticed I was feeling less than fulfilled. (BTW I do NOT know the booking info for that show, comics, so STOP asking!!!) ((PPS I just want to make a quick note here that I was INCREDIBLY lucky to be on a handful of really lovely shows in my first year here in LA. Those shows, however, are usually few and far between… unless you are on a television show… or are a porn star.))

At one point last year, I got booked at a comedy festival, which is incredible and so nice and I’ll never get over the feeling of being hand picked by someone to do something creative in my entire life. I thought the festival would bring me back to life, spark joy and make me explode into a million little bubbles of gratitude.

SPOILER, Reader: I bombed all of my shows and when I returned to my nice hotel room, I felt that all-too familiar feeling of loneliness… only I was at a comedy festival where I should have been feeling invincible. This was supposed to be the height of my career. Festivals are a luxury. All of my hard work had finally paid off!!... And yet, there I was, crying in my hotel bed, wondering what I could have done better and who I could have been to be better.

I returned to L.A., tail between my legs. I had one show booked when I got back into town and it happened to be a midnight show on a weekend. For those inquiring, midnight shows can either be weirdly MAGICAL or make you want to quit comedy.

After I spoke for 7 of the quietest minutes of my life to 5 yawning students at 1am, I decided that it was time to bring this Sad Ted Talks Tour to an end. In that moment, I made a pact with myself that I would take a break from a thing that I used to love with my entire body, but now dreaded with every fiber of my being.

Not wanting to do comedy is a very hard thing to talk about with other comedians. You’re raised in this business to believe that if you don’t do comedy every night of the week you are not a real comedian. That if you’re not hustling 24/7, 365 days a year, you’re not taking it seriously enough and that you should just quit while you’re ahead.

No offense, but that theory can fuck right off. And this isn’t a diss to anyone who lives this way, I promise. Some of my closest friends hustle in a way that I will never truly understand. I did stand up for ten years. TEN YEARS. I didn’t take a single break during those ten years. If someone were to say that I quit comedy, I would drop kick them straight into a pool of garbage. That’s for me to decide, not for you to assume.

Say it with me now: you are not weak or less than just because you want to give the ol’ noggin a break from the constant barrage of insults it keeps throwing at you. You’re actually pretty effing strong for going against the grain and accepting the space you need to get better. And I’m not just saying “better” as in better-in-the-field-you-are-in, I mean BETTER as a PERSON.

Good gravy, you guys. I have gotten so much out of this past year! Mentally, I am leaps and bounds from where I was. I feel lighter. I’m less judgmental of myself. I listen to my body when it doesn’t want to do things. I’m less anxious (if you can believe it). I’ve learned a shit ton about REGULAR, NORMAL NORMIE THINGS (Like, did you know I still have nothing in common with accountants? You learn something new every day!) A year after taking this break (that I absolutely did not know would last a year…) I can say confidently that I am so much better because of it.

I needed this time. I needed it so I could think about what I want from comedy and here is what I have concluded: I want to feel the same joy I did when I first started. I want to feel the butterflies again. I don’t want to spiral after each and every set. I want to be excited about the really stupid words I have put down on paper and I want to feel scared about sharing them with strangers. I don’t want to do the same “best” jokes over and over again because I think “someone important might be in the audience” (even though in actuality, 9 times out of 10, there are literal squirrels filling the seats).

And yes, I know, I am going to be RUSTY as HELL when I come back. HOOOOOO BABY, it’s not going to be pretty. I will not announce when it is happening. I certainly won’t invite anyone I know because I am a nice person who doesn’t invite her friends to grab a front row seat to my one-woman recreation of Chernobyl.

But it doesn’t matter if I am bad because my brain isn’t bad anymore.

And if it gets bad again, I will take another trip to break-town.

Take a break if you need it. So what if it lasts a day or a year or forever? The squirrels will still be there when and if you do decide to come back.

Amanda Brooke Perrin - @BrookePerrin