Because We’re Comedians…. by Carrie Cameron
Back before the world was upside down, I travelled to the United States for a hippie meditation retreat. I was in the middle of an existential crisis and my chakras needed a good rooting. Before gazing through crystals and hiking through vortexes, I went to a comedy show.
I was lucky enough to see Fortune Feimster perform at a comedy club in preparation for her Netflix special “Sweet & Salty.” When she picked up that mic our laughter became music in her orchestra. She led us wherever she wanted to go, like it was the easiest thing in the world. What a pro. I thought twice about calling myself a comedian after seeing her kill it on stage. I felt like a tourist and amateur. I was both, so it was okay.
with Fortune Feimster
After the show, I spoke with other audience members who, like me, were standing in line to meet our headliner and get an Instagram worthy un-selfie. “I’m a comedian,” the twenty-something in front of me said with pride. “So am I,” I responded, “though I don’t feel much like one after seeing her crush it for a solid hour.” He shrugged his shoulders and said “Well, yeah. Ten thousand hours.” I nodded knowingly and repeated “ten thousand hours.” We smiled at each other then fist bumped. It was such a beautifully meaningful moment for me, being supported and encouraged by a total stranger who also happened to be a comedian, like me. I learned the 10, 000 hour rule of expertise from a sweet Winnipeg comedian who encouraged me when I needed it so desperately. On stage she explained it takes 10,000 hours of practice to become an expert in any given field. Remembering her, coupled with the kindness of the stranger in line at the comedy club made me feel good.
After the coveted photo was taken, I left the comedy club and walked past a bustling restaurant patio. Some guy said something to the attractive young ladies in front of me, who gave them the quick once over and continued strutting down the sidewalk like it was a runway. Being middle aged and having the grace (and stature) of an ostrich, I did not receive the same reception. I stopped, looked at the man (who was my age) and with a smile said “Oh, you must have missed me! I’ll walk by again.” With heavy feet and flailing arms I ran back from whence I came and walked by again, this time trying to look pretty and graceful. The man laughed and his buddy's girlfriend invited me to sit with them; I accepted.
The conversation was easy and went a little something like this:
“What brings you to the area?”
“Hippie meditation retreat”
“Why?”
“I’m struggling.”
“Us too! But that’s to be expected: we're comedians!”
“What? Me too!”
The two men were comedians and the woman was a Swedish University student who spent her days studying and extracting DNA. There were a lot of jokes about how we three dummies failed to live up to her rocket-science intellect. The three of us discussed our experiences on stage and compared material (some of our German material was similar). Although we were strangers, we felt like old friends.
We spoke about everything. No subject was taboo or off-limits. The two comedians spoke about their struggles with mental illness. They described how they took turns falling into deep depressions and would disappear for days on end. Because they worried about each other’s well-being they came up with a mutually agreed upon system of wellness checks. If one tried to get in touch with the other unsuccessfully (for a predetermined amount of time), the other called the police and asked for a wellness check. They regaled me with their account of the last time the cops were called. It was a sweet, sad and hilarious story. I loved their brotherhood and commitment to each other. I could relate to their struggles.
After the deep conversation about mental health, the beautiful Swedish genius looked at me in amazed confusion and asked “how are you like this with these guys? It took me four months to develop a friendship, then get close enough for them to open up to me. You just walk-up and right away the three of you start up like you’ve been friends forever. Why?”
Top Row: Keenan Martz, Kyle Kevin James Rosenthal, Niek Theelen, JR Bjornson, Danny Flexhaug. Bottom Row: Carrie Cameron, John Sonofdavid, Bradley Layden
“Because we’re comedians,” we simultaneously replied. Her boyfriend shrugged and nodded in agreement (with an expression that read “duhhh”). There was one thing hot girl Einstein didn’t understand: the bond that exists between comedians. It’s like being part of a faith community; we look at the world and share our experiences in similar ways.
The night went on like that, the three of us chatting for hours and ended with me refusing to enter a suffocatingly busy Irish pub. I bid them adieu and walked for 25 mins toward my car only to return to the bar accidentally having gone in a large circle. One of the guys, out for a smoke, spotted me, noticed I was frazzled and walked me back to the parking garage. He was even kind enough to reassure me everything was going to be okay after a car backfired and I let out a blood curdling scream because I thought it was gunfire. We hugged, he walked back to the pub, and I drove back to the air mattress on a floor I had rented through Airbnb.
As I sank into the air mattress, I was soothed by the “shhhhhhh” sound of the slow leak in it. Before I drifted off to sleep I reflected on the night; I had a fantastic time watching the perfectly crafted comedy of Fortune Feimster and when I thought my night was over, it had really just begun. I went to a comedy club alone but was lucky enough to stumble upon a few comedians and the sweetest Swede. They extended me kindness and made me feel included in their motley crew.
Sometimes when you are in the deep end of mental health struggles you feel alone, like there is nowhere you fit in. For me, connecting with other comedians and watching them perform was the most fun way to feel like there were other people like me. I got just as much out of my one night with comedians than I did in the week spent at the meditation and healing retreat. I don’t remember their names, I just remember how they made me feel: like I belong. To the kind comedians and the girl with the whole wide world in the palm of her hand: Thank you. Danke/Gracias. Merci. You helped raise my spirits from the ashes.
Comedians are different. We don't fit in; we stand out, then stand-up, together. I can’t wait until we are back in full-force to make our audiences (and each other) laugh again. Nothing beats the energy and comradery felt while taking in live entertainment. Hang in there folks, we’re just about there.
Until then, I’ll see you at Costco.
