I became a comedian in 30 days. Here’s what happened…
The following piece is an adaptation of a speech I gave last year.
I want to tell you a story: the story of how I became a comedian in a month.
Now, I know that sounds ridiculous, but I promise it will all make sense by the end of this short piece.
At the beginning of 2020, I set a goal for myself: try standup comedy. The idea came to mind after I rewatched Hasan Minhaj’s Netflix special, Homecoming King, for the third time. I loved the way he meandered through stories about difficult topics like immigration, post-9/11 racism, and love, while still keeping things light by poking fun at the human experience. In my opinion, it takes a certain level of expert storytelling to make someone laugh one moment and cry the next, and that’s precisely what Hasan did. I dreamed of making others feel the way he made me feel.
There was only one glaring problem: I wasn’t funny.
Ever since I was little, my jokes always flopped. Occasionally, my friends and family would laugh, but I came to understand that my funniest moments usually happened by chance, not by my own design. No matter how many Trevor Noah monologues or standup specials I watched, I never really improved. One of my favorite authors, Seth Godin, described this phenomenon in his book What To Do When It’s Your Turn (and it’s always your turn):
“Either you’re the creator or you’re the audience. Either you’re waiting your turn or you’re taking it.”
So, on a whim I decided, “Why not try? It’s a new year anyway.” I knew from experience that if I gave myself the year to complete the project, I would push it off to the last minute and never complete it. Thanks to some pressure from a close friend/mentor, I set a harsh deadline: one month. The only criteria: write a set and perform it in front of a crowd.
I didn’t know the first thing about writing a comedy set, let alone performing it. Where did I start? Well, with the highest quality education platform there is: YouTube. After a few dozen hours of background research watching Seinfeld dissect the process he takes to write his jokes, I moved on to writing my own set. This was honestly the hardest part. I knew I wouldn’t be good at slap stick comedy. Plus, I wanted to emulate Hasan Minhaj’s storytelling abilities.
I thought to myself, “What experiences do I have that I could turn into a comedy?” After some journaling and talking it out with my friends, I settled on the ideal story: the story of my Neo-Nazi Uber driver. Lastly, I had to find a place to perform. I searched everywhere and anywhere I could, emailed dozens of hosts, and finally, finally after two weeks of emails, I got my chance. Not at a standup shop. No sir. In those two weeks, I learned that it is notoriously difficult to find open mics on short notice as an 18 year old in DC because of its popularity with comedians on the standup circuit. Instead, I performed in front of 25+ peers in my freshman dorm’s common room.
It was a beautiful experience. Not because my jokes were good. As a matter of fact, many of them still flopped. It was beautiful because I finally made the jump, setting aside my fear that no one would find me funny.
Now, I know what you’re thinking, “Asher, just because you performed your set in front of a crowd doesn’t make you a comedian,” and I totally agree. I am nowhere near the likes of Dave Chapelle or Kevin Hart. Yet, the way I see it, I accomplished my goal. In one month, I went from an unfunny comedy lover to a slightly funnier comedy lover with an interesting story to tell.
To wrap this story up, I want to leave you with a piece of advice. There is an assumption in mainstream culture that creativity is innate, something you are just born with. In my opinion, this mindset is detrimental and far too deterministic to be practical (and there is plenty of evidence to support my belief). If you are looking to make the jump from being a consumer of creative work to a producer of creative work, it might be helpful to place a limitation on yourself. Whether that be by only painting with three colors instead of a whole palette or by setting a seemingly impossible deadline for a project, limitations can act as the spark for your creativity. Counterintuitively, limitations might just be the key to your success.
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