basilwhite

Yesterday, I said "when I did comedy," for the first time, using the past tense. I called myself a standup comedian for ten years, almost on the nose. Ten summers ago a fellow improv comic organized a weekly talent contest in the improv club. A friend prodded me to go on stage as a standup comic and tell the stories I shared in normal conversation and people would laugh. He was right. I got a good piece in the Washington Post and all the checks cleared. I could have done worse.

Now I've closed that book, I have anxiety that I'll stop creating, that I'm too tired to create anything. Plus I can't tell the difference between making a work accessible versus making it stupid. I'm sick of tuning what I create to help other people understand it.

What's holding me back from writing for me? I have an awesome family and I spend time with my loved ones almost every weekend and I am still lonely.

Maybe I'll write a song about it.

There are worse problems. A million refugees in Darfur don't give a shit.

P.S.: I'm enjoying this routine of writing without confirmation that anyone is reading. Maybe it's a stepping stone to writing to myself.