Dear Self,

What a book this life has been! So many chapters. The early chapters that are far behind us.. The first few, living and growing up into little people. The mid-years with the mall bangs, Aqua-Net and blazers… When it was so important to be popular. When everyone’s opinion mattered.

After caring about what everyone thought, you narrowed it down to only what the boys thought. So many boys… and then THE boy. The one who wasn’t cool in the traditional sense, but it was okay because you never cared much for the traditional. The one who showed you what safe was. What love could be. Then, he broke your heart. Not on purpose. You were both just too young, he said. You thought he was wrong.

The next chapter was dark. You leaned into depression. Into deep regret. Into drugs and sex. And shame. You were sure everyone was judging you.

It was time for a new chapter.

Along with your new chapter, you started therapy. You tried so hard and worked so long, working desperately to impress your therapist. Your group leaders and head of programming. You wanted to show your friends how “normal” and healthy you were… You really wanted to be good, for them.

Then there was the darkest chapter where you lost your sister. An overdose. Heroin. You fell out of relationships. Out of connection. Out of caring about anyone or anything. You thought you wouldn’t be able to go on. You didn’t care what anyone thought.

Despite everything, eventually, you were able to laugh again and to make others laugh too.

Routine was boring though. Calm and quiet were not what you were used to and there was the occasional “oops, things are going a little too well… better shake it up because I know how to deal with crisis. It is comfortable.”

Your therapist suggested healthier ways to experience risk without putting your life your wellbeing in jeopardy.

You signed up to try stand up comedy. Oh, you were so nervous. Remember feeling like you ate that whole jar of butterflies before the contest? You didn’t just volunteer for an open mic night; you signed up for a comedy contest. You practiced hard… so hard, even realizing that no matter how practiced and prepared you were, it was still going to be your very first time on stage.

Little did you know this was the beginning of the best chapter of your life.

You remember what happened next, right?

You were sick to your stomach with nerves (and an overabundance of caffeine), terrified you’d forget your lines and once you stepped out on stage, into the spotlight… everything went quiet and still for a minute. A serenity came over you and you knew there was nowhere you’d rather be and nothing you’d rather be doing. THIS was what you were supposed to be doing. This was your life’s purpose.

You KILLED it. And, you won the contest!

It was euphoric.

It was reinforced.

There are many nights you stay up too late, writing and rewriting jokes. Practicing with a microphone given by a friend and a speaker bought in a pawn shop. Walking up and down the hallways and around the bedroom getting a feel for the weight in my hands. The acknowledgement of the cord and special awareness. How close you could hold the mic to your mouth before your words became mumbled.

And the community. The bar crowd that didn’t necessarily drink but shot the shit. There is an acceptance there. Of all your awkwardness and quirk. There is acceptance and celebration, for the most part.

Last night you were in another contest. You didn’t win. Not the prize, anyway. But in another way, that the other performers may not have. You did what you set out to do. You showed up. You didn’t forget any of your jokes. You made people laugh, and you didn’t care if it was with you or at you or even just near you. You were content know you did what you loved to do.

You realized your power in that. You gave yourself permission to be out of your head and strictly in the moment. Enjoying yourself.

All I’ve got left to say is: keep it up! I can’t wait to see where we’ll go from here!