I once had an improv teacher that said “comedy comes from deep suffering.” Or something profoundly odd like that. “That’s ridiculous” I thought at the time. “I create comedy and I’m not miserable.” I was writing comedy bits for stand-up comedians, writing and producing live comedic murder mysteries, doing character improv gigs and I was having fun!
Or was I? I had just divorced my ex-husband for continuing to date while we were married and my attempts at dating after that were as exciting as senior discount day at IHOP. Although I did meet a guy while waiting on the train to take me to improv who said I was “pretty enough to be a stripper.” That’s something, right?
So I had no social life. That didn’t mean I didn’t have friends, did it? Oh yeah, I guess it did. But friends and relationships aren’t everything. I mean, what is happiness anyway? One person’s dead-end career is another person’s dream job. One person’s horrible ex-husband is another lounge lizard’s rock star. One person’s drafty apartment is another person’s crack house. It’s all in how you look at things, right?
So, if good comedy comes from deep suffering, it’s all good in the end. Or maybe Barry, or Kerry, or whatever his name is, was wrong. Maybe comedy comes from being happy, or at least being ignorant of suffering. Maybe it comes from just a little suffering, like a paper cut or stubbing your toe. Those are painful things.
If only I could find him, or remember his name. I do remember hearing he had left for Florida 3 years later to pursue a career as a toll booth operator. Wherever he is, I hope he’s happy, but not funny. Because that would mean he’s still suffering. Oh, the injustice of it all!