In the Before Times, I used to frequent a local comedy bar, aptly named Comedy Bar, owned by my friend Gary. I especially liked the Friday night improv.
One particular Friday I got a text from Gary: ‘Hey, what are you up to tonight?’
This was unusual for a number of reasons, chief among them that he had never once before expressed an interest in what I was ‘up to’ on a Friday or any other night.
It turned out that the comedian who was supposed to judge the improv that evening was double booked, and Gary having asked conceivably everyone else in the greater Toronto area if they could do it instead landed on me - assuming (rightfully) that I wasn’t up to anything else.
How could I judge improv, I protested? I wasn’t a comedian, a performer - I wasn’t an anything.
‘Please’ he implored. The host was a friend in my FB baseball group. ‘You can talk with him about the Jays or something. Just get here for 8pm’.
My inherent desire to please battled with my equally as intense conviction that I would make a fool out of myself, but Gary had always been good to me, so I agreed.
Once I arrived though, I was seized by panic. People were paying $10 to see this show. They expected actually talented people. Not some goof who had last performed in grade 8. But I’d made a promise. So I ordered the largest glass of wine they had and plucked up enough courage to come out from behind the curtain.
As it turned out, merely being on stage with a spotlight lends a comedic legitimacy to an unsuspecting audience that I hadn’t anticipated. Despite my telling them I was a total nobody, they laughed at my jokes and even applauded me at the end of the show. It was a giddy high.
Drunk on their attention (and the wine), I hung out for the late show, even offering ‘advice’ to the next set of performers. One of them took the subway home with me, and remarked, ‘I know you say you’re not a comedian or performer, but you should start a blog or podcast or something. You’re a natural storyteller.’
I just shook my head, but tucked the compliment away like a shiny penny, taking it out every once in a while to look at when my confidence was especially low.
Then the pandemic happened, and suddenly we had nothing but time. While everyone else learned to knit and make sourdoughs and assembled 10K piece puzzles, I did…nothing. Gripped by inertia, I scrolled my phone, watched decades old baseball games and entire TV series I’d remember nothing about the moment they were finished.
Idly, I would think about starting to write more creatively, and take it no further. I changed jobs and spent months and months and months completely alone and wondered how I would survive.
And then my dad got sick, and everything stopped but taking care of him. And then he no longer needed to be taken care of, and everything stopped again while I tried to learn how to manage grief during isolation and lockdown.
At some point, I lost myself. Too much time on my own and I started to feel ephemeral, a piece of gossamer floating through life. I wanted to find myself again. Dig out that ‘natural storyteller’ who was hopefully still there.
I hope that this space will be a mix of storytelling, and ideally - a place where others will share too.
I would be lying if I said that I didn’t feel like ‘who do I think I am starting a newsletter’. Why would anybody want to read the myriad of minutiae that occupies space in my overactive brain?
But I want to try. I need to try. And I hope you’ll find it worth your time.
Thank you, Ruth
I really enjoyed this and am looking forward to reading this on a regular basis. Thanks! 😊
Hi Ruth. @canadianwording here. Don't know if Aaron's told you, but I'm a longtime stage actor and playwright, so I feel I know a thing about storytelling (though not too many things). Ya, you've got it. You know how to construct, you know how to pace, you know how to give a twist, and you know how to pay off. You've made a good start and you'll know how to keep delivering. Thanks a bunch.