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Phil Hanley, whose stuff I could just watch on repeat, is incredible at crowd work. There are a couple of places I regularly see him go. He’ll playfully interpret an interaction as a woman coming on to him, or he’ll manufacture this ridiculous sense of superiority over the person he’s talking to. And he’s mastered that! Tumua Tuinei frequently plays with recognizable stereotypes, especially white and Pacific Islander ones, and then uses playful mocking to push them somewhere hilarious, usually including roast-driven act-outs. Todd Barry, one of the greatest, is calm, understated, and has a penchant for making anyone or anything seem absolutely foolish.

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Chris D’Elia, who I think may be one of the best alive at crowd work (if not “the” best alive), often takes something incredibly small that somebody says or does, twists its meaning, and then keeps exaggerating the new interpretation until it becomes totally absurd. Jeff Arcuri seems driven by genuine curiosity about the person he’s talking to. He’ll discover an interesting word, characteristic, relationship, or piece of information, latch onto it, and start playing with it so that he can share a genuine laugh with that person and everyone else present. Matt Rife often seems genuinely interested in meeting the person, too, but he’s usually looking for an opening that allows the conversation to turn toward playful roasting.

They all have their thing, their schtick. Even so, I see many of the same underlying skills showing up over and over again with each of them. These guys, for instance, are really good at establishing rapport quickly (though their fame certainly gives them a head start because the audience already knows and likes them). They listen closely, notice specifics, reinterpret information, exaggerate, make associations, and remain playful while doing it. They’re also masters of synthesis, taking something from one audience member and connecting it with someone or something else in the room, sometimes several minutes later.

Unfortunately, when we talk about this stuff, we tend to lump it all together under one giant category called “crowd work.” I’ve done that myself, and I’ve certainly heard other comedians talk about getting better at “crowd work” as if they’re describing one specific skill. But I don’t think it is one specific skill. I don’t even think there’s just one “type” of crowd work. I think there are at least three main types of crowd work: Pre-Planned, Semi-Planned, and Un-Planned.

Before getting into those, let me just say that the “type” of crowd work isn’t necessarily the same thing as a comedian’s “style” of crowd work. Hanley’s playful superiority, Tuinei’s use of stereotypes, Barry’s lethal sarcasm, Arcuri’s genuine curiosity, D’Elia’s twisting and exaggerating, and Rife’s playful roasting are choices of “style.” Pre-Planned, Semi-Planned, and Un-Planned describe something different, namely, “types” of crowd work. When I’m talking about “types,” I’m mainly thinking about this question: How much did the comedian know before the interaction started?

1. Pre-Planned Crowd Work: This “type” is probably the safest of the three because the comedian already completely knows or has a pretty good idea where the conversation will go. Comedians who choose this method tend to take a rather common lived experience and use it as a runway leading to their joke. They ask a question about a generic life experience, an audience member gives an answer, and they use the response as a bridge to their prepared material. It looks like an open conversation, but the comedian has really already entered the destination into the GPS.

Now, here’s the thing: That doesn’t make it fake crowd work. Another person is involved, which means something unexpected can always happen. But many of the most common answers have already been anticipated by the comedian so they’ll have some idea of what to do with them. Most importantly with this type of crowd work, the comedian has purposefully designed the interaction so that almost none of their answers can derail the journey toward the joke they’re trying to tell. That’s also what makes this kind of crowd work relatively low-risk. The audience is participating, but the comedian is still controlling the journey and the destination. In short: Pre-Planned Crowd Work plans out the journey and destination ahead of time.

2. Un-Planned Crowd Work: This “type” is almost the complete opposite. With this, the comedian doesn’t know who they’re going to talk to, what they’re going to ask, what they’re going to say, or where the conversation will or will not go. There’s no destination programmed into the GPS because the comedian has no idea where they’re driving to. Now, that doesn’t mean there’s no preparation involved! There pretty much always is.

What I mean is, the comedian still bring structures, techniques, strategies, and years of experience onto the stage with them. They might know how to look for an outlier, get more specific, reinterpret an answer, exaggerate something, make an association, escalate a premise, or synthesize multiple pieces of information. Here the tools are be prepared but the content isn’t. That’s also why this type of crowd work tends toward open-ended questions. And the audience member’s answer will always what happens next, which means the comedian doing this actually has to listen instead of just waiting for their turn to speak. Of the three types, this is probably the highest-risk because it can go anywhere or nowhere.

3. Semi-Planned Crowd Work: I don’t think this “type” is simply a 50/50 mix of the other two. In fact, I think it’s much closer to Un-Planned because, with this the comedian still doesn’t know where the interaction will ultimately go. The difference is that the comedian has done a little scouting beforehand. So, rather than preparing the conversation, they’ve prepared some possibilities. They, for example, might be standing in the wings of the room before they go up and notice a guy wearing an American flag shirt and generate some ideas. That’s exactly what happened during my show last weekend in the clip below.

In this clip, everything “seems” totally spontaneous. But about 15 minutes before I went up, I had scanned the room, saw this guy, and immediately thought of “Captain America” and pledging to the flag. The rest came in the moment. So, it was a mix. I also noticed that night nine people squeezed around one table, giant silver beer tanks beside the crowd, and a garage door directly behind me. I riffed on all those during my performance. But before I went down, to help me remember it all, I jotted down a few ideas. Now, I had no idea what any of those people would say or whether any of those observations would be funny, but I gave myself a few places to begin and went with them.

There can even be a little gamification involved with this. Sometimes, I might challenge myself to talk to three people, connect two unrelated observations, or eventually weave one audience member back into something another person said. Those little challenges create constraints without scripting outcomes. It’s like improv in that way because it has some constraints but is also willing to keep playing when those constraints get blown up. The thing here is: Instead of preparing jokes, the comedian gives their brain some starting blocks. Semi-Planned doesn’t determine the GPS destination but packs up and says, “I’m ready to go.”

I think it’s useful to consider crowd work this way for a few reasons. One is this: Instead of simply wondering whether I’m “good at crowd work,” now I can actually ask what “type” of crowd work I’m actually trying to get better at. And if I were just trying to start out at crowd work, I might begin with Pre-Planned, grow into Semi-Planned, and then grow into Un-Planned. And sometimes during a show, a comedian could totally start with Pre-Planned and suddenly find themselves doing something completely Un-Planned. Sometimes that’s just how it goes. The type of crowd work can change right in the middle of the interaction.

Saying, “I need to work on my crowd work,” is a little like saying, “I need to work on my comedy.” Okay, but what exactly needs work? If I’m practicing Pre-Planned, I can think through likely responses, prepare bridges, and figure out how to move naturally from an audience interaction into my material. If I’m working on Semi-Planned, I can work on observing, generating premises, creating games, listening, and adapting. If I’m practicing Un-Planned, I gotta become comfortable with uncertainty and strengthening my skills of association, specificity, exaggeration, escalation, synthesis, and callbacks. Viewed from this perspective, “practicing crowd work” becomes something much more concrete.

This distinction also takes some of the mystery out of watching great crowd-work comedians. What looks like magical spontaneity is often the product of somebody who has spent years developing repeatable tools. Their words might not be scripted, but their instincts have been trained. But as with most pros at anything, the better they get, the less others can see the machinery underneath what they’re doing. They just make it look natural and easy, like they were born to do it.

The biggest difference between the three types of crowd work isn’t whether they’re spontaneous because all crowd work contains some degree of spontaneity. After all, another human being is involved and, as we all know, they’re able to say anything. The bigger difference is how much uncertainty each comedian’s willing to carry onto the stage. Sometimes, for instance, I know the destination, sometimes I’ve scoped out a few roads worth exploring, and sometimes I grab the mic without a map and see where the audience takes me.

Now, if this kind of breakdown is helpful, I want to invite you to subscribe to my weekly newsletter, so you never miss any of my posts on thoughtful comedy. I regularly write about joke writing, crowd work, performance, persona, mindset, and all the other things I’m learning while pursuing stand-up myself. I’m not interested only in workshopping better jokes; I’m interested in workshopping the comedy and the comedian. Click below, let’s connect, and let me send you my FREE “Joke Blueprint Playbook.”

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I’ve noticed that comedy shows pretty much work the same way. After performing in all kinds of places, from comedy clubs to cafes to outdoor events and so on, I’ve started recognizing certain things that make me think, “This is gonna be fun.” Other times, I walk into a room, look around and, within 10 seconds think, “This is gonna be a challenge.” Occasionally, I walk in, see the setup, and immediately think, “This is gonna suck!” In each instance, the show hasn’t even started yet, but the room is already talking.

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Like with restaurants, that doesn’t mean I can predict exactly what’s going to happen. I can’t. I’ve performed in rooms that looked fantastic and turned out to be difficult, and I’ve performed in places where everything seemed wrong but somehow the show worked. Stand-up is live entertainment, which means there will always be an element of unpredictability. Still, I’ve noticed five things that usually tell me something about the kind of night I’m about to have.

1. The Sound System Is Good: This one sounds obvious but it often goes unnoticed until someone finally takes the stage. Telling jokes on a mic that constantly gets feedback or feels cheap and hollow so that every time you adjust your fingers it pops, really sucks. Good comedy depends so much on timing, but timing doesn’t really matter if half the audience can’t hear setups and punchlines. A good microphone and sound system remove an unnecessary obstacle between the comedian and the audience. A crappy sound system forces everyone in the room to work harder. But of course, people aren’t there to work; they’ve worked all week. They’ve paid to have a fun time and a terrible mic or speakers can get in the way of that. A good sound system also tells me something about the people producing the show. As a performer, it tells me that someone thought about what the comedians would need but also cared enough about the audience to make sure they could hear. When I walk into a room and hear crisp, clear sound coming through the speakers, that’s a good sign.

2. The Venue Is Actually Designed for Comedy: Piggybacking on the previous point, this one’s huge. The truth is, some rooms just make laughing easier because they’re designed for it. Despite being somewhat claustrophobic, as a comedian I love low ceilings, tight walls, dim lighting, and audiences sitting relatively close together. I especially love rooms without televisions, pool tables, blenders, kitchen noises, random conversations, or some guy right up front trying to order mozzarella sticks during my show. Laughter, of course, is social. When people hear others laughing around them, the laughs have an almost magical way of spreading.

3. People Paid for Tickets: I’ve produced and performed in plenty of free, non-ticketed shows, and some of them have been fantastic. Still, there’s something different about an audience that intentionally bought tickets to see comedy. Paying even a relatively small amount creates a level of commitment that doesn’t necessarily exist when comedy is simply happening somewhere people already happen to be. My point is: Paid audiences have already decided, before even showing up, that comedy’s what they’re doing that night. They’ve got some skin in the game, so to speak. That also usually means they’re more willing to sit down, pay attention, and participate in the experience. A free audience might be there for the drinks, food, friends, or because someone dragged them along. Ticket sales don’t guarantee a great crowd, but they’re usually a decent indicator that people showing up actually came to see a show.

4. The Lineup Is Strong: I rarely perform as the only person on a show, though it has happened, especially for private events. For the most part, I’m working with others and the comedian(s) before me can make my job easier or significantly harder. A strong comedian gets the audience laughing, builds trust, creates energy, and then hands that energy to the next person. A good lineup can make or break that. Along with being funny, professional comedians show up when they’re supposed to, respect their time, watch the light, support the other performers, and don’t create drama. They understand that they’re part of a larger show rather than treating the entire evening as a delivery system for their handful of minutes. When I see a lineup filled with people I know are both funny and professional, I usually expect a good night.

5. It’s Friday or Saturday Night: This certainly isn’t a universal law, but comedians have long talked about how the night of the week can make a huge difference regarding the success of a show. Friday and Saturday audiences often show up with a completely different mindset than audiences earlier in the week. They’re going out, meeting friends, having dinner, and looking for something fun to do. They’ve mentally transitioned from work mode into entertainment mode. For me, Saturday nights often feel especially good. There’s no workday immediately behind the audience and, for many people, no workday waiting first thing the next morning. The audience can typically relax a little more, stay out a little later, and settle into the experience. I’ve had great shows on other nights, of course, but when I see Saturday night on the booking, I generally like my odds a little better.

So, here’s something interesting I just noticed in writing those points out: None of them really has anything to do with the jokes I wrote. What’s wild about stand-up is that I could bring the exact same jokes to two completely different rooms and have radically different experiences. One room might have great sound, low ceilings, paid tickets, a killer lineup, and a packed Saturday-night crowd. The other might have a microphone from 1987, twelve people scattered across a brightly lit brewery, and a trivia game happening six feet away.

All that matters because it’s super easy for me to judge myself entirely by the response I received. If I crush, I assume I performed brilliantly. If I struggle, I start wondering whether the jokes stink, whether my delivery was bad, or whether I’m getting worse. Sometimes those things might actually be true. But sometimes I’m comparing performances without accounting for the conditions in which those performances happened. Now, does that give me permission to blame the room every time a joke fails? Nope! Not at all. It just means that I need to evaluate my performances with contextual nuance.

There have been times when I’ve performed poorly in a good room, but other times where I’ve performed well in a difficult room. In fact, there’ve also been times where the room was so good that it probably made everyone on the lineup look a little better than we actually were. I can’t control everything, of course. Even if all these things are in place, audiences can still be weird, comedians can have off nights, equipment can suddenly fail, and occasionally a thunderstorm can turn a comedy venue into a small freshwater ecosystem. That unpredictability is part of live comedy, and it’s also part of what makes performing exciting.

Having said that, I’ll say, too, that there’s a difference between controlling an outcome and creating conditions that give a good outcome a better chance of happening. The more I perform, the more I’m realizing that a comedy show actually starts long before anybody grabs the mic. It begins when a venue is chosen, a date and time are put on the calendar, the lineup’s created, the tickets are sold, and the sound is tested. So, these days, when I walk into a venue, I’m paying attention before the show ever begins. I’m listening to the sound, looking at the room, noticing the audience, checking out the lineup, and thinking about the night itself. None of those things can tell me exactly what’s about to happen, but together they give me a pretty good idea of what I’m working with. And more often than not, I can tell whether a show’s gonna be good or not before the first joke’s ever told.

In my view, one of the hardest parts of becoming a better comedian is figuring out what a good or bad performance actually is. A bad set doesn’t always mean bad jokes, just like a great set doesn’t always mean you’ve suddenly figured everything out. The better I get at separating what I can control from what I can’t, the better I can evaluate my comedy without overreacting to either one. That’s the kind of thinking I explore in my book Comedy Mindhacks. It’s 100 mental shifts I’ve learned from performing, writing, studying comedy, and occasionally getting things very wrong. The goal is simple: Help comedians think more clearly about the work so they can keep getting better at it. If that’s something you’re working on too, you can take a sneak peek inside HERE then get the book HERE.

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Now, one last thing while you’re still here: Recently, I created a new app, a tool I wish I’d have had early on: Comedian Persona Explorer. It can help comedians figure out what they didn’t realize they were missing regarding their persona. Whether you begin with a single report or continue using it as you grow, my goal in creating it is simple: I hope you’ll spend more time becoming the comedian only you can be. Check it out HERE.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if reflections and tools like these are helpful to you, that’s also exactly why I wrote Comedy Mindhacks. My goal isn’t simply to help comedians write better jokes. It’s to help comedians understand the invisible thinking behind better comedy. Every mental model becomes another tool for building momentum, and over time those small shifts in thinking have a way of producing much bigger shifts on stage.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. If this article resonated with you, you’ll find a lot more like it inside the book. You can check out sample pages HERE. If you’re not yet a subscriber, use code MH10LIVE at checkout HERE for 10% off. Free subscribers automatically receive 15% off, and paid subscribers receive 35% off because I’m a big believer in rewarding people who invest in themselves. 👉 Click HERE to grab the book.

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And if you’re ready to double down in a BIGGER way, consider joining my Comedy Vault. It’s my private collection of premium resources, trainings, workshops, and tools designed to help comedians continue growing long after the initial excitement fades. The first bet gets you into the game. Doubling down is what changes who you become.👉 Click HERE to unlock the Comedy Vault.

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So, yeah, origin stories tell us that something began. Lately, I’ve been thinking about my own origin story with regard to stand-up comedy. The less complex version goes something like this: I was a Minister & Bible professor who decided in his 40s to become a stand-up comedian. By the time I stepped onto a comedy stage, I had five degrees, including a PhD, had written nearly 40 books, taught college students for two decades, worked in ministry, and spent decades becoming educated. I was and still am super comfortable operating in contexts where my ministerial and biblical knowledge and expertise matters.

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BUT…I eventually walked onto a comedy stage and almost none of it seemed to matter. I’ve learned that stand-up comedy has a way of humbling us like that. I mean, I’ve done a lot of shows and not once, not a single time!, has anybody in the audience ever cared about how many degrees I have. Nobody’s ever asked how many books I’ve written or how many lectures I’ve given. They just don’t care. Period! Nobody’s gonna laugh because I have credentials. And so, after spending decades gaining expertise in biblical & theological studies, comedy had a way of making me feel like a beginner again.

Becoming a beginner at anything in one’s 40s, 50s, or 60s is pretty different from becoming a beginner in one’s twenties. That’s the case because, by midlife, we’ve usually spent years becoming competent at things, building careers, raising families, developing reputations, and figuring out how parts of the world work. There’s comfort in competence like that because, in general, we know what we’re doing and other people often know that we know what we’re doing. But becoming a beginner means giving some of that comfort up. It means willingly walking into a room where we might be terrible at something again or have no real idea of what we’re doing.

That’s what comedy did to me. Suddenly, I was surrounded by people who had started years or even decades before I had. And let me tell you: Some people are more than happy to try to remind me of that as often as they can. Stepping into comedy, I encountered gatekeeping, seniority culture, mysterious unwritten rules, and a lotta conventional comedy wisdom that everyone seemed to know: “It’s all about stage time.” “Get reps.” “Pay your dues.” “It takes five years to find your voice.” And so on. And for each saying or rule or practice, the scholar in me kept wanting to know why.

At first, my questions were mostly about jokes and joke writing. Why does this joke work while that one doesn’t? Why can one comedian say something and get a huge laugh while another person delivers almost the same premise and gets nothing? How much of comedy can actually be learned, and how much is natural ability? So, I started reading, watching, studying, writing, experimenting, and interviewing other comedians because that’s how I learn.

Over time, though, my questions started changing. I became curious about why some comedians seemed to improve quickly while others could perform for years, decades even, without developing very much. I wondered why comparison motivated one comedian but completely destroyed another, why experienced performers sometimes choked during important opportunities, and why some people seemed terrified of taking certain creative risks. I started thinking more seriously about where comedic persona comes from, how confidence develops, and why criticism can affect us so deeply. Somewhere along the way, I became increasingly interested in how both jokes and comedians become better.

That distinction changed everything for me. I entered comedy thinking the main thing sitting on the workbench was the joke. I tighten the setup, sharpen the punchline, add tags, change a word, move a pause, adjust the delivery, and try it again. That work matters, of course, and I absolutely love doing it as anyone engaging my content can tell. It’s fulfilling for me. But there’s also something else that’s really important sitting on the workbench: Me.

And so, as I continue to make my comedy journey public in a myriad of ways, my baseline has essentially become this: It’s all about workshopping the comedian and the comedy. In fact, I think I’m going to begin using that as a primary motto or slogan alongside “Laughter > Outrage.” I’m saying this because I think way too many people in the comedy space place an inordinate amount of emphasis on jokes. Again, all that’s important. But comedians gotta work on themselves, too. And many times that’s overlooked.

This realization’s been sitting with me for a while now. Over time, I’ve noticed, for instance, that every bomb’s done something to me. Every successful set, rejection, competition, awkward open mic, new room, difficult audience, criticism, opportunity, and failure has revealed something about how I think and react. And I’ve realized something I think is profound, at least for me: Sometimes, yes, the joke needs to change; but, sometimes I, the person writing and performing the joke, need to change. Once I landed on that insight, comedy immediately became a much larger experiment for me.

That’s probably the more complex origin story behind almost everything I’m building now. My Messed-Up to Set-Ups podcast grew out of conversations about how comedians develop material and think about their craft. My “Comedy Mindhacks” grew out of my fascination with the psychology surrounding creativity, failure, confidence, comparison, risk, and momentum. My courses, coaching, livestreams, Comedian Persona Explorer app, Joke Writer’s Lab, as well as writing, producing, and performing stand-up are really all just different expressions of the same basic curiosity: Growth.

That doesn’t mean I think I’ve figured comedy out. In fact, the entire point of every single thing I do is almost the exact opposite of that. I’m not claiming I’ve solved some mystery everyone else has missed. I’m simply inside my workshop, trying things, bombing, succeeding, asking questions, changing my mind, testing ideas, and paying attention to what happens. And I’m making much of that journey public because, as I’ve said numerous times, I’ve found that documenting what I’m learning helps me learn, and every once in a while something I discover seems to help somebody else, too.

That’s also why I don’t think “time served” should EVER settle an argument about someone’s status as a comedian. Experience matters, of course, and I’ll gladly listen to most who’ve traveled the road longer than I have. (Again, see my Messed-Up To Set-Ups podcast for 140+ episodes of that.) But here’s a fact: Doing something for twenty years and deliberately studying how to improve at something for twenty years aren’t the same thing. They’re just not. I’m less interested in whether an idea is traditional than whether it’s true, useful, and helpful. And so, a question I keep asking myself is: Can I get better at getting better?

I think that question is especially important for those who come to comedy later in life. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I don’t have another twenty years to spend waiting around before I become curious about how improvement works. I want the reps, yes, but I also want to understand what those reps are teaching me. I want to perform more, but I also want to understand why one performance moves me forward while another simply repeats what I already know. I’m not interested in just accumulating experience; I personally wanna become better at converting that experience into momentum and growth.

Maybe that’s one of the unexpected advantages of becoming and being a learner or lifelong learner. Learners have permission to ask questions that experts sometimes stop asking because everything has become familiar. Learners can look at the rules, traditions, assumptions, and conventional wisdom surrounding something and wonder why things work the way everyone says they do. They can experiment because they haven’t spent decades protecting a particular way of doing things. Curiosity becomes a huge advantage because they know they haven’t arrived.

In general, I think there’s something healthy about being a learner, regardless of what age that happens. It completely undermines the illusion that growth belongs mostly to an earlier stage of life, and it forces me into situations where I have to learn, fail, adjust, and try again. And one of the real upshots is that stagnation becomes much harder when I keep putting myself in rooms where I don’t already know everything. Being “unfinished,” as it were, becomes less a weakness and more an invitation.

When I look back now, I don’t think my comedy origin story is merely about a Bible professor who unexpectedly became a comedian. That’s the less complex, quirky version, but it’s really too shallow. The deeper story is about someone who spent decades becoming an expert and then voluntarily became a learner again. And once I did, I became obsessed not only with becoming a better comedian but with understanding how becoming better actually happens.

And to my main point: Maybe that’s why origin stories matter so much. They don’t simply tell us where something started; they help us understand what the story that follows is really about. I walked onto my first comedy stage after several weeks of workshopping jokes, but I didn’t realize it was the start of a long process of workshopping myself. And for that, I’m immensely thankful. And regardless of what anyone else in the comedy world thinks, it’s an origin story I’m proud to share.

Now, one last thing while you’re still here: Recently, I created a new app, a tool I wish I’d have had early on: Comedian Persona Explorer. It can help comedians figure out what they didn’t realize they were missing regarding their persona. Whether you begin with a single report or continue using it as you grow, my goal in creating it is simple: I hope you’ll spend more time becoming the comedian only you can be. Check it out HERE.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if reflections and tools like these are helpful to you, that’s also exactly why I wrote Comedy Mindhacks. My goal isn’t simply to help comedians write better jokes. It’s to help comedians understand the invisible thinking behind better comedy. Every mental model becomes another tool for building momentum, and over time those small shifts in thinking have a way of producing much bigger shifts on stage.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. If this article resonated with you, you’ll find a lot more like it inside the book. You can check out sample pages HERE. If you’re not yet a subscriber, use code MH10LIVE at checkout HERE for 10% off. Free subscribers automatically receive 15% off, and paid subscribers receive 35% off because I’m a big believer in rewarding people who invest in themselves. 👉 Click HERE to grab the book.

I'm In! Let's Gooo!

And if you’re ready to double down in a BIGGER way, consider joining my Comedy Vault. It’s my private collection of premium resources, trainings, workshops, and tools designed to help comedians continue growing long after the initial excitement fades. The first bet gets you into the game. Doubling down is what changes who you become.👉 Click HERE to unlock the Comedy Vault.

Yes! I'll Become A Subscriber

So, I had a decision to make: I could accept their assessment, put the project away, and wait until somebody or a few somebodies decided “the market” was ready. I could keep knocking on the same doors hoping one of the people on the other side would finally let me in. Or, I could decide that they were allowed to say no to publishing my work, but they weren’t allowed to determine whether my work ever saw the light of day. I chose the latter. And on the heels of that, I talked with one of my friends and professors, Dr. Fred Long, and we started our own publishing company.

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That decision changed the trajectory of my life. What began partly because I couldn’t get someone else to publish something I believed in eventually became GlossaHouse. Over the years we’ve published books and other resources from more than 300 authors and content creators. And none of that happened because the original gatekeepers eventually changed their minds about me. They didn’t! (Though, now many others have followed suit and have, in fact, started imitating my creative Greek projects.) Here’s what I’m getting at: Starting GlossaHouse in the way I did is how I’ve approached things for my entire adult life.

I’ve encountered gatekeepers everywhere I’ve gone. But here’s a fact: Gatekeepers only control the gates they own. In higher education, for instance, there a handful of people at a college or university that determine who gets hired, promoted, or invited into certain circles. They exist in churches, too, where ministers and other leaders sometimes discover that someone else, such as denominational forces, have tremendous control over what they’re allowed to do. They exist in publishing, entertainment, business, and nearly every other industry I’ve encountered. And, of course, they’re absolutely everywhere in stand-up comedy.

Every local comedy scene seems to have them or some version of them. There are people who control certain rooms, shows, festivals, opportunities, lineups, and social circles, and sometimes they genuinely believe they’re protecting comedy, their venue, their audience, or their brand. Here’s where I’ll consent: Some gatekeeping might be beneficial because, truthfully, not everybody belongs on every show. There are definitely shows that I as a clean comedian do not fit on. And a booker has every right to decide who performs on a show they’re responsible for producing. BUT…the problem begins when I start believing that their decision determines whether I get to keep moving at all.

Read that line again: The problem begins when I start believing that their decision determines whether I get to keep moving. Fine, let them make their decision to keep me out. But let me create my own opportunities and keep moving. Let me keep my agency and keep my momentum going. Their decisions have nothing to do with my fate unless I let them or decide they do. And, honestly, I think that’s an incredibly easy thing to forget in comedy. Many do it without even realizing it.

We might start doing open mics and then discover that there are shows we want to be on, clubs we want to perform at, festivals we want to enter, and people whose approval seems capable of moving us forward. Before long, we can begin organizing our progress around getting picked. We hope somebody notices us, likes us, invites us, books us, recommends us, or lets us into whatever circle we think represents the next level. We start kissing butt and sucking up and brown-nosing and either selling ourselves out or selling ourselves short. And, again, without even realizing it, we’ve handed someone else control over our fate and our momentum. We should NEVER do that!

Maybe we do it because we don’t wanna be rejected. I get it. I know that rejection can hurt. I’ve been rejected thousands of times in my life. And I know being excluded can be frustrating. I’ve been excluded more times than I care to remember. But the bigger problem comes when I confuse somebody’s rejection or exclusion or their ability to deny me their opportunity with their ability to deny me opportunity altogether. Those aren’t the same thing!!! The former gives a person control over what belongs to them, but the other gives them control over what belongs to me.

A comedy booker, for example, can keep me off his or her show. But that booker can’t keep me from producing one of my own. A festival can reject my submission, but it can’t keep me from finding another stage. A local scene can decide I’m not part of its inner circle, but it doesn’t own every venue, audience, microphone, camera, podcast, social-media platform, or opportunity available to me. Somebody can close a gate to me but that doesn’t mean they’ve closed off all roads.

All that matters because it moves the focus away from gatekeepers and puts it back on me and my agency. If all my energy is spent trying to convince someone to open a particular gate, eventually my progress becomes dependent upon that person. I wait, complain, become bitter, compare myself to whoever got picked, and wonder why nobody recognizes what I can do. Meanwhile, there may be a dozen other ways to keep moving that I’ve completely ignored because I’ve become obsessed with one locked gate.

I was recently asked to be part of a comedy group on a social media platform. The creator of the group asked me if I would post and share my articles. So, I joined and did that. Well, it turns out an original member of the group didn’t like my stuff and, so, they went to the guy who asked me to join and complained. That person, the complainer, was simply trying to gatekeep. Rather than deal with the toxicity, I left the group. That person then followed my posts in another group and started commenting on my posts there, thinking he was exposing me because I’ve not been in comedy long enough to suit his tastes. It’s laughable and ridiculous. And I could’ve let his attempts to gatekeep slow me down or hamper me, but I chose to laugh in the face of them and keep doing my thing.

The truth is, I’ve never been very good at waiting for someone to pick me. Ever. When I wanted to publish something and publishers said no, I created a publishing company. When I wanted more opportunities to perform comedy, I started producing shows. When I wanted to talk with comedians and learn from their experiences, I created a podcast. When I wanted to share what I was learning about comedy, psychology, creativity, and momentum, I started writing about it. I take full control of my agency and make the most of it. And in doing that, I’ve created opportunities for others.

Now, here’s something I want to be absolutely clear about: NONE of that means those things immediately became successful. Creating our own opportunities doesn’t eliminate the hard work that comes afterward at all. Starting a show doesn’t guarantee anyone will attend, starting a podcast doesn’t guarantee anyone will listen, and publishing a book doesn’t guarantee anyone will buy it. Agency doesn’t guarantee an outcome. Having agency just means that I refuse to make someone else’s permission the prerequisite for my effort. I’ll never do that.

Here’s another thing: All this also keeps me from becoming entitled or having an entitlement/victim mindset. Choosing my own agency doesn’t mean I’m entitled to anyone else’s opportunities. It just means that their opportunities aren’t the only ones available to me. Likewise, agency doesn’t mean ignoring criticism, refusing feedback, or convincing myself that everyone who says “No” is an idiot. It means I can learn from a closed gate without building my house in front of it. The best thing I can do is make adjustments and keep moving.

I think this becomes especially important for those of us who came to comedy later in life. Waiting three years for somebody in a local scene to decide I’ve paid enough dues or waiting indefinitely for the right person to notice me doesn’t sound appealing at all. I’d rather keep improving while simultaneously creating as many opportunities as I reasonably can. I can respect somebody else’s gate without spending my life standing in front of it begging. Sometimes momentum means moving around that gate, building beside it, or creating something entirely different. The important thing is that someone else’s decision doesn’t become the moment when I surrender my own agency.

Looking back, I’m incredibly grateful those publishers rejected my ancient Greek audiobook sixteen years ago. I certainly wasn’t grateful at the time, but their rejection forced me to make a decision I might’ve never made if one of them had simply said yes. I wanted someone to pick my project, but eventually I had to pick it myself. And what grew from that decision became far bigger than the opportunity I originally wanted.

As I said, that’s a pattern I’ve carried into comedy and nearly every other part of my life. I don’t need every gate to open. I simply need enough agency to keep moving when one stays closed. Sometimes that means improving until I’m ready for the opportunity, sometimes it means finding another opportunity, and sometimes it means creating one that didn’t previously exist. Either way, my momentum doesn’t have to end because somebody told me no.

So, screw the gatekeepers. Stop waiting to be picked by them. Stop giving them more power than they actually possess. Yes, they can control their gates, but I get to decide what I do when one of those gates doesn’t open. I’ve learned that the creative life is too short to spend it standing outside somebody else’s gate hoping they eventually call my name or say yes. What I can do anyway is keep writing, performing, producing, creating, learning, improving, and building whether somebody else validates my efforts and work or not.

Now, one last thing while you’re still here: Recently, I created a new app, a tool I wish I’d have had early on: Comedian Persona Explorer. It can help comedians figure out what they didn’t realize they were missing regarding their persona. Whether you begin with a single report or continue using it as you grow, my goal in creating it is simple: I hope you’ll spend more time becoming the comedian only you can be. Check it out HERE.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if reflections and tools like these are helpful to you, that’s also exactly why I wrote Comedy Mindhacks. My goal isn’t simply to help comedians write better jokes. It’s to help comedians understand the invisible thinking behind better comedy. Every mental model becomes another tool for building momentum, and over time those small shifts in thinking have a way of producing much bigger shifts on stage.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. If this article resonated with you, you’ll find a lot more like it inside the book. You can check out sample pages HERE. If you’re not yet a subscriber, use code MH10LIVE at checkout HERE for 10% off. Free subscribers automatically receive 15% off, and paid subscribers receive 35% off because I’m a big believer in rewarding people who invest in themselves. 👉 Click HERE to grab the book.

I'm In! Let's Gooo!

And if you’re ready to double down in a BIGGER way, consider joining my Comedy Vault. It’s my private collection of premium resources, trainings, workshops, and tools designed to help comedians continue growing long after the initial excitement fades. The first bet gets you into the game. Doubling down is what changes who you become.👉 Click HERE to unlock the Comedy Vault.

Yes! I'll Become A Subscriber

Also, I’d love to encourage you to check out a new app I just created, an app I wish I’d have had years ago: Comedian Persona Explorer. Whether you begin with a single report or continue using it as you grow, my goal is simple: I hope you’ll spend less time chasing someone else’s identity and more time becoming the comedian only you can be. Check it out HERE.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if reflections and tools like this are helpful to you, that’s also exactly why I wrote Comedy Mindhacks. My goal isn’t simply to help comedians write better jokes. It’s to help comedians understand the invisible thinking behind better comedy. Every mental model becomes another tool for building momentum, and over time those small shifts in thinking have a way of producing much bigger shifts on stage.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. If this article resonated with you, you’ll find a lot more like it inside the book. You can check out sample pages HERE. If you’re not yet a subscriber, use code MH10LIVE at checkout HERE for 10% off. Free subscribers automatically receive 15% off, and paid subscribers receive 35% off because I’m a big believer in rewarding people who invest in themselves. 👉 Click HERE to grab the book.

I'm In! Let's Gooo!

And if you’re ready to double down in a BIGGER way, consider joining my Comedy Vault. It’s my private collection of premium resources, trainings, workshops, and tools designed to help comedians continue growing long after the initial excitement fades. The first bet gets you into the game. Doubling down is what changes who you become.👉 Click HERE to unlock the Comedy Vault.

Yes! I'll Become A Subscriber

Also, I’d love to encourage you to check out a new app I just created, an app I wish I’d have had years ago: Comedian Persona Explorer. Whether you begin with a single report or continue using it as you grow, my goal is simple: I hope you’ll spend less time chasing someone else’s identity and more time becoming the comedian only you can be. Check it out HERE.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if reflections and tools like this are helpful to you, that’s also exactly why I wrote Comedy Mindhacks. My goal isn’t simply to help comedians write better jokes. It’s to help comedians understand the invisible thinking behind better comedy. Every mental model becomes another tool for building momentum, and over time those small shifts in thinking have a way of producing much bigger shifts on stage.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. If this article resonated with you, you’ll find a lot more like it inside the book. You can check out sample pages HERE. If you’re not yet a subscriber, use code MH10LIVE at checkout HERE for 10% off. Free subscribers automatically receive 15% off, and paid subscribers receive 35% off because I’m a big believer in rewarding people who invest in themselves. 👉 Click HERE to grab the book.

I'm In! Let's Gooo!

And if you’re ready to double down in a BIGGER way, consider joining my Comedy Vault. It’s my private collection of premium resources, trainings, workshops, and tools designed to help comedians continue growing long after the initial excitement fades. The first bet gets you into the game. Doubling down is what changes who you become.👉 Click HERE to unlock the Comedy Vault.

Yes! I'll Become A Subscriber

Our pay for the night was dinner, which started at 6pm, and was to be followed by stand-up at 7pm. Since I don’t like eating before I perform, I made a to-go plate with some grilled sausage & onions, shrimp & grits, and peach cobbler. At that point, everything seemed pretty normal. I had even taken a bit of the peach cobbler and…it was incredible. But within minutes, all that changed. The first problem? After they finished eating, almost everyone left.

YES! Let Me Have the FREE Joke Playbook

There had been around 30-35 people inside the large walled tent where I had set up, but most of them apparently came for dinner rather than comedy. As soon as they ate, they bolted back to their RVs and wherever else they were staying for the competition. It was frustrating, to say the least, especially because I had hauled in and set up my own microphones, cords, speaker, stands, soundboard, cameras, extension cords, and everything else we needed for the show. By the time I took the microphone, there were exactly two people sitting in chairs watching us. Two!!!

Still, a gig is a gig, and I believe in performing my best whether there’s two people, twenty people, or two hundred. So, I started performing. Within about a minute of being on the mic, I heard thunder, and lightning started flashing outside the tent. Within three minutes, rain started pouring and several people rushed inside for cover. Suddenly, my audience had tripled from two people to six, which normally would’ve been fantastic news. Unfortunately, none of them were actually watching me because they were busy trying to put up one of the walls of the tent.

So there I was, standing with a microphone telling jokes while six people were frantically trying to weatherproof the room around me. Since there was absolutely no point pretending this was a normal comedy show anymore, I started narrating what was happening and trying to add humor wherever I could. Honestly, for a few minutes, it was kinda fun. The comedy “set” that I had in mind was anything but “set”; within a couple minutes, it was completely irrelevant. Then…the rain really started.

Within about five minutes of taking the mic, it was pouring buckets. Before long water started rushing underneath the sides of the tent. My cords were getting wet, puddles were forming around the microphone stands, and people were literally, in the middle of my stand-up, yelling instructions across the tent about what needed to be picked up and moved. By the fifteen-minute mark, nobody was thinking about comedy anymore. We were basically running a disaster-relief operation with a sound system. But I kept going…kinda.

Somewhere around twenty minutes into it all, the spot where I’d originally been standing was completely covered in water. Like…completely…covered. A couple minutes later, I was standing in mud and what had to be close to a foot of water. I kid you not, the woman hosting the event was standing a few feet away from me when she suddenly looked down and yelled, “Hey, there’s a tadpole!” I guess when wildlife starts attending the show, it’s probably time to wrap it up.

So, I called it, although in retrospect I probably should’ve done that long before I did. A brand-new microphone fell into the mud and some of my equipment was soaked. Meanwhile, the bags I used to carry everything out were sitting safely inside my truck where I had put them before the show started. That meant I had to shove my wet equipment into black garbage bags so I could somehow get it back to my vehicle. Somewhere beneath roughly two feet of water was also my brand-new 100-foot extension cord, which I decided the BBQ competition could hang on to for the next couple of days. If you’re so inclined, check out this short clip to watch some of it unfold.

Then, just before I made my dash through the storm to get my truck, something completely unexpected happened. The woman running the event literally asked me if I’d come back Saturday and host the awards ceremony. I had just performed comedy for two people, nearly electrocuted myself, sacrificed an extension cord to Poseidon, and watched a tadpole swim across my stage. And…somehow, I got another gig.

I ran through the rain, backed my truck up as close to the tent as possible, and we started loading everything into the back seat. Once we got it all in, I drove Chris through the storm to his car and finally headed home. I was completely drenched and waterlogged. When I walked through the front door, my son saw me and immediately lost it, and then his six high-school buddies saw me and did the same thing.

Standing there soaked while a bunch of teenagers laughed at me, I started thinking about the evening I’d planned. I had brought a bunch of new jokes I wanted to try, prepared for crowd work, hauled in all my equipment, and even emailed the organizers that morning to ask whether there was a backup plan in case the weather turned bad. They told me there wasn’t one, and although I knew storms were possible, I couldn’t have predicted anything remotely close to what actually happened. Pretty much every plan I’d made for the evening had been blown to smithereens.

That’s the strange thing about producing comedy shows, and really about performing in general. Preparation matters tremendously, and I’m a huge believer in doing as much of it as possible. But preparation can quietly create an illusion that if I’ve planned everything correctly, the evening should somehow cooperate with my plan. But…live performances don’t always work that way. Sometimes the audience leaves, the weather changes, equipment fails, schedules get messed up, and tadpoles start swimming through the venue.

I think that’s especially important for comedians like me because it’s easy to try to define a successful gig before the gig ever starts. Maybe success means getting a certain number of laughs, testing three new jokes, doing ten minutes of crowd work, getting good video, or absolutely crushing a carefully prepared closer. None of those are bad goals, but last night there eventually came a point where none of them were available anymore. They were gone. The conditions changed, which meant my definition of doing a good job had to change with them.

At first, doing my job meant performing comedy for the people in the room. Then it meant trying to entertain six people while they put up the wall of a tent. Eventually, it meant getting expensive electrical equipment out of standing water, helping everyone respond to the chaos, and recognizing that there was no comedy show left to save. The goal kept moving because reality kept moving. Being stubbornly committed to the original plan wouldn’t have made me more professional; eventually it would’ve just made me an idiot standing in a foot of water holding a microphone.

As I said, being professional certainly means showing up prepared, knowing my material, bringing what I need, and doing everything possible to deliver what I promised. But sometimes professionalism doesn’t look like executing the original plan perfectly. Sometimes it looks like remaining useful, flexible, and relatively pleasant when a storm hits and the original plan becomes impossible or just no longer exists. The fact is: What happens around my performance often reveals just as much, if not more, about me as it does the performance itself.

That’s also why I’m glad the evening didn’t end when I finally stopped telling jokes. I could’ve looked around at the flooded tent, soaked equipment, muddy microphone, abandoned extension cord, and almost nonexistent audience and decided the entire thing was a failure. By almost every definition of success I’d brought with me that evening, it probably was. But apparently the woman running the event saw enough in the middle of all that chaos to ask me to come back. I also heard her answer a phone call and say, “Man, these comedians are troopers!”

I drove home thinking I’d just survived the gig from Hell, and I’m still not sure that’s an exaggeration. I didn’t get to test the material I’d planned, didn’t get the crowd-work practice I’d expected, didn’t perform for the audience we’d anticipated, and didn’t even bring all of my equipment home. But I did get another booking. So, here’s my big takeaway from all this: Sometimes success is executing the plan, but other times it’s showing people who I am when everything falls apart.

Now, one last thing while you’re still here: Recently, I created a new app, a tool I wish I’d have had early on: Comedian Persona Explorer. It can help comedians figure out what they didn’t realize they were missing regarding their persona. Whether you begin with a single report or continue using it as you grow, my goal in creating it is simple: I hope you’ll spend more time becoming the comedian only you can be. Check it out HERE.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if reflections and tools like these are helpful to you, that’s also exactly why I wrote Comedy Mindhacks. My goal isn’t simply to help comedians write better jokes. It’s to help comedians understand the invisible thinking behind better comedy. Every mental model becomes another tool for building momentum, and over time those small shifts in thinking have a way of producing much bigger shifts on stage.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. If this article resonated with you, you’ll find a lot more like it inside the book. You can check out sample pages HERE. If you’re not yet a subscriber, use code MH10LIVE at checkout HERE for 10% off. Free subscribers automatically receive 15% off, and paid subscribers receive 35% off because I’m a big believer in rewarding people who invest in themselves. 👉 Click HERE to grab the book.

I'm In! Let's Gooo!

And if you’re ready to double down in a BIGGER way, consider joining my Comedy Vault. It’s my private collection of premium resources, trainings, workshops, and tools designed to help comedians continue growing long after the initial excitement fades. The first bet gets you into the game. Doubling down is what changes who you become.👉 Click HERE to unlock the Comedy Vault.

Yes! I'll Become A Subscriber

I’m glad I wrote it down because that exact quote hit me again just a few days later. A comedian friend of mine just launched a brand-new comedy venture in his local scene. For a first show, it couldn’t have gone much better. The show sold out, the room was packed to standing-room-only capacity, the audience loved it, the comedians had a great time, and the venue owners and staff couldn’t have been happier. By every reasonable measure, the evening was a huge success. It looked like the beginning of something that could become really special and I know it’s gonna be.

Yes!!! I'll Take The FREE Joke Playbook

But I also remembered what I had told him a couple weeks before the event: “Dude, just remember: When yo do something good, there’ll always be haters.” It was almost prophetic. Within hours of his event ending, people inside his local comedy scene had already started criticizing the show in a private group chat. They weren’t offering constructive feedback or thoughtful suggestions about how to make it better. They were simply tearing it down because, as I’ve learned, that’s what crappy people do; that’s what haters do. Want to know if someone’s a hater? Here’s the telltale sign: Haters don’t create; they try to tear down creators and what they’re creating.

Comedy’s a strange business because, while there are tons of haters, so many comedians I’ve met are generous, encouraging, and genuinely want others to succeed. Others, however, operate from the “famine mindset” I’ve talked about before in these articles and on my podcasts. That is, they operate from the assumption that success is a limited good. So, if another comedian gets a booking, they feel like something has been taken away from them. If someone else builds an audience or starts a successful show, they see it as evidence that there’s now less room for them.

I learned that lesson a couple years ago at an open mic in Hawai’i. On that particular night, not a single audience member showed up. Not one. The room consisted entirely of comedians sitting with their arms crossed, scrolling through their phones, waiting for their own turn to perform. Since they’d already heard my material numerous times at these open mics, I decided to throw out my prepared set and spend my seven minutes practicing crowd work on the only people available: The other comedians.

One comedian absolutely hated it and, for some reason, it pissed him off. While I was still on stage, he started yelling at me to “do real @#$%ing comedy” and stop wasting everyone’s time. After the mic, I approached him in the parking lot because I honestly wanted to understand what had upset him so much. We talked for a few minutes, went our separate ways, and I assumed that would be the end of it.

Several months later, we ended up booked on the same lineup for a Don’t Tell show with a real audience. That night, I performed one of my regular sets, and afterward he walked over to me and, quite surprisingly, he apologized for what he’d said months earlier. He admitted that he’d assumed I didn’t actually have jokes because most of what he’d seen me do was fool around with crowd work at an empty open mic. But watching a real performance completely changed his opinion.

That experience taught me something I’ve never forgotten: Many people form strong opinions based on very little evidence and many critics aren’t actually evaluating us as fairly as we imagine. They’re filtering what they see through their own experiences, frustrations, insecurities, and assumptions. It’s the same reason I take the advice of competition judges with a grain of salt. Of course, there are times when criticism reveals something I genuinely need to improve. Other times, however, it reveals far more about the critic than it does about me.

That’s one of the reasons I think so often about something Kobe Bryant once said: “Learn to love the hate. Embrace it. Enjoy it. You earned it.” I don’t think Kobe meant that we should go around trying to make people hate us. What he meant is that the moment someone begins doing meaningful work, they’ll inevitably attract people who are bothered simply because they’re moving forward. And he was 100% correct! If you have a hater because of your hard work, you earned it. Here’s the truth: Progress has a funny way of exposing people who have stopped progressing themselves.

That’s why I loved what the fighter on The Ultimate Fighter said before he walked into the cage. He wasn’t fighting to satisfy critics or silence doubters. He wasn’t trying to prove himself to strangers on the internet. He simply wanted to prove to himself that he could do the thing, that he could do something difficult. In my view, that’s such a healthy place to work from because it puts the focus back where it belongs.

Stand-up has been teaching me that same lesson over and over again. If I perform to earn everyone’s approval, or even anyone’s approval, I’ll lose because that game can’t be won. There’ll always be another critic, another cynic, another anonymous comment, or another comedian convinced that my success somehow threatens theirs. If I let those people determine whether I keep going, I’ve quietly handed them authority over my journey.

So, I’m always trying to adopt and stick with the fighter’s mindset instead. I wanna write better jokes than I wrote last month. I wanna become a stronger performer than I was last year. I wanna keep producing shows, writing articles, recording podcasts, and stepping onto stages because each one gives me another opportunity to grow. Whether someone else applauds that journey or criticizes it really isn’t the point. The point is: The more my identity depends on other people’s approval, the more vulnerable I’ll become when my success inevitably attracts their criticism.

The truth is, there’ll always be people cheering from the crowd, and there’ll always be people complaining from the sidelines. So, what do I do when I start succeeding and people come after me? I stay focused and keep pursuing my goal. Nobody else gets to decide whether I continue. That decision belongs to me and me alone. When I remember that, I spend less time worrying about what the world thinks and more time proving to myself that I can become the person and comedian I wanna be.

Now, one last thing while you’re still here: Recently, I created a new app, a tool I wish I’d have had early on: Comedian Persona Explorer. It can help comedians figure out what they didn’t realize they were missing regarding their persona. Whether you begin with a single report or continue using it as you grow, my goal in creating it is simple: I hope you’ll spend more time becoming the comedian only you can be. Check it out HERE.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if reflections and tools like these are helpful to you, that’s also exactly why I wrote Comedy Mindhacks. My goal isn’t simply to help comedians write better jokes. It’s to help comedians understand the invisible thinking behind better comedy. Every mental model becomes another tool for building momentum, and over time those small shifts in thinking have a way of producing much bigger shifts on stage.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. If this article resonated with you, you’ll find a lot more like it inside the book. You can check out sample pages HERE. If you’re not yet a subscriber, use code MH10LIVE at checkout HERE for 10% off. Free subscribers automatically receive 15% off, and paid subscribers receive 35% off because I’m a big believer in rewarding people who invest in themselves. 👉 Click HERE to grab the book.

I'm In! Let's Gooo!

And if you’re ready to double down in a BIGGER way, consider joining my Comedy Vault. It’s my private collection of premium resources, trainings, workshops, and tools designed to help comedians continue growing long after the initial excitement fades. The first bet gets you into the game. Doubling down is what changes who you become.👉 Click HERE to unlock the Comedy Vault.

Yes! I'll Become A Subscriber

The older I get, the more I think that’s how learning works, too. We often imagine education is about filling gaps we already know exist. Sometimes that’s true. More often, though, I think learning introduces us to gaps we never knew were there in the first place. It isn’t just about gaining new information. It’s about discovering that there was something worth knowing all along.

I Love This! I Want a FREE Joke Playbook

Maybe that’s one of the reasons I’ve always loved learning and am one of those people who calls themselves a “lifelong learner.” Over the years I’ve earned five degrees, but I’ve also taken classes that had absolutely nothing to do with collecting diplomas. For instance, since I earned my last degree, of my own accord I’ve gone on to take classes on and study counseling, Bible and theology, comedy, resin art, and plenty of other subjects simply because I enjoy the process of learning. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve ever taken a class because I believed I already knew what I needed. I took those classes because I hoped they would introduce me to something I didn’t even know I was missing.

That realization came rushing back to me this week during a video call with Ray Lloyd, better known to wrestling fans as Glacier. If you grew up watching professional wrestling like I did, names like Dusty Rhodes, Mean Gene Okerlund, Sting, Ric Flair, and countless others weren’t just entertainers. They were part of the soundtrack of childhood. Spending an hour and a half talking with someone who lived inside that world was awesome, and hearing Ray tell stories about being mentored by Dusty Rhodes was worth the conversation all by itself.

Somewhere during our conversation, though, Ray shared something that completely caught me off guard. He mentioned the old saying, “It’s not what you know; it’s who you know.” I’d basically heard that phrase my entire life. Then he smiled and said that someone once told him there was actually a third part to the saying. I leaned in because I’d never heard that before. He said, “It’s not what you know, or who you know; it’s who’s willing to say they know you.”

Again, I’d spent years, decades even, hearing the first two parts of that quote without ever realizing there was a third. The moment Ray said it, though, I understood why it mattered. Knowing influential people isn’t nearly as valuable as becoming the kind of person they’re willing to recommend. Those are two completely different goals. One is about you simply knowing someone; the other is about someone knowing and trusting you enough to vouch for you, knowing you well enough to put their reputation on the line for you because you proved yourself to them.

I think that distinction matters in life in general and in stand-up comedy in particular because, despite what sometimes feels like a billion comedians, comedy is actually a surprisingly small world. Bookers know bookers. Club owners know club owners. Comedians recommend other comedians. Before long, people aren’t simply or only asking whether someone is funny. They’re often asking whether that person is dependable, professional, prepared, easy to work with, and someone they’d gladly spend another weekend with.

That’s what the third part of the quote captures. Every recommendation carries risk because every recommendation borrows a little bit of the recommender’s credibility. If I recommend a comedian who shows up late, treats the staff poorly, ignores the audience, or simply isn’t ready, that decision reflects back on me. When someone says, “I know this guy,” they’re often saying, “I’m willing to stake a little of my own reputation on his.”

At a company employers hire people they’re willing to trust. Publishers sign authors they’re willing to stand behind. Churches raise up leaders they’re willing to affirm. Friends introduce friends they’re willing to vouch for. Again and again, opportunities tend to flow toward people whose character gives others confidence to attach their own name to theirs.

That’s also one of the reasons I keep writing this blog, hosting podcasts, producing comedy shows, performing stand-up, teaching joke writing, and creating new things. None of it is because I’m trying to convince anyone that I’ve arrived or somehow become an expert. It’s actually the opposite. I’m simply making my own journey public because I want to keep learning, keep growing, and keep becoming the kind of person others can trust. I’d rather learn out loud than pretend I’ve already figured everything out.

Ironically, that’s the part of success I rarely thought about when I was younger. I assumed success was mostly about acquiring more knowledge or meeting the right people. Those things certainly matter, but they’re only part of the story. Knowledge may open a few doors, and relationships may introduce us to opportunities, but character determines whether people feel good about opening those doors for us in the first place.

I never expected one of the best lessons about stand-up comedy to come from a video call with a professional wrestler who’s now stepping into the comedy world. But…something I didn’t even know was missing was, indeed, missing. Ray probably thought he was simply finishing a quote I’d already heard a hundred times before. Instead, “Glacier” simply changed a little bit of the way I now think about success. It isn’t just about what I know or even who I know. It’s about becoming the kind of person others are genuinely glad to say they know.

One last thing while you’re still here: Recently, I created a new app, a tool I wish I’d have had early on: Comedian Persona Explorer. It can help comedians figure out what they didn’t realize they were missing regarding their persona. Whether you begin with a single report or continue using it as you grow, my goal in creating it is simple: I hope you’ll spend more time becoming the comedian only you can be. Check it out HERE.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if reflections and tools like these are helpful to you, that’s also exactly why I wrote Comedy Mindhacks. My goal isn’t simply to help comedians write better jokes. It’s to help comedians understand the invisible thinking behind better comedy. Every mental model becomes another tool for building momentum, and over time those small shifts in thinking have a way of producing much bigger shifts on stage.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. If this article resonated with you, you’ll find a lot more like it inside the book. You can check out sample pages HERE. If you’re not yet a subscriber, use code MH10LIVE at checkout HERE for 10% off. Free subscribers automatically receive 15% off, and paid subscribers receive 35% off because I’m a big believer in rewarding people who invest in themselves. 👉 Click HERE to grab the book.

I'm In! Let's Gooo!

And if you’re ready to double down in a BIGGER way, consider joining my Comedy Vault. It’s my private collection of premium resources, trainings, workshops, and tools designed to help comedians continue growing long after the initial excitement fades. The first bet gets you into the game. Doubling down is what changes who you become.👉 Click HERE to unlock the Comedy Vault.

Yes! I'll Become A Subscriber

Also, I’d love to encourage you to check out a new app I just created, an app I wish I’d have had years ago: Comedian Persona Explorer. Whether you begin with a single report or continue using it as you grow, my goal is simple: I hope you’ll spend less time chasing someone else’s identity and more time becoming the comedian only you can be. Check it out HERE.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if reflections and tools like this are helpful to you, that’s also exactly why I wrote Comedy Mindhacks. My goal isn’t simply to help comedians write better jokes. It’s to help comedians understand the invisible thinking behind better comedy. Every mental model becomes another tool for building momentum, and over time those small shifts in thinking have a way of producing much bigger shifts on stage.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. If this article resonated with you, you’ll find a lot more like it inside the book. You can check out sample pages HERE. If you’re not yet a subscriber, use code MH10LIVE at checkout HERE for 10% off. Free subscribers automatically receive 15% off, and paid subscribers receive 35% off because I’m a big believer in rewarding people who invest in themselves. 👉 Click HERE to grab the book.

I'm In! Let's Gooo!

And if you’re ready to double down in a BIGGER way, consider joining my Comedy Vault. It’s my private collection of premium resources, trainings, workshops, and tools designed to help comedians continue growing long after the initial excitement fades. The first bet gets you into the game. Doubling down is what changes who you become.👉 Click HERE to unlock the Comedy Vault.

Yes! I'll Become A Subscriber

I know, getting free kayaks sounds wonderful, and once they’re actually in the water, it is. But the worst part is getting them on the car or truck then to wherever we’re going. It’s insane how challenging it is. Hoisting kayaks onto the roof of the car, pulling straps tight, checking every knot, and convincing myself they won’t suddenly become missiles on the interstate has all the makings of causing a full-blown anxiety disorder.

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The first time we transported them, which was roughly a 3-hour drive, I spent most of the way there listening to every creak, shake, whistle, and thump coming from above my head. I pulled the sunroof shade back and, from inside the truck, literally watched as the kayaks slid a few inches sideways then backwards then sideways again. That was unnerving to say the least. I pulled over more than once to tighten cords, tug on straps, and reassure myself that everything was probably fine. By the time we arrived, the roof of my truck had scratches, my nerves were shot, and the freakin’ kayaking hadn’t even started. Ugh!

What makes this whole thing so absurd is that the kayaks themselves aren’t really even the problem. The problem was everything I had attached to these 9-footers before we ever reached our destination. Seriously, by the time we arrived, I was no longer thinking about paddling, scenery, or enjoying the day with my family. I was thinking about whether it was even all worth it.

Weirdly enough, big comedy opportunities kinda work the same way. What I mean is this: My set may be familiar, rehearsed, and well within my ability. Well, the set isn’t the problem. The problem is everything I strap onto my set, so to speak, before I even step foot on stage. A big competition could become proof that I belong, a big showcase could become the chance to change everything, and a big booker in the audience could become a verdict on me and my craft.

And that right there is when the performance can begin sliding around in my head like a kayak on a poorly padded truck roof. I start obsessing over the minutiae or getting in my head about an opening line (I literally did this just a couple weeks ago!). I start checking every transition, monitoring every pause, thinking about where my hands are, and wondering whether the audience is responding the way they should. Then I mess up. The mind games are for real.

And suddenly, the same material that normally runs on automatic now has to pass through some sort of highly guarded mental monitoring system. Or, instead of trusting what I’ve already practiced, I start trying to operate every tiny part of it manually. I micro-manage myself, in other words. And that can go south really fast. I start missing the forest for the trees and the next thing I know, I’m blowing the forest up. I’m choking.

Choking under pressure sucks! When a skill has been practiced enough, it should become muscle memory, which is exactly what allows it to work smoothly. When the stakes rise, though, our attention can turn inward and we can start sabotaging ourselves. But I don’t the problem is always a lack of preparation or nerves, when it comes to bigger opportunities, the wrong kind of attention to the wrong things at the wrong time can be the culprit. Let me give a few examples.

Many of us just spent weeks watching the World Cup. We saw some of the greatest players in soccer history step up to take penalty kicks and…miss. In practice over the years, they’ve probably taken thousands and thousands of these shots. But in this particular World Cup match, these stars stepped up and, in between the time of the foul and the ref’s go-ahead whistle, the pressure of the big moment got to them. They got in their own heads. They were overthinking. And it messed them up in the end.

Basketball offers a great picture of this, too. A player may make a thousand free throws in practice or pre-game without giving much thought to mechanics. Then Game 7 of the championship arrives, the arena gets quiet, and suddenly every movement becomes deliberate. The shooter starts thinking about their elbow position, wrist angle, follow-through, and everything else that normally happens without conscious effort. Their physical task hasn’t changed, but their attention has. And…they miss the big shot; they choke.

Comedy works the same way. Sometimes the reason comedians choke on stage isn’t because they suddenly forgot how to tell jokes, but because they attached a heavier meaning to that certain performance. That’s what makes pressure so strange, I think. Sometimes the opportunities get bigger because my past efforts have created more success; yet, that same success can make my next performance feel heavier than the ones that came before it. When I was on Nateland Live a few months back, the stakes felt raised for some reason. The reason? Because, in my head, I attached a heavier meaning to that performance. In that moment I began attaching things like my identity and reputation and all future possibilities to five minutes on stage. It’s really craze how our minds can try to play tricks on us like that. And that’s exactly why we need mindhacks.

Here’s my point: My recent kayak debacle reminded me that carrying something safely doesn’t require obsessing over it every second. At some point, yes, the straps definitely have to be tightened. But also, what I prepared eventually has to be trusted, and the drive has to continue. So it goes with stand-up comedy. I should always prepare carefully, know my material, and take each opportunity seriously, but eventually I gotta stop watching through the sunroof and pay attention to what’s right in front of me, namely, the road…the road right in front of me.

And here’s another thing: Having great tools to help along the road can make a big difference. Recently, I created a new app, a tool I wish I’d have had early on: Comedian Persona Explorer. It can help get you ready. Whether you begin with a single report or continue using it as you grow, my goal in creating it is simple: I hope you’ll spend more time becoming the comedian only you can be. Check it out HERE.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if reflections and tools like these are helpful to you, that’s also exactly why I wrote Comedy Mindhacks. My goal isn’t simply to help comedians write better jokes. It’s to help comedians understand the invisible thinking behind better comedy. Every mental model becomes another tool for building momentum, and over time those small shifts in thinking have a way of producing much bigger shifts on stage.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. If this article resonated with you, you’ll find a lot more like it inside the book. You can check out sample pages HERE. If you’re not yet a subscriber, use code MH10LIVE at checkout HERE for 10% off. Free subscribers automatically receive 15% off, and paid subscribers receive 35% off because I’m a big believer in rewarding people who invest in themselves. 👉 Click HERE to grab the book.

I'm In! Let's Gooo!

And if you’re ready to double down in a BIGGER way, consider joining my Comedy Vault. It’s my private collection of premium resources, trainings, workshops, and tools designed to help comedians continue growing long after the initial excitement fades. The first bet gets you into the game. Doubling down is what changes who you become.👉 Click HERE to unlock the Comedy Vault.

Yes! I'll Become A Subscriber

Also, I’d love to encourage you to check out a new app I just created, an app I wish I’d have had years ago: Comedian Persona Explorer. Whether you begin with a single report or continue using it as you grow, my goal is simple: I hope you’ll spend less time chasing someone else’s identity and more time becoming the comedian only you can be. Check it out HERE.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if reflections and tools like this are helpful to you, that’s also exactly why I wrote Comedy Mindhacks. My goal isn’t simply to help comedians write better jokes. It’s to help comedians understand the invisible thinking behind better comedy. Every mental model becomes another tool for building momentum, and over time those small shifts in thinking have a way of producing much bigger shifts on stage.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. If this article resonated with you, you’ll find a lot more like it inside the book. You can check out sample pages HERE. If you’re not yet a subscriber, use code MH10LIVE at checkout HERE for 10% off. Free subscribers automatically receive 15% off, and paid subscribers receive 35% off because I’m a big believer in rewarding people who invest in themselves. 👉 Click HERE to grab the book.

I'm In! Let's Gooo!

And if you’re ready to double down in a BIGGER way, consider joining my Comedy Vault. It’s my private collection of premium resources, trainings, workshops, and tools designed to help comedians continue growing long after the initial excitement fades. The first bet gets you into the game. Doubling down is what changes who you become.👉 Click HERE to unlock the Comedy Vault.

Yes! I'll Become A Subscriber

I took a picture of it and, as I’ve scrolled through my photos on several occasions, I’ve seen and read it again numerous times. It reminds me that communication is woven into creation itself. Long before we earn titles or accumulate credentials, we’re already communicating through our words, actions, stories, and even our silence. Many people assume they need to know more before speaking, accomplish more before teaching, achieve more before creating, or get funnier before stepping on stage. I disagree!

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For me, whether it’s been writing books, teaching joke writing, starting a podcast, or stepping onto a comedy stage, I’ve always been well aware of the fact that there’s always another invisible milestone or set of milestones waiting up ahead. Publishing one book, for instance, didn’t make me feel ready to write the next one. Similarly, performing my first comedy set didn’t suddenly erase the intense feelings before the second. Earning another degree didn’t eliminate the feeling that there was still so much I didn’t know. If anything, each bit of growth has simply opened my eyes to how much more I needed to learn.

Even more than that, though, it has opened my eyes to misunderstandings about readiness. When it comes to doing things, many people assume that readiness comes first and action comes second. My own experiences tell a completely different story. Action has almost always come first with readiness following somewhere behind it. I call it The Readiness Myth. It’s the myth that confidence, clarity, or expertise has to precede action. It might sound responsible and even wise to live that way, but a lot of the time it’s little more than a sophisticated excuse for stalling.

For me, stand-up comedy probably exposed that myth more quickly than almost anything else I’ve ever pursued. That’s the case because every comedian starts with imperfect jokes, awkward timing, and far more enthusiasm than experience. Nobody walks onto a stage fully formed. The only comedians who eventually become comfortable are the ones who were willing to feel uncomfortable long enough to improve.

While comedy has exposed this pattern faster than most things for me, when I look back at my life, I think the pattern has actually been there all along; it’s been there in nearly every meaningful thing I’ve ever pursued. For instance, I didn’t become a better teacher before I started teaching. Was I ready? No. But I became a better teacher because I started teaching anyway and then encountered students who asked me questions, challenged my ideas, and forced me to keep learning.

That’s one of the reasons I keep creating things, especially in relation to comedy. I write this blog. I host a couple of podcasts. I produce comedy shows. I perform stand-up. I’ve written a comedy book. I teach joke writing. I create content. Why? Not because I’m trying to convince anyone that I’ve arrived or that I’ve somehow become an expert. I do it because it’s how I learn, and I choose to learn publicly.

Some people don’t get that. Some people choose to misinterpret it. And some people do nothing but hate on me for it. But do I care what they think? Nope. That’s the way I’ve always done things. It’s my way of documenting the journey. I’m still learning, making mistakes, and figuring things out. I simply decided a long time ago that I’d rather learn in public than wait until I had everything figured out before saying anything at all.

Enter Einstein. Albert Einstein himself insisted that he wasn’t more gifted than the average person but that what set him apart was that he was just more curious. His greatest strength, in his own estimation, wasn’t brilliance. It was his willingness to remain curious about a problem longer than most people were willing to stay with it. I love that because, for most of us, curiosity is much more attainable than geniusness.

Giftedness is mostly outside of our control, but curiosity is a habit we can all cultivate. To Einstein’s point: Curiosity’s available to ordinary people willing to keep showing up when the answers aren’t immediately obvious. And now to my point: Looking back, I don’t think the defining moments of my life have ever really come after I felt ready. They came after I finally decided to begin anyway. Writing led to becoming a better writer. Teaching led to becoming a better teacher. Performing led to becoming a better comedian. Readiness wasn’t the prerequisite to starting; readiness was the byproduct of starting.

I think it’s the same with many people I admire. They didn’t begin because they possessed unusual confidence. They began because curiosity eventually became stronger than hesitation. So, long ago, I decided to stop waiting for the feeling of readiness to arrive before I took the next step. If experience has taught me anything, it’s that readiness hasn’t usually been waiting for me at the beginning but comes somewhere along the way.

Now, having said all that, having great tools to help along the way can make a big difference. Recently, I created a new app, a tool I wish I’d have had early on: Comedian Persona Explorer. It can help get you ready. Whether you begin with a single report or continue using it as you grow, my goal in creating it is simple: I hope you’ll spend more time becoming the comedian only you can be. Check it out HERE.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if reflections and tools like these are helpful to you, that’s also exactly why I wrote Comedy Mindhacks. My goal isn’t simply to help comedians write better jokes. It’s to help comedians understand the invisible thinking behind better comedy. Every mental model becomes another tool for building momentum, and over time those small shifts in thinking have a way of producing much bigger shifts on stage.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. If this article resonated with you, you’ll find a lot more like it inside the book. You can check out sample pages HERE. If you’re not yet a subscriber, use code MH10LIVE at checkout HERE for 10% off. Free subscribers automatically receive 15% off, and paid subscribers receive 35% off because I’m a big believer in rewarding people who invest in themselves. 👉 Click HERE to grab the book.

I'm In! Let's Gooo!

And if you’re ready to double down in a BIGGER way, consider joining my Comedy Vault. It’s my private collection of premium resources, trainings, workshops, and tools designed to help comedians continue growing long after the initial excitement fades. The first bet gets you into the game. Doubling down is what changes who you become.👉 Click HERE to unlock the Comedy Vault.

Yes! I'll Become A Subscriber