You’re Not Arrogant for Trying to 'Make It' in Comedy

As far as she is concerned, my Aunt Mary who lives in the Northwoods of Wisconsin already thinks I’m on SNL.

I’m pretty sure she has me confused with Cheri Oteri, even though Cheri hasn’t been a cheerleader since I was in middle school. Minor details. When she heard I was starting one comedy class at Second City, she began envisioning me as some sort of improv Buzz Aldren on a rocket labeled “Comedy 11” blasting off to fame and fortune. Aunt Mary has no idea that there are thousands of comedians bustling around Chicago trying to “make it,” and most days we feel more like Christa McAuliffe.

“How arrogant,” a castmate of mine recently sighed. “Why did I think out of all the millions of people in the world, I would make it?” She’s winding down her decade-plus Chicago career, and it makes me sad to see her leave on such a melancholy note. I don’t think she was arrogant. I don’t think I am, either. And no matter what success (or lack there of) your journey brings, neither should you.

But if you've ever felt delusional about your choice to pursue comedy, then I recommend you remember these three things:

There's no such thing as "making it"

What does “making it” even mean? Really. Take even the laziest answer: SNL. But what if you get hired and then fired the next season? Did you unmake it? Will you actually become an enlightened orb of joy when you get cast on that Harold team, or land on a stage at Second City, or even win an Oscar? Dude, I straight-up don’t know the name of the chickadee who won Best Supporting Actress this year, and I likely never will. Does that mean she hasn’t made it yet?

So how can you be delusional about “making it,” when “making it” isn’t even an actual definable achievement level? “Making it” could be completing an improv class, or being pimped into playing a rapping flamingo, or landing a dope rhyme about all the shrimp you eat (hence, you are pink—true science fact), or riding that confidence wave whenever your boss at your day job makes you jump through hoops.

It is actually impossible to decipher who will be successful in comedy

Are there people who shine on stage? Yes. Have they all “made it”? No. Are there people who looked like huge unfunny schlubs in their first shows who have made it? Yes. Math, y’all!

It’s not like you’re trying out for the football team, where you can clearly see who is meant to play football (beefcakes) and who isn’t (sea turtles). You ain’t a sea turtle trying to score a touchdown. You are a unique being in a swarm of other unique beings, and no one has any idea whose being-ness will be loved on a global scale. How lucky that out of all the passions in the world, you found comedy-- where you can be any age, weight, race, gender, WHATEVER to find your niche. Imagine--what if your passion was to be an Olympic bobsledder, but you were born in Jamaica? Whatever, you get it. Even long after you’ve decided you might not star in a summer blockbuster with Seth Rogan, you still get to make jokes.

At least you tried

By plopping yourself into a steaming heap of wannabe comedians, you will forever know that you tried. What a relief to rid yourself of the “what ifs.” Man, I know people who won’t even eat an ice cream cone when they want one, so good on you for having the courage and drive to actually pick up, move or enroll in a class just because you wanted to. You are not delusional for seeing something you thought would make you happy and walking towards it. Anyone who tells you otherwise, including you, is a mondo fun-plug.

You know who is delusional? People who didn’t try. Haven’t we all had that experience where we tell someone that we do comedy, and they’re like, “Oh, yeah, I did an acting class in college. I was actually pretty good. I might have been a professional...if I hadn’t decided to sell urinary deficiency pills instead.” (Real-life conversation I had last week with a bro at the gym.)

You know why those people never went for it? Because by not going for it, they get to keep the daydream possibility that if they had tried--they *would have* succeeded. That’s arrogance. But you put yourself in the trenches of rejection. You explore your boundaries. You survive parties that devolve into 95 BPM* conversations. That’s the opposite of delusional. That’s the real deal.

*Bits per minute

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Alice Stanley Jr is a Chicago-based writer and performer who has appeared in The Best of The Second City, Longer! Louder! Wagner! at Lyric Opera of Chicago and toured Bermuda and the Caribbean with Second City Theatricals. Other credits include Chicago Sketchfest, ImprovAcadia and Chicago's Funny Women Festival. As a playwright, her work has been produced in eight states and counting. Twitter/Instagram: @astanjr.