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.

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I think I know at least part of the reason why. Let me explain. As a “clean” comedian, one of the most common questions I hear, especially from other comedians is, “What do you mean by ‘clean’”? Many bookers I’ve worked with are also prone to asking, “You work ‘clean,’ right?” My answer is always yes, but over time I’ve learned that’s rarely the end of the conversation and often the beginning of the confusion. I’m pretty convinced at the moment that the word “clean” in “clean comedy” is one of the most misunderstood words in all of stand-up comedy in general.

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At first glance, one might assume that everyone means roughly the same thing when they’re talking about “clean comedy.” The reality is: Many of us are using the same words while describing very different expectations. Some venues are perfectly comfortable with jokes about dating, politics, or awkward marriages as long as there’s no profanity. Others don’t want innuendo of any kind because children will be in the audience or because that’s just not something they’re interested in. Still others prefer that certain topics never come up at all, regardless of how tastefully they’re handled. None of those venues are wrong, but they’re definitely not talking about the same definition of “clean.”

So, “clean comedy” has a problem, a communication problem. We clean comedians keep using one word to describe four or five different standards, then we wonder why comedians occasionally offend audiences or why venues sometimes feel disappointed after a performance. Now, let me be clear: Most of those situations aren’t the result of bad intentions; instead, they’re the result of two people assuming they agree when they actually haven’t defined the terms.

We all know, just as psychologists have known for years, that when use familiar words like “family-friendly,” “corporate,” or “clean,” our brains quietly fill in the details without realizing someone else may have filled them in differently. The upshot of that is that conversations can move quickly. Every once in a while, though, that kinda shortcut can create misunderstandings that could have been avoided.

Recently, I’ve been thinking that comedians and bookers need a way to get on the same page. That starts with vocabulary. Instead of endlessly debating what counts as “clean comedy,” what if we could just describe different grades of clean comedy? In other words, what if the conversation shifted from defending definitions of one word to identifying and clarifying expectations across a spectrum?

That’s exactly what led me to create The Clean Comedy Spectrum. It’s not intended to judge comedians or rank one style of comedy above another at all. Every point on this spectrum has its place because every audience is different. The framework simply gives comedians and venues a common language so everyone knows what kind of show is being discussed before anyone walks on stage. There may be more types that I’ve missed, but this is a start. If you have others, let me know and I can add them. Here’s what I’ve got thus far to start.

1. Club Clean: At the left-most and broadest end of the spectrum is Club Clean. This probably goes for many cruise ships, too. (Of course, many cruise ships have both a “Club Clean” show but also a dirty show.) With this there’s no profanity, but adult themes, dating, relationships, politics, substances, and occasional innuendo are still acceptable as long as nothing becomes graphic or explicit. Many comedy clubs advertising a clean night probably fit somewhere in this category. It’s still clean comedy, but it’s also the most flexible definition of the word.

2. Broadcast Clean: Next on this spectrum, we’re essentially talking about TV. Here profanity is absent and most adult themes, violence, and crude descriptions disappear as well. If there is an adult topic, the innuendo should not lead someone watching or listening to visualize sexual body parts, acts, or images. Essentially, it’s handled with the same general standards audiences have traditionally expected from network television, particularly the late night talk shows.

3. Corporate Clean: This includes everything required for Broadcast Clean while also removing innuendo altogether. Nothing depends on adults catching a second meaning that children won’t understand, and the humor doesn’t rely on crude bodily functions or insulting particular groups. This is where many schools, libraries, corporate events, fairs, and genuine family shows actually live, even if they simply advertise themselves as looking for a “clean comedian.”

4. Church Clean: This is the point where the spectrum changes in an important way because the restriction is no longer just about how a topic is handled. Here, certain subjects, such as sex, drugs, alcohol, or cynical takes on faith, marriage, and family, are often considered inappropriate regardless of how tastefully they’re presented. Put another way: The first three levels primarily regulate treatment, but Church Clean also regulates subject matter.

Again, there may be more points on this spectrum (if you have others, leave them in the comments). Even so, I think this visual is a helpful start because as we move from left to right, the restrictions build in a pretty logical sequence. First we remove profanity, then graphic treatment, then implication and innuendo, and finally entire categories of subject matter. Now, with this in mind, let me make an important point: Not every venue fits neatly into one category.

A church may be perfectly happy with marriage jokes but ask the comedian to avoid politics. A corporate client may allow references to alcohol while preferring that comedians stay away from religion. A theater might want Broadcast Clean comedy but ask every performer to avoid current events. That’s why I also think every booking should include a discussion of Venue Rules, because every room has its own unique expectations that exist outside the spectrum rather than on it.

With this, then, instead of asking a booker or venue, “How do you define ‘clean comedy?’” which is something they’ve probably never sat down and written, I can simply give them this chart and ask, “Where do you see your event falling on The Clean Comedy Spectrum?” That one question should result in clarity rather than confusion. Now, both sides can begin by talking about expectations instead of vague labels, which reduces the chances of misunderstanding.

My hope is that comedians, bookers, pastors, theaters, event planners, and so on can use this shared language to helps them communicate more clearly. So, I encourage you to download the image above, use it, and share it with others. If this helps even a handful of comedians avoid an awkward or confusing conversation, then it’ll have accomplished something worthwhile.

Now, having said all that, I’d love take a minute 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

For one, it’s wrong because it assumes that “voice” is something time eventually just hands you as a reward after you perform long enough to appease her. Also, it’s really just an easy form of gatekeeping: “Ah, you haven’t been performing 5 years yet?!” someone says, “You’ve not even been doing it long enough to have found your voice.” Again, I don’t buy it.

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For me, I reject this idea not because experience doesn’t matter. Experience absolutely matters. It’s critical. But I know many comedians who’ve been performing for ten or fifteen or even twenty years and still don’t really know who they are on stage. Sure, they’ve become more polished and more comfortable, sometimes more professional, but when I watch them it just feels like they’re still experimenting every time they pick up the microphone.

Here’s my biggest problem though: When I hear someone say, “It takes 5 years to find your voice,” I disagree mainly because I don’t think we only have one voice. I think we have many voices. They are authentic voices that naturally come from different parts of our lives. I’ve written about that many times on this site, but especially HERE and HERE. And so, if that’s true, then searching for “a” voice, for one voice, is actually searching for something that doesn’t exist.

I’m the same way. I’m a husband, a father, a professor, an author, a businessman, and a comedian. When I’m explaining theology, you’re hearing the professor. When I’m talking about my kids, you’re hearing the dad trying to survive this thing we call parenting. When I’m telling road stories from comedy trips, you’re hearing the comedian and traveler who somehow keeps finding himself in ridiculous situations. I don’t become a different human being in each of those situations, but I absolutely communicate differently because different parts of my personality naturally come forward.

None of those voices are fake and none of them are characters I’ve invented for laughs. They’re all authentic expressions of who I already am, and each one naturally appears depending on what I’m doing or the story I’m telling. And what ties all those authentic voices together isn’t one master voice, it’s persona. Now, let me take a crack at defining persona: Persona is the person the audience experiences regardless of which voice happens to be speaking.

So, on stage, you can expect my stories to change, my perspective to shift, and my character voices to morph, but the audience should always feel like they’re spending time with the same me. I think this is where many comedians get stuck. We can spend years obsessing over joke structure, timing, callbacks, tags, social media, crowd work, and stage presence without ever asking the more fundamental question: Who is the person standing behind the microphone? Or: Who am I when all of my authentic voices come together on stage?

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I’ve become convinced that every comedian lives with what I’ve called The Persona Gap, the distance between the comedian a person’s naturally becoming and the comedian they think they’re supposed to become. The wider that gap grows, the harder every creative decision becomes because there’s no longer a stable center from which to make it. Should I become darker, cleaner, more sarcastic, more vulnerable, more political, more personal, or more outrageous? Without clarity about persona, every option feels equally possible because none of them are anchored to who I actually am on stage, which should just be a degree or two away from who I am in real life.

That’s also why writing more jokes doesn’t automatically solve the problem. More material doesn’t necessarily produce more clarity. Sometimes it produces more confusion because a comedian ends up collecting jokes from five different versions of themselves. Instead of trying to manufacture an identity, I started paying attention to the patterns that already existed across my jokes, stories, frustrations, observations, and reactions.

Just last week I competed in a comedy competition where each comedian received critiques from a panel of judges. Overall, I thought the feedback was thoughtful, encouraging, and incredibly helpful. There were also a few suggestions I didn’t completely agree with. When I first started comedy, I probably would’ve become irrationally defensive or simply dismissed the comments by telling myself, “They just don’t get what I’m trying to do.”

In that moment, however, I was fine because I asked myself a completely different question: Does this feedback fit my persona? I didn’t ask: “Is this judge right?” or “Is this judge wrong?” I asked: Does this feedback fit my persona? That question kept me from becoming defensive because I no longer viewed criticism as a personal attack. It also kept me from becoming dismissive because I genuinely wanted to learn from experienced people. It allowed me to evaluate every suggestion by asking whether it reinforced my persona or pulled me away from it.

You see, my persona affects my creative decision-making. My persona becomes like a filter through which everything else passes. Every joke passes through it. Every booking, every trend, every opportunity, every piece of criticism, every social media idea, and every “You should try...” gets evaluated through the same question: Does this fit my persona? I call that The Persona Filter, and I honestly think it’s one of the most valuable tools a comedian can develop.

Above, I mentioned what I call The Persona Gap. That gap explains why I think so many comedians feel creatively scattered. The Persona Filter, however, offers insight on how to stop feeling that way. One diagnoses the problem (The Persona Gap), while the other gives you a practical way to make better decisions moving forward (The Persona Filter). Together, they’ve changed the way I think about comedy.

Now, about the new app I mentioned above. Well, these realizations are what eventually led me to build it. I call it the Comedian Persona Explorer. Essentially, I built a tool I wish I’d had when I started. I built a tool that can help comedians recognize the patterns they’re often too close to see for themselves. By combining a variety of psychological frameworks, psychographic questions, an analysis of your actual material, and more, the Explorer helps reveal the persona that’s already emerging instead of asking users to invent one from scratch.

It’s all about clarity. Once a comedian understands their persona, writing becomes more focused because they know which jokes sound like them. Editing becomes faster because the comedian immediately recognizes what belongs and what doesn’t. It also helps comedians stop chasing every opening that comes along. Ironically, finding your voice or rather, “voices,” becomes much easier once a comedian stops looking for a voice and starts understanding their persona.

Friend, if you’ve ever walked off stage thinking, “The audience laughed, but somehow that still didn’t feel like me,” you’re not alone. And that’s why I built this! Most comedians eventually become better performers. Far fewer become clearer performers, and those are not the same thing. So, if you’re ready to stop guessing and start understanding the comedian you’re actually becoming, I want to encourage you to check out the Comedian Persona Explorer. Whether you begin with a single report or continue using it as you grow, my hope 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 out a video below but get linked up 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

Just as I show in this video, one of my main goals is to help comedians write better jokes. But I also want to help comedians understand the invisible thinking behind better comedy and build momentum. I want to help them generate small shifts in their everyday thinking that’ll produce bigger shifts on stage. That’s exactly why I wrote Comedy Mindhacks.

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

After a series of strong whitewater rapids, we floated into what looked like a calm section of the river. The surface was almost perfectly smooth. My oldest son relaxed, swung his legs over the side of the raft, and started enjoying the peaceful ride with his toes in the water. Within seconds of him doing that, however, our guide shouted, “Get your feet back in the boat!” Since then, as a kind of inside joke, my wife and I will randomly shout, “Get your feet back in the boat” at him.

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Honestly, when my son did that, nothing about dipping his toes in looked dangerous. The water wasn’t churning or crashing and it looked completely safe. But our guide knew something we didn’t. He knew that, beneath that glassy surface, the current was still moving with tremendous force. If my son had slipped into the water, the river could have carried him away before he ever realized what was happening.

It reminded me of living in Hawai’i. The beaches are beautiful, but all the locals know to respect the ocean. It can look perfectly calm so people run and jump in. Meanwhile, they may have no idea about an invisible current that’s lurking below the surface, easily capable of pulling them farther and farther from shore. I learned that lesson the hard way while doing water photography one afternoon. I was focused on getting inside the barrels of waves to get creative shots, but I was so dialed into it that I was completely unaware that the current had grabbed me. By the time I looked up, I was nearly seventy-five yards from where I had started and caught in a rip current I never saw coming.

Here’s the thing: Invisible currents don’t exist only in rivers and oceans. Last night, I watched the documentary A New Kind of Wilderness. After his wife Maria dies, Nik tries to honor the life they had built together. They had raised their children off the grid in the Norwegian wilderness, homeschooling them and living a life intentionally disconnected from much of modern culture. Since she was the bread winner, with their income coming from her photography, once she passed circumstances forced him to sell the farm, get a job, and enroll the children in school.

On the first day of school, however, one child receives an iPad. Then the teachers encourage her to start watching TV shows. She and her siblings begin making friends. They start enjoying school. Before long, the kids no longer want the three-day hybrid schedule Nik and the school agreed upon; instead, they want to attend five days a week. One child even chooses school over a family camping trip. None of those decisions seem shocking on their own. But together, they reveal something powerful: The current is slowly carrying the family somewhere they never intended to go.

That made me wonder how many invisible currents are shaping my own life, particularly in relation to comedy? I think it’s rare that people wake up one morning and decide to become someone they’re not. Instead, as with most things in life, we slowly adapt to whatever gets rewarded. As a comedian, for instance, one room laughs at certain kinds of material, so we push a little farther into that. Social media rewards outrage, so our opinions become louder and angrier. Another comedian tells us what we “have” to do to make it, so we slowly begin sounding more like them than ourselves. None of those choices feel significant in isolation. But the reality is this: Currents rarely announce themselves; instead, they simply keep pulling.

The same thing happens outside of stand-up comedy, of course. Every environment has its own current or currents. Work rewards one kind of person. Friend groups reward another. Social media rewards another. Even churches can unintentionally reward appearances more than authenticity. Left unattended, every environment begins shaping us into whatever it celebrates most. That’s why I don’t think the biggest danger in life tends to boil down to one terrible decision (though sometimes it does). More often, I think what happens is simply the process of drift.

Most people don’t lose themselves all at once. They lose themselves one tiny reward at a time. We can often fall prey to imagining life-changing decisions arriving with fireworks and warning sirens. In reality, they usually arrive quietly. A justification for certain behavior here. A compromise on our values, beliefs, and morals there. A shortcut that seems harmless. Taking another gig or opportunity that doesn’t quite line up with who we want or claim to be. My point is: Drift isn’t usually dramatic, which is exactly why it’s so dangerous. It’s really just the slow process of becoming someone you never intended to become because you adapted to rewards you never questioned.

I’ve watched it happen more than once. A comedian starts by pushing one boundary because it works. Then another. Then another. Eventually, the person who once said, “I’d never do that,” can’t remember when they stopped believing it. One compromise leads to another. Every performer eventually faces the question: “What am I willing to become to get where I want to go?” At some point, that person will look back and barely be able to recognize themselves. They’ll look back and wonder how they arrived somewhere they never intended to go.

Of course, I’m not saying the solution to life is to isolate ourselves from the world. Just like Nik and his family had to adjust, none of us can escape every influence around us. But we can become aware of the currents and ask things like, “Is this environment helping me become the person I want to be? Is this opportunity shaping my character or quietly changing it? Am I steering intentionally, or am I simply floating wherever the current happens to take me?”

Growth requires movement but, as currents and riptides remind us, not every kind or type of movement is progress. Sometimes the calmest-looking waters hide the strongest currents. And life basically works the same way. So, every once in a while, we gotta stop paddling long enough to ask ourselves a simple question: What current is carrying me right now? Because by the time we realize we’re drifting, we may already be a long way from the person we intended to become. If that’s the case, it might be time to get our feet back in the boat.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if reflections like this are helpful to you, that’s 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

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A few lines in this review especially caught my attention because they capture what I hoped the book would become. For example, they described it as “a guide to growth, creativity, and momentum.” That’s exactly how I see it. While the book grew out of my journey in stand-up comedy, I’ve never thought of it as a book that’s only about comedy. It’s really about learning how to keep moving forward whenever you’re trying to do something difficult.

Another line I appreciated was this: “Failure can become data.” If you’ve followed my writing for any length of time, you’ve probably noticed that idea showing up again and again. Bombing on stage, receiving criticism, wrestling with self-doubt, or watching an idea fail aren’t pleasant experiences, but they don’t have to become permanent verdicts. They can become information that helps us grow.

You never know what’s going to show up in any review, so I also smiled when they included one of my favorite descriptions of stand-up comedy: “semi-controlled trauma on purpose.” It’s funny because it’s true. Walking onto a stage with nothing but a microphone and hoping strangers laugh at your thoughts can feel terrifying. Yet, comedy has taught me that some of our hardest moments eventually become our strongest material. As I often remind myself from my comedy motto, “If it’s messed up, it’s material.”

Reading Montreat’s feature reminded me that books eventually stop belonging only to their authors. Readers bring their own experiences, notice patterns, and sometimes describe the work in really helpful ways. I wrote Comedy Mindhacks to explore the invisible thinking behind better comedy, so seeing someone else call it a guide to growth, creativity, and momentum felt great. Sometimes another reader doesn’t merely review the book; they hand the author a mirror. That’s deifnitely what happened here. If you’re curious about the story behind the book or simply want to see how someone else summarizes the project, I think Montreat did a wonderful job. You can read the full feature HERE and pick up the book HERE.

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.

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Along the same lines, let me just say that, if reflections like this are helpful to you, that’s 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

First, I performed 3 minutes of completely, 100% new material that I had written only a week earlier. Second, I briefly stumbled over a couple words in one section. Third, I was in my head before the show about tripping over the opening line because I kept changing it throughout the day. Fourth, I had to cut out two tags, one about catalytic converters and another about cooper wire, because the night before someone had a completely different joke but it included that imagery. So, I was deleting stuff. Fifth, I added a joke at the top that I had come up with earlier in the day that wasn’t part of the original. Sixth, I repeated a punchline that was a tag. I thought the audience didn’t hear it, but I’m pretty sure they were just still laughing at the punchline before the tag. So, I ended up stepping on one of the few laughs I actually earned. Ugh!

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That gives you just a tiny glimpse of what often goes through a comedian’s head before or even during a set. Especially with new material, there can be a lot of questioning, changing, on-the-spot editing, and so on. I just wrote about how preparation can be a liability when you’re so prepared you have no flexibility to change things. But sometimes you can also sabotage your preparation by changing things too much and that becomes a liability, too.

Anyway, one thing that’s crazy about it all to me is how quickly my mind began trying to convince me the performance meant something much bigger than it actually did. This is all part of a 3-day competition and during the day there are workshop sessions and whatnot. At one of the sessions earlier in the day we had an instructor emphasizing how important it is to kill when you’re in front of people who matter. I did the opposite. With that in mind, before I even left the stage, I could feel my brain trying to turn this disappointing performance into a conclusion about me.

Again, it’s just crazy how that happens. It’s crazy how one bad interview, for example, suddenly convinces us we’re terrible with people. Or how one failed business venture becomes proof we’re not cut out to be entrepreneurs. Or how one awkward conversation leaves us wondering if we’ve always been socially inept. In such instances, we rarely stop at evaluating the event itself and, instead, we quietly allow a single outcome to become a verdict about who we are.

The strange thing is that we almost never do this with others. If a friend burns dinner, we don’t conclude they’ll never cook another good meal. If our child strikes out during a baseball game, we don’t assume they’ll never get another hit. We instinctively understand that one moment exists within a much larger story. Yet, when we’re the ones who fail, our perspective suddenly shrinks until all we can see is the latest disappointment. It really sucks and, to make matters worse, I’d actually gone into this feeling good about this particular set of 100% new stuff.

My decision to perform all brand-new material hadn’t felt reckless because the jokes had shown real promise. I’d performed the bit for my family a few days earlier and they were laughing hard. My college-aged daughter even looked at me and said, “Dad, I think that’s your best bit yet.” It’s amazing how much confidence one encouraging comment can create, especially when it comes from people whose opinions matter to you.

Of course, my family wasn’t lying to me. They genuinely laughed. But they were also my family and they were there and knew the content from a firsthand perspective. They already knew me. They understood the world of the story before I ever opened my mouth. A room full of strangers however? Not so much! Those strangers owed me nothing, and that’s exactly why their reaction mattered more. Essentially, they helped me discover that my material wasn’t nearly as finished as I’d imagined.

After my set ended, I walked to the back of the room and spent the rest of the evening watching comedian after comedian walk onstage and do well. Some crushed. Some really had the room going. Sitting there, it’s incredibly easy to compare some of my worst 3 minutes to someone else’s great or even good 3 minutes. If I’m not careful, admiration quietly transforms into discouragement, and discouragement begins whispering conclusions the evidence simply doesn’t support. At the same time, I know that when I’m genuinely happy for others, it’s easier to get out of my own negative headspace. So, I was glad to see some friends and others do really well.

Still, I’ve been doing comedy long enough to recognize my negative thoughts for what they are. They aren’t objective observations. They’re really just emotional interpretations masquerading as facts. And all of this is a process of learning to separate identity from information. Literally, every single performance produces information. It tells us whether a premise is working, whether a transition drags, whether a punchline lands, or whether a story still needs another draft. What it never produces is a final verdict about who we are.

A bad set may tell me something about my material, my preparation, or my execution, but it doesn’t suddenly reveal my value as a comedian or as a person. Ironically, I think success can distort our thinking almost as much as failure can. One great performance tempts us to believe we’ve finally figured everything out, just as one terrible performance tempts us to believe we’ve never belonged in the first place. Both reactions ask a single event to carry far more weight than it was ever designed to bear.

The reality is: Growth isn’t built on isolated moments. Growth’s built on patterns repeated over time. Looking back this morning, I’m actually grateful for last night’s set, even though I certainly wouldn’t want to relive it. The audience gave me a kind of feedback my family couldn’t provide. They exposed places where the story wandered, where the punchlines weren’t yet earning their keep, and where my execution still needs work. None of that felt enjoyable in the moment, but all of it became valuable once the sting began wearing off.

The audience told me, for example, that the story still needs work. They showed me where the pacing drifted, where the punchlines weren’t earning their keep, and where my execution still needs tightening. What they didn’t tell me was whether I’m funny. They didn’t tell me whether I belong on stage. They certainly didn’t tell me who I am. Does my bit still need work? Absolutely. And they helped me realize that. But there’s an important distinction between a bit being unfinished and me being untalented. So yeah, I bombed last night. But I’ll learn from it, keep moving forward, and try to improve the bit. That’s how stand-up comedy goes.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if reflections like this are helpful to you, that’s 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

During the game, every possession felt enormous, even though I couldn’t tell you who won most of those games today. I wasn’t a star player and, in some games, I never played a second. But there were parts of it I loved. I enjoyed the intensity of gathering around our coach before tipoff as he sketched the opening play onto a grease board that looked like it’d survived decades of basketball seasons.

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And in the run up to our games each week, we’d spend hours rehearsing our plays until every screen, every cut, and pass became second nature. But there was something that used to confuse me: Our coach would draw up the play, send us out onto the court, then sometimes we’d barely get the ball across half court before he started shouting from the sideline, waving his arms and calling out a completely different play. Like, we worked on this play all week and you just used the time out to tell us what to do. Now, within seconds, you’re changing it to something we barely practiced? Why in the world would you invest so much time on a plan only to abandon it a few seconds into the game?!

Years later, I finally understood what our coach had been teaching us all along: The play was never the goal. That particular play was simply one possible solution to a problem we hadn’t encountered yet. Once the defense revealed what it was actually going to do in real time, clinging to the original plan would’ve not only been stubborn but stupid. Or, to put it another way: Good basketball players and coaches don’t fall in love with the play; they learn to recognize what the defense is giving them and adjust based on that.

Fast forward twenty five years to this morning. As I was reflecting on last night’s comedy show, a comedy competition in fact, that high-school memory came rushing back to me. Like I always do, I walked into the venue last night with a carefully prepared set, complete with an opening joke and a closer I’d rehearsed enough times to perform without thinking. In my mind, the work was already finished before I ever stepped on stage. Then I sat down, watched the audience respond to the comedians ahead of me, and realized they were showing me something I hadn’t known while I was preparing because, well, I didn’t know them.

As comedian after comedian took the stage, I started noticing patterns. The audience wasn’t laughing equally at every style of joke. It’s wild but every audience has its own personality as it were. This particular audience seemed to reward shorter punchlines more quickly than longer stories, and they responded to certain rhythms with a type of enthusiasm they never quite gave to others. Without realizing it, they were telling every comedian in the room exactly who they were. This crowd liked clever one-liners. Tonight’s crowd and tomorrow night’s crowd may have a penchant for something else, whether it’s stories or puns or whatever.

But by the time my name was called, I had a decision to make. I could perform the set I’d carefully constructed at home, or I could perform the set that best fit the audience sitting in front of me. Those weren’t necessarily the same thing anymore. The room had given me new information, and pretending I hadn’t received it simply because I’d already made a plan suddenly felt like bad or stubborn basketball. So, just minutes before stepping on stage, I changed my set. And because I was reading this crowd, which, again, seemed to like one-liners, I even removed some tags from this set because they wouldn’t have the full force of a well-crafted one-liner.

I adjusted not at all because the first set I was planning to do was bad. And it’s not because I suddenly started doubting my material. Again, I changed it because the audience had shown me something I couldn’t have known while I was rehearsing alone. Fortunately, I think the adjustment worked well. And as I made my way back to my seat, I realized that this has everything to do with the way I think about preparation.

I think one of the easiest traps for comedians to fall into is confusing preparation with the goal. We spend hours writing, editing, rehearsing, memorizing transitions, and polishing every word until the set finally feels finished. That’s exactly what we should do. The problem comes when we become so emotionally attached to our preparation that we stop paying attention to the people we’re supposedly there to serve. We’ve gotta leave room to be able to call audibles.

definitely gives us a plan, but performance is dynamic; live shows are dynamic. The moment an audience starts laughing, groaning, drifting, or leaning in, they’re communicating with us, and every response gives us information we didn’t have five seconds earlier. That’s why reading a room isn’t some mysterious gift that only experienced comedians possess. Every audience tells us what kind of evening they’re looking for. They tell us whether they’re patient enough for a long story, whether they prefer quick punchlines, whether they’re ready for something thoughtful, or whether they want to laugh at local things such as their state, their culture, and themselves.

Here’s the tough part: I don’t think this kind of flexibility comes from preparing less. I think it comes from preparing more. Early in my comedy journey, I couldn’t have possibly changed my set halfway through because every ounce of my attention was devoted to remembering what came next. I could’ve never done that. The more comfortable I’ve become with my material, however, the more mental space I’ve gained to pay attention to something besides myself.

That’s true, of course, in far more places than stand-up. The best teachers, for instance, adjust when they realize a lesson isn’t connecting. The best leaders recognize when the original strategy no longer fits the circumstances. The best parents discover that the same approach doesn’t work with every child. Experience doesn’t eliminate the need to adapt. If anything, it should make adaptation more natural because confidence allows us to respond instead of merely react.

Looking back, I think my high school coach was teaching us discernment and flexibility. The plays mattered, but only because they prepared us for the decisions we’d eventually have to make once the game actually started. Memorizing the playbook we had wasn’t the finish line but the starting point. And the longer I perform stand-up, the more convinced I become that the same principle applies on stage. I should prepare relentlessly. I should know my material well enough that I could perform it in my sleep. But the moment I walk into the room, I’m no longer trying to prove that I wrote the perfect set at home; instead, I’m trying to have the best possible experience with the people sitting in front of me. Simply put: The jokes aren’t what’s sacred, the connection is, and sometimes to make that connection I may need to call an audible.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if ideas like this are helpful to you, that’s exactly why I wrote Comedy Mindhacks. My goal here 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

Jimmy Eat World, in particular, has been a decades-long soundtrack for me. Their music has lasted through more than just one season of life. I’ve been blessed to see them live in a packed arena back in Ohio then again in a tiny venue in Hawai’i. Somewhere along the way, being the good dad that I am, I introduced my kids to their music, of course, and now they know the songs that shaped so many miles of my own life. All that and more is part of the reason why I was genuinely excited when the band recently started releasing a video series celebrating the twenty-fifth anniversary of Bleed American.

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When I first started watching, I was really only expecting one of those nostalgic trips back to college. I got that. But I’ve also found myself taking notes in relation to stand-up comedy. The more I listen to the band and to producer Mark Trombino explain how those songs were written, arranged, edited, and rebuilt, the more convinced I became they were describing a very similar process I go through when writing jokes.

Interestingly, I also recently enrolled myself in Dr. Ben Byer’s “Classical Logic and Rhetoric” course (what can I say, I’m truly a lifelong student/learner). The intersection of his course with the Jimmy Eat World episodes has helped me finally put words to something I’ve been saying for a while now without ever really defining it, namely, that joke writing is both an “art” and “science.” I was never saying that to simply sound smart or insightful; I really believed that. Even so, given what I know now, I don’t think it’s particularly helpful to say that until I give those words some teeth.

I think the philosophical distinction between “art” and “science” is, as Dr. Byer points out, a fundamental Aristotelian concept: The mind naturally apprehends universal concepts (like “treeness” or “awkwardness”) through simple apprehension (we’ll call this observing/seeing the “science”), but actually articulating or producing a tangible reflection of what’s been seen requires the deliberate tools of the “art.” This dance between the “science” (contemplation and observation) and the “art” (craft, structure, and production) is, in my view, the secret engine of both a timeless rock album and a legendary stand-up special because it’s the engine of creativity.

All the jokes, books, sermons, lectures, songs, podcasts, and articles I’ve written over the years started with the “science” part, that is, simple observation. That, in fact, is much of what the “Scientific Method” is all about, observing and hypothesizing. It’s learning to notice patterns, contradictions, emotions, and universal truths about how people actually live. Good science doesn’t create jokes or anything else, it simply discovers the reality of what’s already there.

That’s why I spend so much time talking writing about things like curiosity, carrying a notebook or notes app, and paying attention to everyday life. Those aren’t writing techniques. They’re ways of strengthening the science. Before I can ever write a joke about airport security, awkward family dinners, or self-checkout machines, I first have to notice something true about them. If I don’t have an observation, I don’t have anything to build.

The “art” of comedy, however, is something altogether different. The art is what happens after the observation. It’s the editing, the timing, the word choice, the pauses, the callbacks, the act-outs, the escalation, the structure, and so on. The art doesn’t discover truth. It manufactures an experience that allows an audience to feel that truth together.

Listening to/watching Jimmy Eat World describe Bleed American, I realized they were constantly moving back and forth between those two worlds. The songs began with emotional observations (science). One track captured the feeling of finally finding your place in a crowd. Another reflected uncertainty, longing, or hope. Those feelings weren’t the finished songs. They were simply the raw materials. The real work came afterward as they argued over the art: Drum fills, simplified rhythms, rewritten guitar parts, experiments with arrangements, and searching for exactly the right emotional payoff.

Joke writing works the same way. I can observe that airports are ridiculous. That’s science. I can notice that parents have invisible rules, marriages create funny misunderstandings, or people behave strangely in grocery stores. That’s still science. None of those observations automatically become funny simply because they’re true.

The art begins when I ask a different question: How do I turn this observation into laughter? Suddenly I’m rewriting setups, deleting unnecessary words, moving punchlines, changing my tone of voice, trying different act-outs, and experimenting with tags. That’s the art. The observation (science) may have taken thirty seconds. The craftsmanship (art) might take thirty days or three years.

For me, I find thinking about it this way super helpful. When I can’t think of any new ideas, for instance, I no longer assume I’m struggling with joke writing itself. Nope! More often than not, it simply means I’m struggling with observation. Or, put differently: My science has stalled. On the other hand, when my notebook is overflowing with ideas that never seem to get laughs, I know the problem probably isn’t observation at all. Instead, my art needs work.

Again, that simple distinction has been surprisingly freeing because it gives me better questions to ask: Am I spending enough time noticing and collecting enough raw material? Or, have I gathered plenty of material but failed to shape it into something worth sharing? Those are two very different problems, and they require two very different solutions.

In their short documentary series, the members of Jimmy Eat World aren’t trying to teach comedians anything at all. They’re simply talking honestly about their creative process. Even so, I can’t help but notice how closely what they’re saying mirrors what happens when I sit down to write a new joke or bit. The medium may be different, but the creative journey feels remarkably similar.

That’s one reason I’ve become increasingly interested in studying musicians, novelists, filmmakers, psychologists, theologians, and teachers alongside comedians. They’re all trying to solve problems. They’re all trying to transform ordinary human experiences into something another person will never forget. The tools may change from one discipline to another, but the underlying challenge remains remarkably consistent.

So, I now have something worthwhile to point back to when I say comedy is both an art and a science. The science teaches me to see things, especially what everyone else might overlook. The art teaches me how to build something from what I’ve seen. Observation (science) spots the comedy. Craft (aft) manufactures the laugh. I’m convinced that, to become a great comedian, I need to be a lifelong student of both.

Along the same lines, let me just say that, if ideas like this are helpful to you, that’s exactly why I wrote Comedy Mindhacks. My goal here 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

One last thing… I’d love for you to check out my new book: Comedy Mindhacks: 100 Mental Shifts To Help Comedians & Creatives Succeed.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. Again, if this podcast resonated with you, you’ll find similar tips 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 longer I’ve spent learning, the more I’ve become aware of the limits of my own expertise. Experience and education certainly have advantages, and I wouldn’t trade those for anything. At the same time, I’ve noticed that learning comes with a hidden danger most people never talk about. The more often something works, the easier it becomes to assume it’s the best way rather than simply one way. It’s like teaching first-semester Greek students. I’ve been studying Greek for like two decades and still am because there’s so much to learn. But these first-semester Greek students learned a few things and now think they can wax eloquent on every Greek word of the New Testament.

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Professors often describe such students as “Those who know enough to be dangerous.” That’s because, while they know some things, they don’t know what they don’t know. And because they don’t know what they don’t know, they think they know a lot. Let me put it another way: What they do know blinds them to what they don’t know.

I’ve seen that happen in classrooms many times. I’ve also seen it happen in churches, businesses, and, yes, in comedy. For instance, I write a joke that works, so I keep telling it. I find a transition that consistently gets me from one bit to another, so it quietly becomes permanent. I develop a rhythm on stage that feels comfortable, and before long I’m not even consciously choosing it anymore. It’s simply what I do. For a long time, I assumed this was just part of just getting better. After all, it’s what a lot of people do.

But what if it’s this sorta thing that, despite some initial short-term success, actually prevents any long-term success? What if it’s this sorta thing that contributes to or leads to plateauing? One thing I’ve been thinking about for a little while now is that other hardworking comedians aren’t plateauing because they lack effort. That’s usually just not the case. Many comedians I know have a great work ethic and consistently grind. Maybe the problem, then, is that they’ve started plateauing because, like those first-semester Greek students, the experience of some success has narrowed their attention. Let me explain.

There’s a concept known as “The Einstellung Effect,” or what I myself might simply call “Success Blindness.” Researchers discovered that once people find something that works, they often become less likely to recognize better solutions later. They solve a problem, for instance, and their first or original answer becomes so familiar that the brain keeps reaching for it automatically every time after. It does this even when a more effective option or set of options is sitting right in front of them. In other words, success with a first answer to a problem can blind us to more and better answers later.

I’ve been thinking about that in relation to stand-up but especially joke writing. I’ve spent inordinate amounts of time, for example, trying to improve Version A of a joke without ever stopping to ask whether Version B might be dramatically stronger. I ignored the possibility of a Version B existing all because A was more familiar and, at least to a degree, worked. So, I better leave it alone; I better not touch it. Why mess with what works?!

I’ve watched the same thing happen with crowd work. Some comedians discover one interaction that reliably gets laughs, so they repeat it every show. Eventually, what began as spontaneous crowd work becomes another scripted routine wearing the disguise of spontaneity. The audience may not know exactly what’s happening, but they can usually sense the difference between genuine discovery and recycled conversation.

I’ve also noticed this tendency whenever comedians ask for feedback. Sometimes they don’t really want another perspective. They want confirmation that the approach they’ve already chosen is the right one. I’ve caught myself doing the same thing. It’s amazing how often I’ve asked for advice while secretly hoping nobody would actually tell me to change anything. And that’s why I think the Einstellung Effect is so dangerous.

This Success Blindness doesn’t make people lazy. If anything, it often affects the hardest-working people in the room or in the game. They keep writing, performing, studying, and revising, but all that effort gets poured into improving the same solution instead of exploring whether a better solution exists. From the outside, it looks like momentum. Underneath, it can actually be a rut. It can look as common as telling the same joke for years but never growing it into a bit for fear that it’ll mess it up.

I also think this is one reason curiosity, something I talk about all the time in my college writing classes, keeps showing up in so many of my articles. Curiosity isn’t just helpful for generating new material. It’s also one of the best defenses I know against becoming trapped by yesterday’s successes. The moment I stop questioning my own assumptions is usually the moment I stop seeing possibilities that were there all along. Looking back, I think it’s really all about humility. It’s the willingness to believe that the thing which got me this far may not be the thing that gets me where I want to go next.

That might be something of an uncomfortable realization, but it’s also an exciting one because it means growth hasn’t stopped. It simply requires me to become curious again. And again. And again. And that’s exactly what growth usually feels like. Momentum isn’t created by becoming attached to yesterday’s breakthrough. It’s created by remaining curious enough to believe there’s still another one waiting.

To be honest, if this idea honestly resonated with you at all, you’d probably enjoy Comedy Mindhacks: 100 Mental Shifts to Help Comedians & Creatives Succeed. The entire book is built around hidden psychological obstacles like the Einstellung Effect. My goal isn’t simply to help comedians write better jokes. It’s to help comedians think differently about the invisible patterns or barriers that quietly determine whether they continue growing or slowly plateau.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. Again, 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.

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One last thing… I’d love for you to check out my new book: Comedy Mindhacks: 100 Mental Shifts To Help Comedians & Creatives Succeed.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. Again, 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.

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As a Professor of Writing, I see it firsthand. Reading rates are definitely continuing to decline, attention spans are continuing to shrink, and more people are consuming short videos rather than long books. Whether every statistic in Rose Horowitch’s article “The End of Reading Is Here” is exactly right isn’t really a point I care to address here. There’s actually another question or, better yet, a set of questions, I’ve spent some time thinking about since reading it.

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For instance: If fewer people are reading than ever before then why, of all people, are we still reading Shakespeare? Why are students still studying Romeo and Juliet? Why does Hamlet continue to be performed around the world? Why do people who have never actually read Shakespeare still recognize lines like, “To be or not to be,” or, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” Four hundred years have passed, civilizations have changed, technology has transformed almost everything about human life, and yet Shakespeare somehow refuses to disappear. Why is that?

Well, here’s where I say, as comedians, I think questions like this can offer great insight. As joke writers, we spend a tremendous amount of time asking whether something is funny, but probably not enough time asking whether it’s memorable. Those aren’t the same thing. Plenty of jokes get laughs in the room only to disappear the moment the audience walks out the door. Others somehow lodge themselves in people’s minds for years, and I don’t think that’s an accident.

So, that question was bouncing around in my head when I finished reading precisely because, the day before, I’d watched a Maury Povich interview (I mentioned it in my last article HERE). Toward the end of the conversation, the interviewer asked Maury why certain moments from his show became part of pop culture while thousands of other segments quietly disappeared. I expected him to talk about ratings, controversy, or television production. Instead, he pointed to…wait for it…Shakespeare.

Maury explained that his producers were always looking for timeless human themes. They searched for conflict, betrayal, jealousy, greed, love, family, and the emotional struggles that have captivated people for centuries. It didn’t matter whether the setting was a television studio, a Shakespearean stage, or someone’s living room because the setting was never really the point. Human beings are endlessly fascinated by the same conflicts because human nature hasn’t changed nearly as much as our technology has.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized this applies directly to another area of stand-up comedy, namely, joke writing. Many of us spend our time writing jokes about inconveniences. We complain about airport security, slow drivers, self-checkout machines, weird neighbors, or customer service calls that never seem to end. Those jokes can absolutely get laughs, but they rarely stay with people. Why? Because the underlying stakes are small. Once the inconvenience disappears, so does the joke.

That realization led me to start asking different kinds of questions whenever I write. Instead of asking whether a premise is funny enough, I ask what the premise is actually about. Is my airport story about airport security, or is it really about control? Is my dating joke about dating, or is it really about rejection? Is my parenting bit about my kids, or is it really about authority, expectations, sacrifice, and love? Flipping the switch like that means I’m not really writing about situations anymore; I’m writing about people, about human nature.

I’ve started calling this “The Shakespeare Test.” Whenever I stumble onto a premise I like, I ask myself what timeless human conflict is hiding underneath it. If I can’t answer that question, there’s a good chance I haven’t found the heart of the joke yet. More often than not, the first premise isn’t the real premise at all. It’s simply the doorway into something much deeper.

That one question has started to change the way I approach writing. Instead of trying to make an observation funnier, I try to uncover the deeper struggle hiding inside it. Once I know the conflict, the punchlines usually become easier because the audience instinctively understands what’s at stake. And, yes, something has to be at stake. This means the audience won’t be laughing at an inconvenience anymore but recognizing something fundamentally human in what I’m saying.

I think this also explains why certain comedians become unforgettable. Nate Bargatze isn’t really talking about airport security. Jerry Seinfeld isn’t really talking about cereal. Brian Regan isn’t really talking about meanness. Sure, the topic gets our attention, but the human conflict underneath the topic is what keeps our attention. That’s the part that survives.

Looking back, I don’t think Maury’s producers were consciously studying comedy theory. They were simply studying people. They understood that if you could connect a story to conflict, betrayal, love, fear, status, identity, or belonging, people would naturally lean in because those themes have always mattered. Shakespeare knew it. The Bible demonstrates it. Great storytellers throughout history have all been mining the same territory.

And, as I mentioned in the last post, that’s one reason I’ve become increasingly interested in studying people outside the comedy world. So, the next time I sit down to write a joke, I obviously will still want it to be funny. Before I worry about the punchline, though, I’m gonna ask myself a different question: Will anyone still care about this joke once the surface topic disappears? If the answer lies in one of those timeless human struggles, I probably have something worth exploring. If it doesn’t, I may still be writing about the surface instead of the story.

That’s the second lesson Maury Povich unexpectedly taught me. Great performers don’t simply collect funny moments. They uncover the timeless human conflicts hiding inside ordinary life. The comedians who learn to do the same don’t just get bigger laughs, they create jokes people remember long after the show is over. So, while Rose Horowitch may argue in her article that the end of reading is here, as a reader and writer myself, I’ll continue to keep learning from the greats, like Shakespeare and even Maury, because they’ve tapped into something that’ll never end.

Now, my friend, if any of this resonates with you, I want to encourage you to check out my new book: Comedy Mindhacks: 100 Mental Shifts To Help Comedians & Creatives Succeed.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. Again, 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.

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I’ll admit something I never expected to admit. A little nostalgia got the best of me recently, and I ended up watching an hour-long interview with Maury Povich. I wasn’t expecting to learn anything about stand-up comedy from the guy who spent decades revealing paternity test results on national television. Instead, I found myself filling pages of notes because I kept thinking, “This guy gets it! He understands the value of psychology and how to get and keep human attention better than a lot of comedians.” By the time the interview ended, I’d learned a lesson that changed the way I think about crowd work but also joke writing. I’ll talk about crowd work in the current article (Comedy Mindhacks #126) and joke writing in the next.

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With regard to crowd work, here’s my takeaway: Maury explained that whenever his show featured a paternity test, he had one non-negotiable rule. He refused to learn the results before walking on stage. He didn’t want producers telling him who the father was because, in his words, if he knew the answer, he’d know more than the guests, more than the audience in the studio, and more than the millions of people watching at home. He wanted to experience the discovery with everyone else. In short, he not only wanted to, but was willing to be surprised. Surprise was everything!

That answer stopped me in my tracks because, while it was his secret sauce, it has almost nothing to do with daytime television on its own. But it has everything to do with how humans operate. Again, it’s really about psychology. Maury understood that audiences don’t simply enjoy answers. They enjoy discovery; they enjoy surprise. And he knew he enjoyed surprises. The moment he knew the ending, he stopped experiencing the surprise of the story alongside everyone else.

As a comedian, I immediately thought about crowd work. I’ve watched plenty of comedians ask “setup questions” or “leading questions,” that is, questions they already know how they’re going to answer. Before the audience member even finishes speaking, the comedian is already steering the conversation toward a joke that was written before the show ever started. The audience may not know exactly where it’s headed, but they know something feels rigged or rehearsed because the question isn’t really a question anymore. It’s simply a setup disguised as curiosity. The problem? There’s no room for surprise.

Here’s the thing: I think audiences are remarkably good at detecting genuine curiosity. They know when someone is actually listening, and they know when someone is simply waiting for a chance to say the next funny thing. When a comedian is truly and honestly fascinated by another person’s answer, the audience becomes truly and honestly fascinated, too. When the comedian’s genuinely surprised, the audience will feel genuinely surprised. Suddenly, the room will feel alive because everyone is discovering something together, everyone is experiencing surprise together. But it all starts with the comedian being curious and taking the risk of being willing to be surprised.

The longer I perform, the more convinced I become that crowd work isn’t primarily about being quick. Speed matters, of course, and I admire comedians who can think at lightning speed; it’s a real skill, a real talent. But quickness isn’t where great crowd work begins. Great crowd work begins with curiosity. Being curious creates the opportunities and conditions that quickness can then respond to. Being curious is what creates the tension of risk and being surprised.

I wonder if this is one reason so many comedians plateau with crowd work?! They spend years trying to become faster instead of becoming more curious, instead of taking more risks of being genuinely surprised. They study comebacks, memorize tags, and practice punchlines while overlooking the one skill that makes all of those things matter in the first place. I don’t think better crowd work starts with better jokes; it starts with better questions.

I’ve noticed the same thing off stage. The most interesting people I know aren’t usually the fastest talkers or quickest thinkers. They’re just the people who ask thoughtful questions and genuinely care about the answers. They make other people feel interesting, and in doing so, they become interesting themselves. I don’t think that’s merely good conversation. I think it’s one of the hidden foundations of great comedy.

One of the unexpected joys of studying comedy is realizing I don’t always learn the most from comedians. Sometimes the best lessons come from psychologists, novelists, teachers, interviewers, filmmakers, or, in this case, a daytime television host most people associate with paternity tests. Great entertainers and performers, regardless of their field, are students of human nature first and entertainers second. They seem to understand that attention is earned, that surprise is invaluable, that being genuine goes a long way, and that allowing themselves to be surprised in real time (which means relinquishing some control) makes all the difference.

Maury’s lesson about curiosity was enough to change how I’ll think about crowd work from now on. Oddly enough, though, it wasn’t even the only thing I learned from that interview. Later in the conversation he casually mentioned Shakespeare, and I realized he’d stumbled onto another principle that explains why some jokes disappear while others stay with us for years. I’ll talk about that in the next article and how it can be a catalyst for incredible momentum.

If any of this resonates with you, you should check out my new book: Comedy Mindhacks: 100 Mental Shifts To Help Comedians & Creatives Succeed.

This entire book is built around helping comedians identify the mental obstacles, hurdle over them, and boost their momentum. Again, 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.

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