The Most Expensive Word in Comedy
How One Little Word Can Quietly Steal Your Momentum (Comedy Mindhacks #125)
I’ve been to Ethiopia seven times. My wife and I adopted children from there, I learned Amharic, taught others Amharic, and even wrote a handful of books to help people learn the language. That’s just how I operate: I learn by writing and teaching and creating content. Whether it has to do with a language, theology, preaching, joke writing, or anything else, I put my process on display and share my learnings with others.
Somewhere along the way, as I was doing a lot with Ethiopia and Ethiopian culture, I also discovered one of my favorite cultural observations. It was so common, and so funny, that I eventually turned it into a joke and then into a book of stories that teach Amharic. The word is ነገ (pronounced neh-geh). It simply means “tomorrow.” That’s innocent enough on the surface. But once you spend enough time in Ethiopia, you realize “tomorrow” doesn’t always mean tomorrow. Sometimes it means “next week.” Sometimes it means “eventually” or “I’d really rather not deal with this right now.” After hearing it enough times, I started using it myself as a joke.
Whenever someone asked me for something, I’d smile, shrug my shoulders, and say, “ነገ.” Every single time, it got a laugh because everyone recognized the stereotype. They knew exactly what I was poking fun at. The joke wasn’t really about Ethiopia. It was about something much bigger. Every culture has its own version of ነገ. In America, we usually don’t say “tomorrow.” We say, “Maybe later” or “Someday.” Someday I’ll take that comedy class. Someday I’ll start posting clips. Someday I’ll finally write that new five minutes I’ve been talking about for a year. Someday I’ll email those bookers. Someday I’ll bet on myself.
The problem with “someday” is that it feels responsible. It doesn’t sound like quitting or even procrastination. It can actually sound hopeful. That’s what makes it so dangerous because “someday” allows us to keep believing in the future version of ourselves without asking anything of the present version ourselves. Psychologists have a name for part of what’s happening here. It’s called “Present Bias.” Human beings naturally give greater value to comfort that’s available today than rewards that may arrive in the future.
We know, for instance, that writing tonight would probably make us better six months from now. We also know Netflix asks much less of us. So, we quietly choose the immediate reward while convincing ourselves that we’ll make up for it later. Comedy magnifies this tendency because the payoff is so delayed. Nobody becomes a great comedian after one open mic. Nobody builds a last audience after posting one clip. Nobody develops a memorable voice after writing jokes for a weekend. Stand-up rewards the people willing to make hundreds of small investments long before anyone notices the return.
That’s why I think “someday” may be one of the most expensive words in creative work and especially comedy. It disguises itself very well as patience. We tell ourselves we’ll start after work slows down, after the kids get older, after summer ends, after we have better equipment, after we feel more confident, or after life becomes a little less chaotic. Somehow that perfect season never quite arrives.
I have, however, noticed something interesting about comedians who continue growing year after year. They don’t necessarily have more free time than everyone else or fewer responsibilities; they don’t have fewer setbacks, or fewer reasons to postpone the work. They’re simply suspicious of the word “someday” and words like it. They’ve learned that momentum is almost never built in the future. It’s built in ordinary Tuesdays and Wednesdays.
Looking back, I think my Ethiopian friends gave me a memorable word for a universal human tendency: ነገ. We all have our own version of ነገ. We all have dreams we’ve quietly moved onto tomorrow, next month, or next year. The language changes from culture to culture, but the psychology stays remarkably the same.
The truth is, very few comedy careers end because someone lacked talent. Many end because enough tomorrows quietly became never. Every “someday” feels harmless by itself, but over the course of a career it slowly steals momentum one decision at a time. That’s why I’ve become convinced the most expensive word in comedy isn’t “bomb,” “rejected,” or even “cancelled.” It’s “someday.”
If you’re waiting for a sign, maybe this is it. Write the joke. Post the clip. Email the booker. Sign up for the class. Do the thing you’ve been pushing into an imaginary future. Because momentum isn’t built by what you’ll do someday. It’s built by what you’re willing to do today…not just tomorrow.
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