The Stage Lights Were So Bright

Show Note 7

Last night marked my second paid gig, and while it was fun, it was also a challenge. I’d say I did “alright,” but the experience left me with a lot to think about and that’s what I want to reflect on here. For one, the setup of the stage was tough. The room was so dark I couldn’t see the audience, and the lights on the stage were blindingly bright. That made it almost impossible to connect with anyone in the crowd, which is such a huge part of what makes stand-up fun and makes it work.

Performing in that environment felt slightly disorienting. Stand-up comedy is about the comedian’s relationship with the audience, even if just for the duration of a set. You play off the audience’s energy, their reactions, even their faces—but when all you’ve got to go on is silhouettes and sound, it’s a different game.

After my set, I noticed some other comedians sat down on the stool during theirs, and it occurred to me that maybe they could see the crowd better from that angle. It’s something I might try next time because connecting with the audience, even under those lights, is a skill I need to develop.

As I reflected on my performance, another thought struck me: the material I used was too PG, too family-friendly for this club. I’m a clean comedian. I don’t do blue/vulgar material. That doesn’t mean, however, that some of my jokes can’t be edgy or venture into the harder, darker parts of our humanity. You can totally go that route without devolving into shock humor or vulgarity. Honestly, nearly all the material I used I had done in two very family-friendly places and it hit both times; so, this very well could’ve been the issue for less laughs than usual or, at the least, less big laughs than usual. So, if I’m right on this front, this is also a lesson about knowing your venue and what it likes. But I also could’ve had the wherewithal to recognize it mid-set and switch things up.

I noticed before my name was called that I wasn’t nervous about going on stage, and I wasn’t rattled if a joke didn’t land. It’s been that way the last several shows, which is a good thing. A big takeaway for me is finding ways to: a) make my material feel more conversational even though it’s been honed and crafted; and, b) stay clean but fit the venue to meet the audience’s expectations.

There were also small moments of unintentional humor. For instance, I forgot the host’s name and said, “Keep it going for her” when I went up. That got a laugh, but it wasn’t the kind of laugh I wanted. It was more of a chuckle at me and my mistake than a reaction to something clever. I’ve got to remember to be more professional, especially when it comes to acknowledging the people who help set the stage for us.

Another thing I noticed was the ease with which some of the more seasoned comedians performed. Watching them, just like watching anyone surf, made me think, They make it look so effortless. And that, of course, can trigger a little imposter syndrome. It’s natural to feel that way when you’re new, surrounded by people who’ve been doing this longer and seem so at home on stage.

But I’ve realized something: no matter how big, better, or more polished they might seem, they can’t be me. They can’t bring my voice, my perspective, or my story to the stage. Also, I only decided 1 year ago to jump into this and, well, I have. In total, however, I’ve only been performing around 8.5 months and I was on the show bill with 3 very seasoned comedians. I’ll take it as a win.

One key here is to focus on improving myself, not comparing myself to others, but still learning from others. Imposter syndrome only wins if you let it stop you, and I have no intention of letting it do that. This journey is about growth—my growth—and that means embracing every challenge, learning from every show, and always striving to do better.

So, I’ll keep working on making my stand-up material feel more spontaneous and conversational, finding ways to connect with the audience even when the lights are blinding, knowing the personality of the venue better, and staying professional in the little details. There’s so much to learn, and I’m excited to keep at it. Stand-up is a process, and every set is a step forward, even when it feels like a stumble. Last night was no different, and I’m grateful for the lessons learned in ten minutes under those insanely bright lights.