Dad Bods & Disappointment

Two thoughts about dealing with changes

Tomorrow, I’m announcing the (killer) line-up for the 2nd Westside Story Club show (a night of storytelling and stand-up comedy in West Los Angeles).

The first show sold out, and once I announce the nine storytellers, comedians, and writers, their friends and family will likely gobble up the remaining seats.

So if you’d like to come, now’s the time to get tickets.

(Or you can join the WSC email list, follow on Instagram, or watch clips on YouTube.)

- Alec

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First, a joke setup I’m working through.

I have three daughters. One’s a teen, and the others are on their way.

It’s a strange thing to be a dad, especially if you’re an involved, helpful dad.

Because one day, you’re helping your girls get changed or dry off after a bath, and it’s all good. And the next day, you’re a pervert if you do any of those things.

But no one tells you when that day is. You have to figure out on your own, often after the fact.

Parenthood and nudity are topics that no one tells you about. It wasn’t in the parenting books: “Ah yes, page 259, When to Knock First.”

Every teen is uncomfortable with the concept of bodies, because their own is changing. Bodies are weird, gross, and a discussion topic to avoid. (I’d say “avoid it like the plague,” but I think that a plague would be a welcome conversational diversion for a teen.)

There’s one body they have no problem commenting on, though, and it’s mine.

No matter how much of my skin they see, whether it’s a wrist, a thigh, or my bare back, it’s the most disgusting thing they’ve ever seen. They recoil in horror. As if my untanned torso might turn them to stone.

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An update on my personal journey to find my voice and figure out what it means for me to “get more stage time.”

Last week, I attended my 15th Moth Story Slam, and I was lucky enough to be picked to get up on stage for the 7th time.

The night’s theme was “All-Nighter,” and I shared my story of sleepover shenanigans from 8th grade. It was funny, serious, and vulnerable.

And I missed winning the night by 0.1 points. Again.

For those who don’t know The Moth, winning doesn’t mean a lot. You get to perform (compete?) at a “Grand Slam” event, against other winners. You get a free book. And you get to change your speaking bio to say that you are a “Moth winner.”

None of those things matter, really. Not in the grand scheme of things.

Is the point of creating art “to win?”

Of course not.

Definitely not.

And yet…

I must confess that I was disappointed. Drove home discouraged.

I do seek confirmation that I’m getting better at this. That it’s going somewhere. That I’m not wasting my time. I know I'm supposed to “not seek external validation” because that’s what “well-adjusted adults do,” but hey, I'm human.

I want to be really good at this, and getting good happens more slowly than I like.

However.

I was proud to notice that, after 16 months of showing up, I know some people, and they know me. I guess I'm a part of the awesome storytelling community in LA, which feels great. Part of my goal in life is to know others and be known by others, and that’s happening.

I have to balance building a stable community of similarly-minded people with the desire for achievement that arises from doing the very thing that brings us together.

I’m both delighted and challenged to grow, which seems like a good place to be in life. Like most things these days, I can have two thoughts in my head at the same time.

Disappointment and gratitude.

I’m grateful for the opportunity to explore my creative voice- to participate in these events, hosted by the hard work of others, all while leaning on the support from home as my wife Katie sacrifices and supports me.

Steve Martin writes, “Be so good that they can’t ignore you.”

I’m not there yet, but I’m on my way.

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A few months ago, I wrote about “a very reasonable midlife crisis,” then performed it at an open mic. I think it’s on its way to being a good bit.

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Hit reply or leave a comment — i really get them and respond to everything.

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