I never planned on doing comedy. One day I just saw a preview for The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel on Amazon and when an advertisement for a Stand Up for Beginners class “serendipitously” popped up on my Facebook, I decided I should give it a go. If Mrs. Maisel could get over her divorce doing comedy, perhaps I could too. 

A beginners stand up class is probably the most vulnerable environment anyone could ever imagine themselves in. Here we were four humans attempting to be alchemists by turning pretty painful moments of life  into gold.

The new mom, who did a cute bit about using the Peanut app to meet like-minded moms interested in getting together and talking about other moms, seemed to be the only truly happy one among us. 

Our teacher was a tough, foul-mouthed, NYC comic with a big heart and little patience for b.s.

I got on stage and anxiously proclaimed that I was more of a storyteller than a comedian and was just taking the class to learn how to lighten up my material. 

The problem with that plan is that a Dark Night of the Soul is anything but light. The crucifixion of one’s heart is not an easy pain to bear and as much as I wanted to pretend that I had risen from the grave of a dead dream, it still very much had it’s hold on me. 

The teacher  looked at me and said, “But this isn’t storytelling. This is stand up comedy.  Setup, then joke, setup then joke. Cut the fat!” 

I tried, but I couldn’t. I wanted nothing more than to reclaim my time, tell my WHOLE story, and speak some victory into existence that I had yet to truly feel in my own heart.  

Needless to say, I didn’t listen to her advice.

On the day of our performance I saw the light from her phone flash, warning me that I had a minute left. While everyone else stuck to five minutes, Ms. Special Pants went on for seven. 

In my attempt to reclaim my time, I committed the greatest comedy sin of all. It turns out the Catholic Church is more forgiving of pedophila than comedians are for going over time. 

Nothing like comedy, to give you a much needed lesson in humility. Turns out, now matter how special you think you and your story are, if you are told you have 5 minutes, that’s all you have.

I decided however to press on in my comedy journey, and began to do some open mic nights at the bar down the street from me and eventually made my “big debut” at the West Side Comedy Club in NYC. 

I’ll admit, I liked seeing my name on a line up and enjoyed the fantasy of me touring around doing my own version of Nanette.  

For weeks leading up the performance I found myself sitting in a pile of papers perpetually rearranging the same pain story, trying to make it funny, when in truth it was still sad. 

I think the funny happens when you are on the other side of pain looking back. 

As I sat with scattered pieces of my pain story around me, I then recalled a verse from an India Arie song that goes: “I’m not the mistakes that I have made. Or any of the things that caused me pain. I am not the pieces of the dream I left behind. I am light.” 

I YouTubed the song and played it on repeat, until the tears began to roll.  With a blotchy face and snot running out of my nose, I suddenly found myself in hysterical laughter.  

Revelation will do that to you- You find yourself ugly crying & laughing at the same time when you realize just how simple it all can be

  “Holy sh$t. I am LIGHT!”

I then looked at the painting of the Blessed Mother painting which hangs diagonally from my bed with the word “Whatever” tagged on the glass frame in metallic paint.

“Mare,” I whispered. “Can I just let it go?” “Can I just be the strange woman I am becoming and let this whole Dark Night go?”

I then heard a whisper say, “Dina darling, your only sin is that you love too much. Just go out there and be you!”

So the weekend before the show I attempted to pull five minutes together that had nothing to do with my divorce.

A few of my former ESL students from my days teaching in Emma Lazarus High School for English Language Learners made an appearance. Feruz was still nursing a broken nose, but made the trip anyway and I smirked when Tural told me to break a leg. 

As I waited to hear my name called to stage, I held on to the bulleted list in my back pocket. I repeated it over and over in my head. 1. My first student Hamdan, 2. gynecologist and the revolution 3. getting fired 4. philosophy about stickers. 

I didn’t know what to expect, but as soon as I got up there that spotlight made me feel like I could simultaneously hide and be seen and well it all seemed to flow. 

I didn’t win the competition, but I definitely beat my last performance and most importantly realized that laughter does in fact heal.

 It was a life come full circle moment. My students who uttered their first words of English in my class, were now witnessing me utter my first words on stage.

It seemed that the poster that I had hanging in my classroom that said, “The Expert in Anything Was Once a Beginner” was also a message for me.

I’m still not sure if I’m really a comedian. Given my contemplative nature and the fact that the notion of a punch line still eludes me, I’m probably more of a humorist. 

However,  what this whole Ms. Maisel experiment taught me was not only how to let go, but it showed me that no matter how “special” we take ourselves to be, we are all equal and worthy on this stage of life, and while we are on it we might as well make it funny.