ultimately, you have to be brave.
How one night on stage completely transformed my perspective on courage.
Courage is the most important of all the virtues, because without courage you can’t practice any other virtue consistently.
– Maya Angelou
A few days ago, I did something I never imagined I'd do: I performed stand-up comedy for the first time.
Now, you might wonder, “I must have missed a chapter, when has Liv ever wanted to be a comedian?”
The short answer is never. As extroverted as I might seem, I’ve always felt like my lane is behind the scenes, so being on stage—let alone making people laugh—has never been on my radar. I’ve always thought to myself, “Me? Give people the opportunity to not laugh at my jokes. In your DREAMS.”
Villain Origin Story
Two years ago, when I moved to Durham, my friends and I developed a tradition of attending an amateur stand-up comedy bar every Friday night. Every week, we’d watch aspiring comedians brave the stage, delivering set after set, often bombing spectacularly. Seeing amateur comedians try out new material in a room of thirty people and awkwardly flop was part of the appeal. It felt like attending that one high-school English class with the creative professor, where performing and failing had low stakes, and you were graded on participation. Comedy became a safe space for us to let loose, share some laughs, and occasionally endure secondhand embarrassment. Each Friday, the laughter and groans of the audience created an atmosphere that was both comforting and awkward, like a guilty pleasure you couldn’t help but keep watching.
One night, after too many cups of wine, my friends convinced me to try stand-up. I drunkenly accepted the challenge, fully intending never to follow through. Though doing stand-up comedy seemed like a low-stakes gamble, the stakes felt enormous for me. I couldn’t help but replay horrid flashbacks to freshman year of high school where I blanked on my lines during an audition for the school musical. I could still remember the deer-in-headlights moment when I stumbled over my lines in front of the drama club director and tenured drama club seniors. The thought of recreating another live audience disaster was terrifying.
But my friends, bless their relentless souls, wouldn’t let it go. Every month, like clockwork, they’d check in on my "comedic debut," eagerly anticipating my first performance. And every time, I’d come up with a new excuse to dodge it. I felt like I had made a deal with Rumpelstiltskin—promising something impossible in exchange for a fleeting moment of peace—and now it was time to cough up my end of the bargain.
However, as the months passed, the promise I’d made loomed. My impending move to Chicago for graduate school added urgency to the situation like a countdown bomb ticking away. I realized that soon, I wouldn’t have my friends around to gently (or not so gently) prod me into action.
The thought of leaving Durham without ever facing my fear began to feel like a missed opportunity—a challenge left unmet. The night I decided to go on stage, I was nervous AF. My hands were sweaty, and I could hear my heartbeat in my eardrums. I had a vague outline of jokes scribbled in my journal and hadn’t had much time to do a practice run-through. I was f*cked.
My Comedic Debut
After the second intermission, there was no escaping it. I had agreed to go on stage, and I’d be called up in ten minutes. Backing out now would be more embarrassing than bombing, especially after teasing my friends with this promise for two years.
As I approached the stage, my mind wavered between pep talk and panic: “You can do this, Liv. Just don’t trip over the mic cord.”
Stepping onto that stage felt like an ice plunge—shocking yet invigorating. Each giggle from the audience was a little encouragement, hinting that maybe I wasn’t entirely out of my league.
I wasn’t there to become the next comedy sensation but to conquer a fear that had loomed over me for years. As the minutes ticked by, I felt liberated. The stage, once intimidating, became a playground of possibilities.
The Awakening
This experience awakened something inside me—realizing that you can create whatever life you want when you have the guts to fail. Breaking free from your own limitations is the hardest part, but you become more powerful when you take the pressure off of succeeding on the first try. Do yourself a favor and allow yourself to be a beginner! We spend so much time worrying about the what-ifs and the potential for failure that we forget about the thrill of the first attempt.
Ultimately, we have to be brave and open to the alternate pathways and timelines where our lives could take us. To live a life worth living, we must blend the strength and courage to be uncomfortable.
Having conquered my first stand-up attempt, I'm ready to return to the stage and deliver a killer set. With palms still sweaty, I'll trust the process, knowing that failure is simply a stepping stone on the path to success.
Thank you for your eyes, always.
With love,
Liv
