January 19, 2026 – Heavy Anchor
Got home from PodFest at 8am this morning. Challenging flight. Data center shit to deal with. Then a personal disagreement I can’t talk about publicly anymore.
Just know I’m going through a really challenging time right now. I’m in a good space, but there are things I can’t discuss publicly. If my writing feels reserved, if I seem a little held back, I’m sorry. I can’t be fully in the moment with everything right now.
But I’m not letting it affect me. Comedy is a big reason for that. I can look at almost everything from a different perspective now. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but it’s real.
Heavy Anchor reality check.
Got some sleep. Hit the office. Hit the gym. Went to Heavy Anchor. Up 21st, second to last. Five people in the audience when I got up.
Rough doesn’t cover it.
Tried two different premises. Neither went over well. Four minutes of pure hell. Got the light at three minutes. I could’ve walked off like everyone else did.
But I stopped and asked myself what I could use that time for.
I went to one-liners. Begrudgingly. I don’t like doing one-liners, so I did them casually and laid back. And they worked. I won the audience over. They were chuckling by the end.
That told me something important. If I had a longer set tanking, I could drop into one-liners to capture individual energy in the room and then bring people back into storytelling. It also tells me I need a lot more one-liners in my back pocket for different crowds.
Something else shifted this past week too. I’ve gotten better at calming my nervous system enough to actually enjoy myself on stage and laugh out loud. Sometimes at inappropriate moments. There’s comedy in almost everything if you let yourself see it.
I didn’t write about Purple Quarters last Tuesday. Had a client in town, then headed straight to Orlando. I don’t know if I’ll be able to write as frequently the next few weeks. January through March is stacked.
But tonight mattered.
Five people. Two failed premises. One-liners that saved the night.
Last time I went to PodFest, I got arrested. My plane caught fire. This time was smooth. Maybe some timing had to be this year and not any other year.
I’m a 50-year-old man sitting in the best version of himself that’s ever existed, even when I can’t talk about the hardest parts.
Even when there are only five people watching me bomb—and recover.
That’s comedy. That’s growth. That’s not letting life shut down the work, even when the work is the only thing holding you steady.
Writing may be lighter the next few weeks. The grind is real through March. But the mics continue. The work continues. Even when everything else feels unstable.
