I just arrived in Chatham, MA tonight—a town where I’ve vacationed for most of the past twenty-three years.
I started coming here in the summer of 1996 when I was dating the woman who currently identifies as my wife. It’s one of my favorite places on the planet and a good source of inspiration for me—two of my books take place in Chatham and I’m always hit with inspiration when I’m here.
Tonight, while walking one of my dogs (Murphy) down to the beach, I was enjoying some me time while listening to Motley Crue (don’t judge me, but if you can’t help but judge me, don’t go away mad, just go away). This “me time” led to an epiphany—I’m officially middle aged. It’s reasonable to think that I will live to see eighty-eight so, at forty-four, I’m a middle-aged dude. I’m a middle-aged Cape Cod vacationing Motely Crue listening dude.
And you know what? I’m totally okay with that.
At my halfway point, though, it strikes me that I really put me on pause for the past twenty years. Certainly you do that when you get married and start a family—the hobbies and interests I had took a back seat to things that were more important.
Here’s the thing, though, as my kids are now becoming more independent (they are all driving and are fine, upstanding citizens), I find that I have more “me-time.” This has allowed me to pursue things that are solely for me—I changed my diet and rediscovered my love of running (and lost 25 lbs in the process). In addition, I started writing more often. Lastly, I started to perform stand-up comedy. It’s this last bit that I find myself reflecting on tonight.
Over the years, some of my close friendships have fallen by the wayside—I became the father of triplets at 27 while many of my friends were still single. Now, most of my friends are in the same boat I was in years ago—they have young families and do not have the time to get together. In addition, I am self-employed and do not have a network of colleagues that I can rally to go out for happy hour on any given night. Oftentimes, I feel like I’m on an island; particularly when the kids are out with their friends and my wife is doing her thing.
When I started doing stand-up, though, I met a bunch of other—and I mean this in the kindest sense of the word—misfits. We are all from different backgrounds, have different comedic sensibilities, and certainly different viewpoints on life, but we do have something that bonds us—the deep-rooted desire to say something original that will provoke an emotional reaction in another human being (hopefully laughter). We do this while bright hot lights are pointed at us, under time pressure, and all on a volunteer basis. Oftentimes, we do it in front of people who could give a shit that we are up there (that’s right Sea Grape bar crowd, I’m pointing the finger at you). Like Tom Petty, though, we won’t back down.
We are a Breakfast Club like group of people who probably wouldn’t hang out with each other except for the fact that we are all chasing the same dragon—the effusive laugh from a group of strangers who abide from that two-item minimum. What I’ve realized is that, at mid-life, I’ve found my tribe. I know my new friends make fun of the way I dress (with my button-down shirts and bucks) and believe me, I make fun of their haircuts and Amish-like beards (or in Glen Rising’s case, a terrorist-like beard). That said, we are all in this together, and I love my new tribe. None of them will ever be invited over for Sunday dinner or to meet my family (except maybe Glen Rising because he is a really sweet man), but that doesn’t mean I don’t love them. Maybe it does. You get it. Right?
Here’s a joke I told the other night for the first time. It needs some work and will eventually be a call back to a bit called “I have no game.” For context, back in November I was visiting my parents in Florida when my father was recovering from heart surgery. I offered to go to the store and my father requested that I buy him a local tomato.
