When destiny looks like a crock pot

Okay...so....you improvise long enough in Chicago, and sooner or later you're going to know people that are in commercials, movies and most importantly in the realm of Chicago comedy...are writers or performers on SNL.

Each night, as I pack boxes and take my enormous Sharpie marker to scribble words like "Leslie Office" and "Kitchen" and deal with Radon tests and homeowner's insurance, I realized....I know four more people joining the cast this year. In fact, my list of people in the comedy world who are "making it" seems to constantly increase. I'm heading to Iowa and baby making and crock pot recipes, and others are heading to New York, bright light and having their writing placed in front of the world to enjoy.

I remember the moment I lost it. Eric got deployed. I lied on my cold bathroom floor curled up in the fetal position and could not believe my life had come to this moment. The idea of going onto a stage, pretending I was an ex-hooker highway patrol woman now-turned zombie sounded idiotic. I realized that "playing" wasn't fun anymore.

For years, comedy to me was the most outstanding drug. Like red wine slowly swishing in your mouth before it melts lazily down your throat. Walking on clouds. Pure play. And I'm good at it. I know what is funny, I have excellent timing, and can feed any on stage partner to greatness. However....the instant that moment happened, when my life went from being goofy and fun to Iraq and death and the possibility that things might not end in a fairy tale - I changed. I didn't want to, but I did.

Like I said, I didn't want to. I forced going to shows and rehearsals. Forced myself to write comedy sketches. I fought, I fought, I fought. It made everything worse. I cried and mourned and wondered why. I was being steered down a path that I didn't understand, away from a life I imagined for myself for so long. I killed myself running the wrong way on a fast-moving escalator - not getting anywhere. After I stopped forcing, stopped running, I realized. I just didn't want it anymore.

That was a sad day. But then not a sad day. If I really wanted it - I'd be there. There's a reason I'm not. There's a reason why. I gotta believe that. God knows that I'm packing boxes - he's sending me there. Is there a part of me that is envious when another person I know gets a job on SNL? Yeah....cause I know I could do it. I know I'd like it. I know I write funny sketches...but God knows better. God knows I couldn't handle the BS that no doubt comes with it. Maybe he knows that I'd work my butt off, not get very far, then regret not having kids or having a more solid marriage. I know I'd regret that.

I told my friend Jen that I was moving. She was on the Second City stage and had a chance for SNL a few years ago, and chose family instead. She doesn't regret it. We're from the same hometown. When I told her, she calmly said, "you were done with Chicago anyway, weren't you?" I shrugged quietly. "You can always find ways to be creative." she added, "ways to use your voice....no matter where you are."

She's right. Wherever I am at, I'll find a way to use my voice. A new way to find my sense of play from Iowa suburbia within the crock pots and Saturdays working on the backyard. So I'll follow the path I'm given, try not to fight it, be happy for my friends and support them by tuning in on Saturday night at 10:30pm.

Play should evolve. I shouldn't want to be a 40-something playing an ex-hooker highway patrol woman zombie. I should want more for myself. I should be a 40-something ex-hooker highway patrol woman zombie, struggling to overcome her drug habit so she can get her kids back from foster care.