I performed a pretty solid set Wednesday night at Mark Ridley’s Comedy Castle in Royal Oak, and for the first time, I met Mark Ridley. He stopped me as I was walking back to my seat. I didn’t recognize who he was at first, because I had only seen older pictures of him. The exchange went something like this:

“Jim?” extends hand

“Yeah.” shakes hand

“Mark Ridley.”

shakes hand even harder “Oh man, hey, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you for having me.”

“You did a good job. You have a great voice.”

beaming “Thank you so much, I’m glad you liked it. I hope to see you again soon!”

“You will.”

That’s the boost of confidence I needed. My creative juices have been coming up dry and I’ve been really down on myself lately, but hearing that from Mark Ridley really gave me a push in the right direction.

I finally found a new theme that I really dig. I’ve been trying to find something that looks like a notebook to remind me of the olden days of writing in a notebook. Chances are I won’t blog more often, though, but I figure I can at least collect dust in style.

It seems like people think you’re crazy for talking about death, but as one of my former English professors who I greatly admired once said, the easiest way to dismiss someone in an argument or a debate is to call them crazy.

On The Road gave me an optimistic reminder. I’m gonna die some day, and so are you. How often do you think about that when you’re afraid of doing something, or when you decide to sit around and do nothing, or when you’re looking at the world like it’s some big huge scary mess?

Death puts all your bullshit day-to-day waste of time troubles into perspective. Why is it pessimistic to think that every day is one day closer to death? I think that’s a very optimistic way to look at life, because it reminds you all the more to make something of that day. It’s a reminder to make every day the greatest day. Can you get any more optimistic than that?

When pursuing a creative venture, be it painting, music, comedy, whatever, you’re entering into an dark cave of the unknown, and the only thing lighting your way is this desire in your heart to bring something beautiful into the world. Most people, myself especially, walk in fear. You stumble as you walk, tripping and falling, running into rocks hidden in the shadows. You stop in your tracks and ponder going further, you turn around and begin to walk quickly back to the entrance of the cave before something stops you and forces you to turn back. You may do this several times before you hit a point in that cave where you notice a single, tiny ray of light at the other end. Your careful steps become a relaxed stride as you move forward, the light seemingly becoming brighter, and the brighter it gets, the quicker your stride becomes.

Dashing towards the end of the cave, you find that it is no longer dark, that it is as if you’re venturing through a sunny green field, the bright yellow sun radiating above, the sound of movement surrounding you. Before you know, you are no longer in the cave, and you are not surrounded by the sunlight, but from the light emanating from your creation. The energy from the light sends you forth into another dark cave, but this time, with far more light and a much more confident stride than before.

I am a hopefulist: I’m not pessimistic enough to be a realist, I’m not ignorant enough to be an idealist, and I’m not impractical enough to be a dreamer. I am driven by the hope that observing and exposing reality as I perceive it will allow me and others around me to work practically towards a more ideal reality. The key to my effectiveness as a hopefulist is my perception. If my perception is skewed, then my reason will not appeal to the minds of my audience and spark emotion in their hearts, and all will be for naught. But I do believe in my mind and feel in my heart that I am on the right path, for otherwise I would not commit my thoughts in writing. I can only hope, after all.