It’s amazing how fast the years zoom by, the older you get. I remember when one grade of school felt ages away from the last one. Hang out with someone who’s in a different grade than you? That’s practically a whole other generation.
Just some quick numbers-related reality checks to bring you along with me. First of all, I had no idea how long it had been since I last updated this blog: Two and a half years (2021).
This month marks 18 years since I first tried stand-up comedy (2005). I don’t think of it as “I’ve been doing comedy for 18 years,” because it’s very sporadic for me. I’ll go months between sets. I might do it twice a year. When the pandemic started, I went a year and a half without it. But it’s still a thing I did, which led me down some other paths that I wouldn’t have known about if I’d never ventured on stage.
I’ve been in Toronto for more than 12 years (2011). I think I’m past the point of how long I’ve lived in my hometown, which is also 12 years. I was there from Kindergarten through Grade 12. I don’t plan on moving any time soon, so this will be the place for another while yet.
More than 10 years in my current apartment (2013). It *is* the longest stretch I’ve been at one address. Longer than any of the places I’d lived in as a kid. Longer than the home I bought; the condo I lived in for less than 3 years. This building’s management has changed a couple of times, but I have rent control and am paying shockingly below-market rates. I’ll hang on to this for as long as I can!
Still in a relationship with SW, over 4 years in (2019). The longest and healthiest relationship I’ve been in. I’m still disgustingly happy. It’s the feeling of remembering you’ve got something yummy in the fridge. “Oh yeah! There’s cinnamon buns for breakfast tomorrow! AND BACON!” So even if I’m having a tough day, there’s still this bright spot to smile about. Happy enough to give up a rent-controlled apartment? Let’s not get crazy now.
With the years flying by, I forget how old I am. Maybe it’s not having kids or not having a steady job. I think of people in their mid-30s as being grown-ups, and then I realize, “Holy shit, I’m 45!!!!” How??? My parents were 45… at some point. And now they’re senior citizens. I can’t call them middle-aged anymore. Not ready to call myself that, either. Some people I grew up with have university-aged kids now. I have a hard time wrapping my head around that.
To my surprise, I’m still working as a banquet server. I didn’t think I’d go back to it after the pandemic ground everything to a halt. But no, things came back. People like gathering and eating — and I like getting paid — so I’m back, too. When updating my resumé recently, I was shocked to realize that customer service was the longest career I’ve had. Especially for someone who’s not a people person. I’ve had these jobs since I was a teenager in the 90s. Longer than I ever did graphic design or comedy/acting. I knew I might still be working as a server in my 40s, but here’s hoping I can “retire” in my 50s.
Actually, I recently wrote a new comedy set about my life in the service industry. I figured there was material to be found in the ol’ day jobs. As the comedians say, I’ll leave you on this:
Inside Voice 