Wide Eyes Open

I recently talked to Rosie Tran, a Vietnamese American comedian and podcast host who hails from New Orleans. I told her we would be friends because we have suffered through Saints football together. Though, to be fair, I’ve suffered longer than she has. Who Dat indeed!

The long-suffering chant of Saints fans: Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints? With the common refrain: Sigh, everybody.

She got into comedy because her boyfriend at the time wanted to be a stand-up comedian, and she would accompany him to open mic nights. She would watch his set, and then give a review, saying things like “Maybe you should pause after you say that, or give a weird look after this, or maybe say the joke this way.” He didn’t always take it constructively, and remarked: Then why don’t you get up and do it?

You may have already guessed that the relationship didn’t last. But she found she missed going to the comedy clubs and hanging with the other comics. Then she decided that, yes, she should get up and do it.

I asked Rosie what it took to walk on stage the first time and just... do it. The vulnerability of stand-up comedy has always fascinated me. You’re alone up there. No band, no co-host, no net.

She thought about it for a second and then said: I didn’t know I was being brave. I didn’t know you could fail, or what that even looked like. Therefore, it couldn’t scare me.

I have found that people with real courage don’t really see it that way. She had watched her parents immigrate from Vietnam to a brand new country, with a brand new language. And not much else. She had seen that bravery every day of her life. She had almost died from a gastrointestinal issue at the age of 7. Bombing at a comedy club? Scary? Pffft.

I bonded with her. I have told my sons that they live a life I could not have imagined, a, dare I say it, privileged existence. I walked along the cliff of failure, with one wrong step sending me into the abyss. She had walked along that same cliff. For my kids, that cliff is ten miles away, and just a rumor.

People with real courage have won it — weird choice of words — but looking down at that cliff and realizing you need to take the next step anyway. And then the next one. Rinse and repeat.

I have been thinking about our conversation a lot. How much of bravery is really the freedom of not knowing what we are risking? It makes me consider my sons’ path. That cliff may be a rumor for them, whereas many of us have looked straight down.

The option remains the same. You go anyway.