How Improv Changed My Life

Please allow me this post of introspection. I have a feeling it might be useful for folks who may find some echoes of their own life in here.

The title of this post is not even remotely hyperbole. Improv very literally changed the course of my life. Growing up, I was very into comedy. My best friend (still to this day) Alex Sharp had cable, so it was up to him to introduce me to the likes of Mel Brooks and Monty Python. He was up to the task, and I soon found myself insatiably chasing humor.

At home, I was obsessed with Fozzie's Big Book of Sidesplitting Jokes (Please Laugh) and I regaled my parents with Fozzie’s material ad nauseam. To their credit, they never complained.

I was a huge goodie two-shoes through middle school, but started to develop into a class clown in high school. I was still a good student, so I think my teachers couldn’t discipline me as much as they would’ve liked because I was earning good grades and doing the work. (I’m sorry, Sra. Krick. Rest in peace.) I had moved away from Fozzie’s voice and found my own, and I found eliciting laughter to be the only intoxicating thing I had in high school. I was still a goodie two-shoes.

In college, a group called The Humor Artists (HA) formed my sophomore year. I’m sad that I didn’t learn about it until my junior year, because it was right up my alley. Fortunately, I did learn about it my junior year thanks to a lucky coincidence. A junior by the name of Andrew McDonnell transferred from his previous dorm into a room right across from mine in our beloved Dillon Hall. He introduced me to HA which—at that time—was mostly a sketch comedy and stand-up comedy group. We dabbled in improv, mostly by not knowing anything about improv and breaking all the established “rules.”

I do recall one of my favorite improv bombing moments my junior year, though. We did an improvised murder mystery called Who Killed Papa Smurf? I was Jesus Smurf. In it, we all painted ourself with poster paint because body paint was more expensive and HA had a budget. In our rehearsal prior to the show, Holly Hoffman and I were the killers, and it was sublime. In the show, I think I was randomly picked to be the killer again, and it was horrible. The paint was incredibly uncomfortable, especially under the stage lights and the flop sweat I had going from bombing so hard. It was also pretty fucking glorious. That was my first (not last; and—it turns out—not even worst) entry into the world of failing HARD with a supportive group who picked me up afterward. I was in love with improv.

After graduation, I took a couple of years off from improv and sketch and did (mostly bad) stand-up comedy while working as a high school science teacher and baseball/soccer coach. Was my coaching directly responsible for the dominance that the Roadrunners now display? No. No, it wasn’t.

After a couple of years of teaching, I went back to law school, and HA had evolved from mostly sketch and stand-up comedy to mostly improv and stand-up comedy. It was hard to memorize a whole stand-up set, so improv dug its hooks into me.

I got married after law school, and my then-wife bought me an improv class at The Comedy Shrine, a local theater that focused on short-form improv and stand-up comedy. I didn’t buy into the “things happen for a reason,” but that marriage and divorce cemented me on the path that would lead me to meet my wife Kelsey and open The Bit.

I took the level one class at The Shrine and met some incredible classmates with whom I still keep in touch.

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And then I took some time off comedy and went through a divorce. Don’t be sad. No good marriage ends in divorce, and this opened so many doors to me.

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Once I was out the back end of that, I realized I could do anything I’d been wanting to do. I have an amazing, supportive family who wouldn’t let me starve. I started my own law practice, so I could have more time to focus on my passion, which was comedy.

I got a part-time job leading adult field trips (or “adventures”) for LivingSocial. My time entertaining a bus full of 54 people on a two-hour ride to a shooting range in Indiana reawakened my desire to study comedy, and I started taking classes at the Shrine, which had conveniently moved to a location two miles from my house. I had massive self-esteem issues from my failed marriage, and the improv mentality of “failing is progress” was exactly what I needed.

I was relatively-quickly asked to be a mainstage performer and head sketch writer at the Shrine, which led to a pivotal choice. LivingSocial was a Saturday job, and so was the Shrine. I can’t stress enough that being an experience coordinator at LivingSocial was the first job I’d ever felt born to do. It was an absolute blast, and as a single, self-employed person, it allowed me to actually meet other human beings. But I had to let it go to chase comedy.

I spent some time onstage at the Shrine until artistic differences and a desire to pursue more long-form improv opportunities led me to pursue other opportunities. That led me to Westside Improv in Wheaton where, once again, I was relatively-quickly a “guy” that the owners needed both to perform, teach, and help with management. They asked me to be a third owner, which I didn’t realize I wanted until I was asked. I accepted and was an owner for a little while at Westside.

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During my time at Westside, I met my wife Kelsey. She was there to watch a friend of hers who was performing. We met after a set I had in early 2016. We hit it off, and we haven’t been apart since both as romantic partners, scene partners, and business partners. She’s the absolute best.

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Eventually, it became clear that I had a different vision for the theater than the other owner did, so after a lot of agonizing and a TON of conversations with Kelsey, I parted ways. I knew I wanted to open a theater where I was free to do something different, and Kelsey was onboard.

I looked. I looked and looked and looked and looked some more. I do real estate law in my practice, so I knew what I was looking for. It was an agonizing process with a lot of near-misses, some premature announcements (sorry, Elmhurst; I tried), and then—finally—a lease materialized for an amazing space in Batavia. I was over the moon. I started talking to contractors, we were approved for a liquor license, and we were starting to get close to construction.

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And then, COVID-19 hit. Our future landlord was AMAZINGLY cool about it. We still had some contingencies in the lease (thank you, law degree), and he was willing to ride out the pandemic with us. And then, The Comedy Vault, a stand-up comedy venue, got approval in Batavia. Coincidentally, they wound up opening their doors on the exact same day as we did, but we knew that we couldn’t open an alternative comedy venue right down the street from a more-sellable stand-up venue.

I was pretty devastated, and I was convinced that the universe was telling me to give up. Kelsey (the best) convinced me to not give up hope and to keep looking. I knew that The Comedy Shrine had moved out of the old spot where I’d performed for them, and I looked to see if the spot was still available.

For once, I had good luck.

The space was available (two miles from our home), our landlord is an absolute saint, the space had everything we needed and was already built out as a comedy theater and bar, and Kelsey loved it from the moment she first saw it.

We opened The Bit on September 25, 2021.

My life experience is the reason I’m such a big advocate of improv. It literally changed my life. This once-hobby led me to my career and the love of my life, and I’m thankful every day that I get the privilege of creating comedy.