At a friend’s suggestion, I once tried to record myself doing stand-up, but it was mostly me trying to figure out how to get the glare off my glasses while getting progressively sweatier and more frustrated.

Turns out, as much as my soul sings when I get a laugh, I am not a comedian. I dislike large crowds and firmly believe people should be snickering at me behind screens and pages, as God, David Sedaris, and Erma Bombeck intended.

Usually my brain is annoyingly full of perky optimism. I’m 94% rainbows, kittens, positivity, and happiness.

Except when it comes to my divorce. Not because I have horror stories. You know what pisses me off about it? It was so boring.

If I have to have a divorce story, is it too much to ask for it to be interesting?

I want something delicious and gripping. I want an elaborate plot involving police chases, oil rig explosions, and a TikTok-famous Russian potato farmer.

Instead, I could tell the whole sorry tale on one hand: Mom. Kids. Doctor. Nurse. Divorce.

Twenty years of my life in five nouns.

That’s so annoying.

Obviously, the only antidote is to make the rest of my life more interesting.

It’s called balance, Susan.

I’ve done a lot of solo travel since then. I’ve made questionable financial decisions. I went to France. I went to Greece. I spent a week on a yacht. I mainlined feta while sitting in corners and scribbling in journals.

My favorite thing about being single is that no one gets to veto my ridiculous ideas. 

Should I take a SCUBA diving lesson on a whim because the woman leading the snorkel tour introduced me to her SCUBA instructor boyfriend, who could be a complete fraud but I trusted based entirely on vibes? No paperwork. No documentation. Just vibes.

Probably not.

Am I glad I did? 100%.

There’s no one to tell me no.

Making all the decisions is liberating, terrifying, and usually expensive. That said, the stories? They are not boring.

Attempting humor in writing is weird. You don’t have to perform on a stage, but you also don’t get to hear the laughter. You have to learn exactly how much personal trauma is acceptable without being able to hear the scraping sounds of chairs as everyone walks away.

This is why I think we should make Sit Down Comedy a thing.

Or maybe Stand Up Comedy for Introverts. 

Everyone stays seated. I’ll hand you a piece of paper and walk away. I’ll hide behind curtains and quietly die inside if no one laughs.

Wait, even better…what about if I just put things on the internet and no one leaves the house?

Local woman discovers blogging.