Ah, the Metro North train to New York City—a marvel of modern transportation, unless it’s raining in biblical proportions. Torrential downpours can truly ruin one’s evening, especially when you’ve sacrificed five hours just to miss a precious five minutes of stage time at a “Ladies Night” open mic. But hey, at least I got a delightful cup of coffee at Grand Central Terminal for my $5 investment. That’s a steal!
At the ripe age of 68, I’ve decided to toss ambition to the wind and pursue a career in comedy. Because if not now, when? At 70? Why not challenge the conventions of retirement at a time when most of my peers are enjoying crossword puzzles and a good round of pickleball?
For the last 42 years, I’ve toiled in the Information Technology sector. Most people think that when you’re in IT, you sit around all day hacking into the matrix. Truth be told, my family remained blissfully ignorant about my career, likely because nobody wants to hear about endless lines of code at Thanksgiving dinner. I paid the bills, got married, bought a house, and had kids—a classic sitcom plot without the laugh track. In my spare time? I dabbled in comedic essays and went the extra mile for zero compensation. I was basically running a nonprofit comedy club out of my living room.
While friends my age are cavorting through Portugal or perfecting their golf swings, I’m surrounded by a motley crew of high school students, ex-lawyers, and college dropouts in the back rooms of poorly-lit bars. It’s like the world’s weirdest support group, complete with punchlines and awkward silences. The upside? I feel like my life is just beginning. Somewhere between the punchlines and the awkward pauses, I think I may have found myself—or at least a good dad joke.
The Family Entertainer
As a kid, I was the token family jester, stuck between four siblings who seemed to be plotting their careers at the local genius factory. Being the chubby one, I had to resort to humor to grab a flicker of attention amidst my brilliant counterparts. My family chuckled at my antics, even when my “stage” was just the community center’s all-purpose room. I guess you could say I launched my career early—because nothing screams ‘future comedian’ like a bad parody of a song about broccoli.
The Serious Side of Jokes
People often ask, “Why didn’t you go into comedy sooner?” The answer: I enjoy shopping. Whole Foods? Yes, please, where the prices are exponentially linked to their organic pretentiousness. The truth is, I appreciated that cozy, predictable routine of office life, unlike the unpredictability of a comedy career, which is like dating—thrilling and often disappointing.
Even in my cubicle, comedy found a way out. Amidst the chaos of corporate America, my sarcastic remarks kept one unlucky cubicle mate entertained enough to document them in a “quote log.” Spoiler: I married him, and we still have that log as a prized family heirloom. Somewhere, our future children are cringing at the thought of reading their parents’ workplace sarcasm.
Timing Is Everything
Why now? Because menopause is finally in the rearview mirror, and surviving a pandemic deserves a reward. Now that I have a financial planner promising I can live to 96—gulp—I’m finally ready to trade my office chair for a mic stand. Never fear—I’ve come to terms with the learning curve of comedic storytelling. It’s like getting better at riding a bike, except the bike is a unicycle, and you’ve got two left feet.
Sure, becoming a comedian isn’t a walk in the park. It’s more like trudging through a muddy field of failed punchlines. You put the time in—moments of sheer cringe mixed with rare flashes of brilliance. It’s all about the meticulous crafting of a set while being ready to capitalize on spontaneous awkwardness. If that’s not poetic, I don’t know what is.
Finding My Tribe
Most people either settle for mediocre laughs or pack it in entirely. Not me. I drag my aging joints down to open mics, using my discomfort as comedic fodder. My age, my weight, and my perpetually grumpy husband? All excellent material.
To my surprise, I’m not always the oldest comic on stage. There exists a quirky community of retirees and second-chancers pursuing this wild comedy dream. It’s a gold rush for laughter, where finding a shared, humorous truth can knock an audience flat on its back with belly laughs. Who knew? I’m ecstatic to be part of this rollercoaster.
Ivy Eisenberg, currently residing in White Plains, New York, is working on a memoir that will undoubtedly lead to more than just “I remember those groovy 60s” moments but will also delve deep into the nuances of growing up in that turbulent decade while keeping her sense of humor intact.
