Post-Show Analysis: Brutal but Honest (with a Splash of Growth)

Here are a few of the highlights.

Does anyone else do a full performance review once life returns to normal? You know, the lights go down, the makeup’s off, and suddenly you’re the Rotten Tomatoes critic of your own set? Yeah. Me, too. Not always—but often enough to know it’s part of the gig.

There are things I can control. And things I can’t.

1. The ones where I didn’t give 100%

Oof. These hurt the most—because they’re on me.
I showed up physically, but mentally? Half a mile away. Maybe I didn’t sleep well. Maybe I got too cozy with my material. Maybe I was distracted by travel, the crowd, the lighting, or that cursed email I read right before going onstage.

Whatever it was, the result is the same: I under-delivered.
And worse—I knew I was under-delivering as it was happening. That’s the kind of show that haunts you, not because it bombed, but because it could’ve been great. Those are the shows I regret—because I had the power, and I didn’t use it.

2. The ones I can’t even judge

Then there are the true mysteries.
Let’s talk about that audition show in Vegas.

I think I performed. I opened my mouth, words came out, I paused for laughs in all the right places. Technically, it all happened. And the audience? Nothing. No vibes. No energy. Like I was performing performance art in Klingon.

And I’ve had quiet crowds before. I once asked an audience to chant my name (yes, peak delusion), and no one did. Not even a half-hearted “Mi…yo?” But even then, I felt them. They were with me. Awkwardly. Silently. Supportively.
That show? Still a win.

But this Vegas crowd? I got nothing.
Was it me? Was it them? Was it the haunted energy of the theater? I still don’t know. Maybe if I had more experience performing out of town, I would’ve handled it differently. Or maybe it just wasn’t my room. Not my people. Not my time.

And you know what? That’s okay.
It stings—but it’s okay.

I’m still grateful. Even when the opportunity wasn’t for me, I’m glad I had it. In a few weeks—after some wine, some reflection, maybe a dramatic therapy walk—I’ll probably feel different. But for now, I’m chalking it up as a growth experience. Not the fun kind. But growth rarely is.

So thank you. For sticking with me. For reading my ramblings, cheering from afar, and letting me be real about both the highs, the lows, and the silent audition shows that make me question my entire personality.

Onward.

And hey—when one door closes, another opens.
A big opportunity just landed. I can’t share details yet (seriously, it’s more than a year out), but it’s coming.

Life’s weird. And wild. And sometimes? Really, really fun.