As a comedian you never forget the first time you bomb For me it wasnt on stage I was in southern Afghanistan in May 2014 when a vehicleborne improvised explosive device detonated near me while covering a routine patrol as a public affairs specialist It was something I had a dozen times before but in a flash I was on my back ears ringing lungs full of dust I dont remember the sound just the silence that came after That was the first time I learned what silence was that unique brand that only occurs when your brain is trying to reboot and youre unsure what may or may not be broken The blast knocked me out cold When I came to nothing was where it had been The explosion left me with a traumatic brain injury and partial deafness in my right ear with tinnitus that still rings to this day I deal with memory loss light sensitivity and sudden moments of confusion or panic that attack without warning I am fortunate to be alive Not everyone who has gone through the same experience can say the same That fact followed me home and into civilian life It followed me into comedy After I was medically retired from the Army I felt unmoored I didnt want to be thanked for my service I wanted to feel something again other than adrenaline and dread I wanted to laugh I wanted to make other people laugh So I started writing chasing the rhythm of a good joke like I used to chase good light for a photo while convincing people I was more than just a POG Writing that last sentence and saying it out loud I realize thats probably the best joke I will ever tell My civilian work eventually took me to Chicago where I enrolled at The Second City a comedy institution where the entire curriculum is built around turning pain into timing a place where youre not only encouraged but expected to fail But even with all that structure and guidance and despite learning from the best and being repeatedly told I was capable and that my story mattered it still wasnt enough I was scared terrified actually Not of the stage but of being exposed of being seen of letting people in on what the war had done to me So I took a break a long one at that I told myself I needed time to write reset and work on new material But the truth was more simple I didnt know who I was without the uniform and I wasnt sure if people would laugh at what was left For a long time I convinced myself I hadnt earned the right to be on stage Like telling jokes meant I wasnt honoring the people who didnt come home Or that getting a laugh somehow cheapened what had happened But heres what Ive learned as months went by if I survived Im still allowed to speak Im allowed to create Im allowed to be more than what happened to me Two years ago I got back on stage There wasnt some profound moment that caused me to do so I just went out and did it embracing the fear that had gripped me for so long With the encouragement from friends and a refresher with the Armed Services Arts Partnership I slowly started to find my comedic voice again Strangely enough performing again reminded me of being on a mission You rehearse You plan You step into a highstakes environment where nothing is guaranteed And then you execute The audience like a patrol route is unpredictable You adjust You move You adapt You get through it or you dont but youre changed by it either way When I bomb now I dont panic because without sounding too cliche I know what actual bombing is Ive felt the pressure change before an explosion Ive seen the color drain from the world So when a joke doesnt land I breathe I wait I reset Ill write something better next time What that VBIED taught me besides basic blast physics is that timing matters and silence isnt always failure Sometimes its the space before the punchline It also taught me people are always watching how you carry yourself when everything goes wrong In combat its about bearing In comedy its about confidence My pace on stage is a reflection of that Its slower calculated and rehearsed You dont have to pretend youre invincible but you do have to show the crowd youre still in control even when the wheels are coming off I used to think comedy and combat were opposites The two could never coexist One is chaos the other is craft One is pain the other is relief But now I see them as siblings Both rely on rhythm Both require you to say the unspeakable out loud And each demands you be fully present in moments where the stakes are high and the outcome is unknown This May will mark 11 years since I was blown up And while the scars remain so does the voice The one that says Youre still here Say something useful Some nights that voice tells a joke about memory loss or PTSD Other times it gets on stage and tries not to flinch at the light And then during others it wonders how many people in the audience have their own hidden war stories But every night that voice remembers that laughter is proof of life And that after everything Im still standing Still up Still writing Still here