My People

Last night, Barack Obama cinched the Democratic nomination for president. I so wanted to sit at home and watch his speech, to see the elation of the crowd, to feel part of it. But I had made a promise to myself that I would attend a storytelling performance called The Moth. In New York, I performed at the The Moth a lot and I miss it terribly. On my way over to the bar where The Moth is held, I listened to Barack on NPR, moved and thrilled about the possibilities of his presidency. But part of me felt sad because I didn't have anyone to share it with. As I swung open the door at the bar, a dark joint called Tangier, Barack's voice and cheers spilled out onto the street. Inside, at least 40 people stood transfixed and smiling, clinking glasses and giddy with happiness as they watched the rest of his speech on TV. I had no idea it would happen, but there on a Tuesday in Silverlake, I found my people -- Barack supporters.

But there was still The Moth, which was being held in the back room. When I got into the back, I was disappointed to see that the show had already started and I'd missed putting my name in the hat. (At The Moth, people who want to tell a five-minute story put their name in a hat, and 10 people are picked.) The place was packed and I was alone, but I found a little spot on a step and settled in to listen to the stories. It was raucous and touching and fun. I started to talk to the woman next to me, who was also alone and seemed cool. Then the fifth storyteller got up -- and I knew her! Wendy, a woman I did stand-up comedy with nearly 10-years ago in New York, was hilarious and fun just like I remembered her. And seeing a familiar face made my night. At the intermission, we talked and hugged and reminisced and I felt a rush of belonging. When I left for the evening, I was giddy the possibilities of connections.