There’s a myth that you have to choose between being entertaining and taking care of yourself—that if you want to be funny, you’ll probably burn the candle at both ends, eat whatever you want, and sleep whenever your schedule allows.

But the more I tried to “be better,” the more I realized something: humor doesn’t have to come from chaos. In fact, the healthier I became, the funnier life got.

You just need a new approach: one that makes health feel less like punishment and more like permission.

I won't bury the lede: I had a significant medical experience that changed the way I think about my body, my health, and what I want to do with my time on this planet.

The details are in My Hospital Story — all 16 chapters of it — but the short version is this: I went in one person and came out another. Not in a dramatic, movie-trailer way. In a quiet, "oh, so this is what matters" kind of way.

What I didn't expect was that the hospital stay would also be funny.

Not in a dark, gallows-humor way (okay, sometimes in a dark, gallows-humor way). But genuinely, absurdly, notebook-out funny. The things that happen in hospitals — the conversations, the indignities, the moments of unexpected grace — they are apart of me. Whether I wanted it, or not.

Here is what I've learned: laughter is not the opposite of taking your health seriously. It's actually one of the most serious things you can do for it.

There is real science behind this. Laughter reduces cortisol. It improves immune function. It changes your relationship to pain — not by making it disappear, but by giving you a different way to hold it.

When I started writing comedy songs about my health journey, I wasn't avoiding the hard parts. I was processing them. I was finding the absurdity in the very real, very human experience of being a body that sometimes breaks down and needs help.

And people responded to it. Because everyone has a body. Everyone has had a moment where the only reasonable response to what's happening is to laugh.

Here's the thing about being a comedian who also talks about health: people sometimes assume the health stuff is a bit. Like I'm playing a character.

I'm not.

I genuinely research the supplements I recommend. I have tried most of them. I care deeply about the brands I affiliate with — which is why I only work with a handful, and why I'm honest about what each one does and doesn't do.

The discount codes are real. The affiliate links are real. My opinions are real.

I'm not a doctor. I'm not a nutritionist. I'm a person who went through something hard, came out the other side with a lot of questions, and started doing the research. And then I started sharing what I found, because that's what I do.

Something interesting happens when you refuse to choose between funny and serious, between comedian and health ambassador, between entertaining and informing.

You find your people.

The people who follow me are not just comedy or gaming fans. They're not just wellness enthusiasts. They're people who understand that you can laugh at something and still take it seriously. That humor is not a sign of not caring — it's often a sign of caring so much that you need a release valve.

They're people who have been through something hard and found that laughter was part of how they got through it.

They're people who Googled a symptom at 2am and ended up on a supplement rabbit hole and thought, "okay, but also, this is kind of funny."

Those are my people. And I'm glad I didn't pick a lane, because I never would have found them.

Not in the “I’m making jokes while ignoring my body” way—but in the real, everyday way that gaming shaped how I think, write, and show up. Retro games taught me something surprisingly useful: you don’t improve by quitting halfway. You learn patterns. You practice. You take breaks. You keep going—one level at a time.

And that same mindset? That’s what helped me make health feel like a game I could actually win. The comedic timings got better, my habits got stronger, and my routines stopped feeling like chores.

So this isn’t just about being funny. It’s about building a life where the things that make you you—like retro gaming—don’t disappear when you get healthy. They become the fuel.

Yes, I just used "comedy" as an excuse to talk about video games. Mind your business.

If you’ve ever tried to “get healthier” by going full serious—no fun, no jokes, no joy—there’s a good chance you didn’t quit because you lacked discipline.

You quit because you tried to change your life without including the part of you that actually makes life worth living.

Comedy isn’t a distraction from self-improvement. It’s a tool for it.

When you let humor into the process—whether it’s making a joke in the mirror, turning mistakes at work into a routine, or finding the funny side of your “wellness fail” moments—your habits become easier to stick to. Not because you’re avoiding the work, but because you’re building something sustainable: a routine you want to return to.

So this is your gentle push: don’t ignore comedy. Try it too.

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