The open mic is on Tuesday

A young man in Jeddah has wanted to do stand-up comedy for about four years.

He has a list of reasons he has not started. He needs better material first. He is waiting for a proper venue to invite him. He would like to be paid, at least a little, so that it counts. He wants his family to come round to the idea. He wants the first night to go well.

None of those things stop him from writing jokes this evening. None of them stop him from standing up at a small open mic next week in front of twenty strangers, most of whom are waiting for their own turn.

Most ambitions work like this. The person who wants to write could write a page today. The person who wants to teach could explain something to one neighbour's child this weekend. The person who wants to build a brand could find one product they believe in and help a few people discover it, without asking anyone's permission.

What makes these feel impossible is rarely the activity itself. It is everything we quietly attach to it. Comedy, yes, but also money for it, an invitation, the family's blessing, and a promise that no night will ever go badly.

That second half is real, and it is fine to want it. But it is not the work. It is the reward that sometimes follows the work, much later, and only for people who were already doing it.

Remove the extras, even for a while, and the question becomes small enough to answer. Do you want to do comedy? Then the open mic is on Tuesday.