Why is the prospect of bombing so terrifying? Why does it top most people’s lists of their greatest fears?
What we write on those lists is actually “public speaking.” But it’s not public speaking we fear. We fear rejection, standing in front of a sea of faces. We fear bombing.
Why? When you bomb, you’re not hurt. A mob doesn’t come after you. You’re not killed. Instead, you go home afterwards, have a nice meal, and fall asleep cozy and safe in your princess bed.
In fact, if you perform frequently, you know that bombing is helpful. It’s feedback you can use to get better. It toughens you and gives you confidence. It’s an essential part of the journey of learning the skill of performing.
But we’re still afraid of it. We’ve just managed to quell the fear sidestep it.
Here’s why bombing is so scary:
For most of human evolutionary history, our tribe was everything to us. Being loved and accepted by them is one of our strongest needs and deepest joys.
Bombing, standing in front of a crowd that’s judging you, is the opposite. It triggers an ancient fear of being on trial. You might be banished if they don’t approve.
It’s the worst fate imaginable. You can’t survive without the tribe. You’ll die a terrible death out there, cold and alone on the Savanna, cut off from the people you’ve known and loved your entire life.
It would mean certain death, both physically and emotionally.
Your brain doesn’t know the difference between then and now. It sees those faces in a comedy club and takes you right back to a prehistoric trial in Africa, into the heart of that crushing fear.
Don’t let it get the best of you.
I used to be a professional wrestler. I dislocated my shoulder, murdered my back and almost had a concussion. None of those injuries were as painful as bombing when I did standup.
I was elected president of my high school student council, and my first official duty was to welcome the new sophomores on their first day of school (a 3-year high school). I decided to start with some jokes. I said, "I've had a rough morning. It took me an hour to cook Minute Rice." I think I ripped that one out of a joke book. Nothing. Dead silence. I said another joke, one that I ripped off from Groucho. "Remember, this school was here before you came and it'll be here before you go." I would have gotten a better response from a corpse. Only the cheerleaders on the front row made noise. I could feel my face burning and a wave of panic washing through me. I didn't start any more speeches with jokes that year.