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(An excerpt from Matt’s personal story featured in the book: One Last Talk)

When I was young, nothing made me happier than making my brother laugh so hard his stomach would hurt the next day. Nothing, except repeating this pattern again the following day, while he was still in pain. Admittedly, this pleased me a bit more.

I believe this is what sparked inside of me the desire to write; specifically for tv; even more specifically, the genre of comedy.

Problem was, I never felt deserving of doing what made me happy, and I never fully saw the value cracking silly jokes provided in the world, so I subconsciously sabotaged my dreams at every pass. I overcomplicated my goals, measured myself against others’ success, felt the anxiety of not possessing someone else’s voice, and eventually threw in the towel.

That all began to change the day I delivered my One Last Talk.

When I agreed to give my talk in front of what I presumed would be an angry mob brandishing rotten tomatoes in cocked arms ready to release hell upon me as I crumbled into the fetal position center stage, suffice to say I was a tad nervous.

In fact, I don’t actually recall why I agreed to give my talk this in the first place, as I am deathly afraid of public speaking. Perhaps it was the immense trust I hold in Philip McKernan who believed I needed to do it. Perhaps the pain of hiding from myself and the world had gotten too great. Perhaps a bit from both column A and B.

Whatever the reason, when I took that stage in front of a couple hundred strangers, something unexpected happened:

I wasn’t booed, nor had I soiled myself as previously expected.

In fact, the most surprising thing was that I actually received a standing ovation.

Sure this was great for the ego and confidence, but it ran much deeper than that. I felt as though I had been heard. The real me. I had been accepted. The real me.

In the months that followed, I began to notice some powerful ripple effects as a direct result of delivering my One Last Talk:

• A close family member opened up to me and trusted me with their own similar experience, thus creating a dialogue that didn’t exist before
• Multiple friends and family members begun being more vulnerable and real around me
• My wife was inspired to write and share with me her own One Last Talk, which helped me to understand her in a new way and connect on a deeper level
• Because I had declared on stage publicly who I was, and more importantly who I wasn’t, I noticed that my talk had become a line in the sand for personal alignment and decision-making about my future
• I stopped being so apologetic about who I really was and started showing up more in the world, which I can only imagine will have a positive effect on the way my children grew up as they find their own ways in the world

And while these are just a few of the many examples which stand as a testament to the impact that delivering my One Last Talk has had on my life, and on some of the lives of the people I care most about, there’s one more tiny, yet critical, thing that happened that day on stage that is worth mentioning:

While reliving the very moment I tried to take my own life and sharing the details of that moment, I managed to coax a few chuckles out of the crowd, which ignited that tiny little familiar flame inside of me from my childhood.

An innocent little joke seemed to allow the audience to not only digest the potency of that dramatic moment, but to also connect with it, and to me, on some sort of deep, shared level.

I’ve come to learn that comedy is an amazing frequency that allows you to go deeper with people, in a way that’s welcome.

I swiped a couple quotes from a Late Show interview between Stephen Colbert and Sam Rockwell:

“Comedy is the sorbet of drama … it’s a palette cleanser.” ~ Stephen Colbert

“Making a joke allows you to digest the potency of dramatic moments.” ~ Sam Rockwell

I believe comedy is similar to love in that way.

When people laugh, their brain releases more endorphins than just about any drug. It helps them smile, enjoy life, escape something temporarily, and not feel alone. Because when you share a laugh, you feel connected, which means you matter.

In short, I’ve finally learned the value of comedy, it connects and heals.

And through this process of discovery, I also began to unearth the value within myself.