You’re probably wondering how I got here.

Well. The story starts off sad but ends up in a good place. Come with me: 

May 2021, I’d just gone on a magical road trip with a friend. We went to every national park in Colorado and I came back home to New York with a renewed vigor for life. I was living with my parents, sister, grandma and foster baby at the time when the unthinkable happened. 

My mom went into surgery for a routine procedure, but when she got home, it quickly became clear that something was not right. I’ll spare you the gory details (and they certainly are) but after she was rushed back to the hospital, we found out that her bowels had been perforated six times. If you’re not a doctor or you don’t watch Grey’s Anatomy, know that this constitutes an immediate emergency.

She was put on a ventilator and was the sickest patient in the ICU. There was a nurse who hugged me like I was her daughter (I really needed a mom’s hug). There’s a lot I don’t remember from this time, but I know it was horrible. We celebrated her birthday in the hospital. I was there the first (and second) time her heart stopped. She’d developed severe sepsis, and necrotizing fasciitis (a fast moving flesh eating bacteria) and, later, a hospital born superbug. She was put on dialysis to give her kidneys a break. My sister and I started sleeping in the same bed at home. One surgeon told me they didn’t have a plan, since they couldn’t just “skin her alive.” It was one nightmare after another. Mercifully, she was in a coma for all of this (she describes this time as being in [her] own place), where she remained for 3 months. It was hard to answer when people checked in on us. I never knew what to say. I didn’t want to give them bad news…I didn’t want to tell the truth, either, since that wasn’t good. Our tongues are so powerful, and I never wanted to accidentally speak some new horror into our world. 

During this time, my sister became a lawyer, meticulously documenting every move the at-fault doctor had made before, during, and after Mommy’s Accident (as it’s known in our house), and I became a doctor. I knew everything – her ventilator settings, what medications she was on, how they worked, and her dosages. I knew her blood lactate level and I knew her urine output. I knew everything.

When she was finally strong enough to come home, we entered a new phase in this mess. My dad, sister, and I took turns caring for my elderly grandma, our foster baby, and my mom through wound changes and everything else that comes with surviving a medical trauma like this. Those were some of the toughest times of my life. 

As she started to recover — as we all started to recover — I had to re-learn how to make my life about myself again. It was hard! Unbelievably hard. I’d always considered myself a creative person — I’m blessed to be employed as a copywriter, kicking my feet up all day and coming up with ideas for some of the biggest brands in the world — but I’d long stopped feeling creative. I felt stuck. I felt like a fraud. I felt like I’d never have a good idea ever again. I was so scared, all the time. I could hardly recognize myself. 

So, as one does, I moved out to my own apartment in Brooklyn, making frequent trips back to Queens to help out 4 or 5 times a week. I could’ve (should’ve?) stayed home to save on rent, but I was on a new mission: to make my way back to myself. I didn’t know where to start, but one day I was listening to an episode of This American Life – Must Be Rats on the Brain, and the rats were played by two comedians on a show I adore called Southside. In the credits, they mentioned they were in a show at the Brooklyn Comedy Collective. I looked them up, and BCC had a bunch of shows on, and a bunch of classes, too.

“I signed up for Clown Level 1 with Tallie Medel, and it changed my life. I started to learn how to play again, how to be present, and how to be around people.”

I saw they had clown classes available and I said, “why the hell not. It can’t be worse than what I got going on over here!” I signed up for Clown Level 1 with Tallie Medel, and it changed my life. I started to learn how to play again, how to be present, and how to be around people. It didn’t teach me to eliminate the gray cloud over me, but more how to work with it. How to give it its own space, so it wouldn’t usurp mine. After that first class, I was hooked. I took the Level 2 class with my clown idol Chris Manley (twice), and then the Level 3 when it became available. I took a 15 hour intensive with a master bouffon clown, and a clown character workshop with a different studio. I read about clown voraciously and would share what I’d learned to anyone who’d listen. I started a troupe, called Lovely Day, and performed with them and on my own all over New York. I made new friends, new lovers, one new enemy. And then I went to Paris for 6 weeks to take classes at École Philippe Gaulier (the place to go, if you’re going to go anywhere). 

Suddenly I looked up and I felt like me again. Well, not the old me. I don’t think I will ever be her again. Time is now bifurcated into the before and after. Before the incident and after the incident. Before my mom almost died in my arms (but thankfully did not), and after. I will never be Old Funmi again. But I liked – I loved – who I was becoming. 

When I got back from France, Philip Markle, the artistic director at Brooklyn Comedy Collective, asked if I had an hour of clown I could do on their mainstage. Reader, let me tell you: I did not. But I said yes anyway. I bounced ideas off trusted friends and came up with something loose I thought could work. Then I approached my friend and former instructor, Chris Manley, and asked him to direct it. Thankfully, he accepted. And then we made FISH together. I hate to toot my own horn, but earlier in 2024 I’d won a James Beard Award for a project that, at the time, was the best thing I’d ever made. 

Now FISH is the best thing I’ve ever made. It’s about a fish who wants to be human. To do that, the fish has got to learn how to do human things: walk, talk, and deal with crushing existential dread. It is so good. So fun, so silly, so unexpectedly touching. I loved every second of making FISH and every second after. My parents came (both of them!) and loved it. And I loved that they loved it.

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And not only did they love it, so did our sold out, standing-room-only audience. So Chris and I decided to do a crazy thing: apply to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, with very little expectation for what would happen. But then before we knew it we were committed to a great venue (Jade Theater at Greenside, 7:35pm!) for the whole run. That’s 21 shows. Neither of us has ever been to Edinburgh Fringe, much less produced a show for it, and now we’re feeling our way through both things, alongside our powerhouse, genius, brains-enough-for-all-of-us producer Shaina Feinberg. Together we’re raising money and figuring out how to actually get there. Aha. I’ve brought you back to where we started. That is where the $25,000 comes in.

So from now until we leave at the end of July, I’ll be doing semi-frequent dispatches on making a show for a new audience, producing a show for the biggest Fringe Festival in the world, and raising enough money to get it all done. Please, please comment or reach out if you have any tips for raising a huge amount of money in a short amount of time or are friends with philanthropists who want to support the growing-but-still-niche-enough-to-make-them-look-cool artform of clown. And, even better, if you’re able to donate I would appreciate it more than you could ever know.

And follow along to stay up to date on our beautiful and chaotic journey.

Thank you for reading, see you on the next one,

Funmi