It started innocently enough.
A kind invite to a charity comedy fundraiser.
- A few friends.
- One table.
- Front row.
What could possibly go wrong?
I invited a small group. Thirteen of us, to be exact. The kind of number that guarantees
conversation, overlap, and at least one story that will not die.
And before the night was over, it had a name.
Crocs.
Two longtime friends finally met in person. Which was overdue, because within minutes we
discovered shared musical DNA. Chicago. Deep cuts. Nostalgia. Enough overlap that another
live show is already on the calendar. A future health investment quietly scheduled.
A few people drifted into a music conversation that felt like a side quest. One friend once
again did that thing where he moves through a room with effortless fluency, talking to anyone
about anything, and somehow always adding depth.
Another couple joined our orbit for the first time. Seamlessly. Which is always the tell.
Conversation braided.
- A pinball outing was proposed.
- By two people who had just met.
Which tells you everything you need to know.
Then the comedy started.
I should pause here to say:
I do not wear crocs to shows.
- But I do wear crocs.
- Often.
- For most of my adult life.
One friend was wearing bright yellow crocs that night, so when the first croc joke flew, I
assumed she was the target.
Incorrect.
From behind me, someone was pointing.
- At me.
The comic locked in immediately.
“So… you wear crocs?
- When did you give up on life?”
Pause.
“Is this your wife?
- How long have you been married?
- What year?
- … Why are you looking at her for answers?”
I was stunned.
How did she know?
She explained to the audience that people who wear crocs have, in fact, given up on life.
That we likely own a support possum. That emotional instability is implied.
The second comic didn’t even bother with new material. He just named me.
“Crocs.”
“You know what I mean, don’t ya, Crocs?”
- “Crocs, you get it.”
My table loved it.
- They fed it.
- They encouraged it.
They even dragged my wife into it.
“So what helped you get over the crocs?
- Was he always like this?”
She hesitated, clearly weighing loyalty versus survival, then said,
- “He’s a really wonderful man.”
“Uh huh,” the comic replied.
For the rest of the night, strangers called me Crocs.
- People asked for photos.
This is now a nickname with legs.
I can already see the faux baseball cards.
- The jokes that will resurface years from now, uninvited.
And honestly?
It was perfect.
One line from the comic stuck with me:
Even for a moment, it’s hard to feel stressed when you’re laughing.
For several hours, that’s exactly what we did. Together. For a good cause.
And without trying to, we checked almost every dimension of health.
- Emotional: laughter, joy, inside jokes that now belong
to us - Social: new connections, deeper ones, easy
overlap - Environmental: a shared experience that changed
how we relate to one another - Intellectual: watching high-level wit navigate a room
in real time - Physical: sustained laughter is elite core work
- Spiritual: generosity, presence, shared humanity
On the way out, the bright yellow crocs finally got called out too.
Balance was restored.
That night was a reminder that health doesn’t always look like discipline or
optimization.
Sometimes it looks like a front-row seat, good friends, a cause worth supporting, and being
called “Crocs” by strangers who will never forget you.
And honestly?
That’s one hell of an investment.
Ryan Travis Woods
Business Callout
Community environments are catalysts for connection and relief. This one deserves recognition:
Funny 4 Funds, a comedy-driven fundraising organization that uses laughter to support meaningful causes and local communities.
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