On Pattison Avenue in Philadelphia, there’s a landmark that casts its shadow over the city. I’ve seen it on television. I’ve been there many times. And on a hot, humid Sunday, I was there again, but in a spot I’d never set foot in before.
I stood in the center of Lincoln Financial Field and craned my neck, looking at four ascending levels of seating that blotted out the city and the freeway in all directions. This is where Philly sports fans have come for years to worship the Eagles like a religion, where Chad Lewis made the ankle-breaking catch that won them the NFC title game in 2005, where Donovan McNabb threw the last-minute twenty-eight-yard pass that came to be known as the 4th and 26. And where in just a few hours, fifty-three-thousand people would be coming to see one man tell jokes. It was the climax of the What Now? tour, which wasn’t even over and had already become the highest-grossing comedy tour in history.
My thoughts turned to my mother. She’d never come to a show of mine, but I knew that she would have been at this one. Somewhere and in some way, I felt she would still be watching tonight, to see her son become the first comedian to ever sell out an NFL stadium. When I talk of my accomplishments and my work ethic, it is so that she will hear, and smile, knowing that all the hardship she suffered to keep me from throwing my life away was not in vain.
That night, illuminated by millions of watts of lighting, I stood on stage and talked about a life I never thought I’d have: a soulmate I was on the verge of marrying; two beautiful children who turned out happy against all odds; a house where I can provide all the things for my kids that I never had, like actual rooms to themselves; my father, who I once thought would die on the streets, visiting the grandchildren who love and adore him; renting a motor boat for a family vacation, and driving it without crashing into anything.
Every story to me was a small miracle.
After the show, I donated several hundred thousand dollars from ticket sales to build playgrounds around Philadelphia in my mother’s name—especially in the forgotten, decaying areas where she struggled to find safe ways to keep me busy. My hope is that her name lives on forever in the city just like her spirit does.
* * *
After the show, I had one more big hurdle to cross: the ocean.
I’d been to a few foreign countries, but I’d never left the so-called Western world. I was scared of getting arrested and thrown in a prison with just a hole in the dirt to shit in. I was scared of getting a rare disease that would make my blood hot enough to cook me from the inside. I was scared of getting captured by terrorists and of my beheading becoming number one at the jihadi box office. All I knew is what I read. I didn’t have any experience.
I debated whether or not to go to these parts of the world, until finally, I said, “Fuck it. If I want to be global, that means I need to actually go all over the globe.”
Before leaving for my overseas dates, I went to see a doctor, who told me that I needed to get a bunch of shots to protect me from diseases like yellow fever and hepatitis B. I reconsidered my ambitions.
Me: Do I absolutely need those?
Doctor: Yes. By injecting you with small amounts of these viruses, you’ll produce antibodies to prevent you from getting sick over there if you’re infected.
Me: So you’re saying that you’re gonna give me yellow fever now, so if I catch it over there, I’m immune to it cause I got it?
Doctor: Yes, that’s basically how it works.
Me: Why can’t I go over there without the virus, not catch it, and come back okay? Or go over there, catch it, come back, and then you give me the antidote to get it out of my body?
Doctor: Mr. Hart, you won’t experience any symptoms with these shots. It’s just a low-grade version of the virus.
Me: But why would I want the disease in my body? If I told you I was gonna go out with someone who had herpes, you’d say, “Wait, come in and see me so I can give you herpes first?”
Doctor: Mr. Hart, these are standard immunizations that all travelers get.
Me: It doesn’t make any sense. If I let you give me the shot, I have a hundred percent chance of getting the disease. But if I don’t get the shot, there’s still a chance I might not get it, right?
Doctor: . . .
Me: It’s like telling me you’re gonna break my leg so when I go play soccer, I’ll be used to getting a broken leg. Naw, man, I’m not letting y’all mentally manipulate me into thinking this makes sense. I’m rolling the dice. If I get sick, you just better fix me when I come back.
The trip took me to Africa and the Middle East for the first time. Learning about apartheid, seeing where the marches took place, and going to Nelson Mandela’s jail cell was a powerful history lesson, teaching me that it is never wrong to fight for what is right.
Along the way, I learned that the fears and stereotypes I had about other countries were nonsense. Outside of minor differences that were all surface level and all cool to learn about, people there were just like people here. Life there was just like life here. So much ignorance comes from a lack of experience, and these trips showed me that we are all brothers and sisters—and we need to always remember that. Because if one person is hurting, then we are all hurting.
The most amazing part of the tour—besides not getting sick—was visiting the royal family of the Bafokeng people. They gave me an African name, Mpho, which means gift. “We give it to you because you have the gift of making other people laugh,” they told me.
This simple gift has brought me to places I never expected to go, given me just about everything I have, and taught me most of what I know. But only because I never gave up on it. Everybody wants success in something, whether it’s in work, love, play, finances, family, or an inner struggle. But success doesn’t come instantly. Life has a process of rejecting you to test you and prepare you to win.
Steve Harvey lived in his Ford Tempo and showered in gas stations when he couldn’t get enough comedy gigs to cover his rent. Halle Berry slept in a homeless shelter in New York when she was auditioning to become an actress. Even James Cameron, one of the richest directors in Hollywood, was reduced to living out of his car when he was trying to sell the screenplay for The Terminator. The list goes on and on.
How you handle rejection is very similar to how you’ll handle success. If you’re strong enough to handle rejection without taking it personally, without holding a grudge, and without losing your passion and drive, then you’ll be strong enough to reap the rewards. But if you’re too weak to handle failure and disappointment, then you’re too weak to handle success, which will only end up damaging your life and happiness.