I don't watch that much comedy. I think it's professional

Hear the words of Michael Ian Black, who with candor spoke: “I don’t watch that much comedy. I think it’s professional jealousy. That and a lack of support for my community.” What appears at first as a simple confession is in truth a mirror held up to the soul of all artists, creators, and workers of spirit. For in these words lie two timeless struggles: the gnawing bite of jealousy toward those who share one’s craft, and the lonely hunger for support from one’s own people. Both are ancient burdens, carried by poets, philosophers, warriors, and leaders across the centuries.

The first burden, that of professional jealousy, arises wherever men and women devote themselves to mastery. To see another excel in the very path you walk can pierce the heart, not because you despise them, but because you are reminded of your own striving, your own unfinished work. This jealousy is not wicked by nature; it is the shadow of ambition, the proof that you care deeply about your craft. The Greeks themselves personified envy and rivalry as forces that could either destroy or drive a soul toward greatness. Thus, Michael Ian Black admits what many conceal: that in art, as in life, jealousy often lurks even amidst admiration.

The second burden, the lack of support from community, is no less heavy. For what is an artist without a people to hear their voice? What is a warrior without comrades at their side? Even the strongest spirit may falter when it feels unseen, unheard, and unvalued. Black’s lament reveals that laughter, though shared with audiences, can still feel lonely if one’s own circle offers no strength. The ancients knew this truth as well: Homer sang not only of Achilles’ rage, but of the company of his companions, whose presence gave meaning to his glory. Without fellowship, even the brightest fire may burn cold.

Consider the story of Nikola Tesla, whose genius lit the world with inventions yet left him often overshadowed, unsupported, and dismissed by his contemporaries. His community did not lift him up; rather, he walked much of his path alone, envying at times the fame and fortune granted to rivals like Edison. Yet from his solitude and unacknowledged jealousy came visions that shaped the future. His story teaches us both the cost of a lack of support and the transformative potential of inner struggle.

From Michael Ian Black’s words we learn this: that jealousy and loneliness are not signs of weakness, but reminders of our humanity. To feel envy is to reveal passion; to crave support is to affirm that no soul thrives in isolation. Yet the lesson is not to surrender to these feelings, but to transmute them into fuel. Let jealousy sharpen your craft instead of souring your heart. Let the absence of support compel you to build stronger bonds, to seek out those who will stand with you, or to be the support for others that you yourself once lacked.

Practical steps arise from this wisdom. If you feel jealousy toward another, let it teach you what you long to achieve—then work steadfastly toward it. Do not allow envy to curdle into bitterness, but let it call forth excellence. If you feel abandoned by your community, create new circles, mentor others, and forge support by giving it. Just as a tree sends roots deeper when the soil is thin, so too can the soul find strength when companionship is scarce.

So let this teaching be passed on: to confess jealousy is not shame, but honesty; to long for community is not weakness, but truth. Michael Ian Black has spoken what many hearts feel in silence. Learn, then, to harness your envy and to build your fellowship. In this way, the loneliness of the artist becomes the courage of the creator, and the burden of jealousy becomes the fire of growth. And thus, even in the absence of support, you will not wither, but rise stronger, carrying others with you as you ascend.