T.J. Miller and Kumail Nanjiani I met when I was in Chicago

When Thomas Middleditch said, “T.J. Miller and Kumail Nanjiani I met when I was in Chicago, learning how to do comedy,” his words seem simple — a recollection, a passing memory. Yet within this simplicity lies a truth both ancient and profound: the journey of the apprentice, the sacred bond of companionship in the pursuit of craft, and the realization that no mastery is ever born in solitude. For behind every artist who rises stands the invisible fellowship of those who grew beside him, shaping his path through laughter, struggle, and shared discovery.

The origin of this quote comes from Middleditch’s early days as a young comedian, long before the world knew him from Silicon Valley. In the bustling comedy scene of Chicago, he crossed paths with fellow performers T.J. Miller and Kumail Nanjiani, each one still unpolished, each still finding their voice. They were not yet stars — only seekers, standing at the crossroads of ambition and uncertainty. Their meeting was more than coincidence; it was the gathering of kindred spirits, each destined to carry a piece of the other’s influence into the wider world.

To “learn how to do comedy” is, in truth, to learn how to understand humanity itself. Comedy is the art of revealing the hidden pulse of life — its contradictions, absurdities, and heartbreaks. The comedian becomes both fool and philosopher, speaking truth through jest, pain through laughter. And like the apprentices of old — painters in Renaissance workshops, or playwrights in Elizabethan taverns — comedians, too, learn in circles of camaraderie. The laughter they share in cramped rooms and smoky clubs becomes the forge that tempers their voices.

So when Middleditch speaks of Chicago, he is not merely describing a place — he is invoking a temple of learning, where humility and hunger meet. In that city of grit and rhythm, countless artists have come to be reborn. Like Athens for the philosophers or Florence for the painters, Chicago stands as a crucible for comedians, a proving ground where wit is sharpened by failure and fellowship. It was there that he, Miller, and Nanjiani learned the sacred art of listening — not just to audiences, but to each other, and to the rhythm of the human heart.

Throughout history, the path of mastery has always been shared. Michelangelo trained under Ghirlandaio before he carved angels from stone. Beethoven studied under Haydn before his own symphonies shook the heavens. The lesson repeats: greatness is rarely solitary. Even geniuses are born in the company of teachers, rivals, and friends who challenge them to rise higher. Middleditch’s remembrance of his early peers is, in truth, an homage to this eternal law — that those who walk beside us in our beginnings leave footprints within our souls.

The meaning of his words extends beyond the world of comedy. It teaches that learning, in any craft or calling, is not a lonely pilgrimage but a shared odyssey. The presence of others — their ideas, their laughter, their criticism — becomes the mirror through which we refine our own spirit. True mastery is not built upon isolation, but upon community, empathy, and exchange. The spark of creativity grows brighter when reflected in the eyes of another who understands the same hunger.

The lesson, then, is this: cherish the companions of your journey. Honor those who began beside you, even if the world later measures your paths differently. For they were the ones who saw your struggle before the triumph, who heard your voice before it found its tone. To learn is not merely to acquire skill — it is to grow in the company of others who share your passion.

So, let Middleditch’s words be a reminder to all seekers of art, wisdom, or mastery: greatness blooms in circles, not in towers. Find your fellow travelers. Laugh together. Fail together. Rise together. For when the day of mastery comes, and the world calls your name, you will know that the true treasure was never the applause — it was the journey shared with those who dared to dream beside you in the dark.