Your life encompasses early-morning television, a demanding comedy schedule, philanthropy, and the responsibilities of marriage and caregiving. What have you had to change about your definition of success?
You have to understand, and be comfortable with, the fact that you will always have some untapped potential in one of those areas. Nothing is ever finished, and something always suffers. If I’m working too much, I’m not as focused on caregiving. If I’m spending a lot of time on the fundraiser, my stand-up suffers because I don’t have as much time to write. If I’m doing too much stand-up, I’m exhausted for TV. I’ve had to learn to accept that. I’m a perfectionist and a neurotic who’s never satisfied, so I accept it begrudgingly. But I accept it nonetheless.
After everything you and Amy have experienced, what does hope look like to you today?
Obviously, I hope that one day she can be healthy and free of pain, and that all of this work we’re doing yields results. But hope looks much simpler to us these days. Hope is that it’s not too windy for us to walk the dog. It’s not having to break those dinner plans we made with friends we haven’t seen in a while. It’s an unexpectedly gorgeous day lining up with her having a good day. What feels like hope to us is mundane to most people, which can be a beautiful thing.