There are moments in your career when you stop for a second and think, “I’m actually doing this.” Climbing into a tour van and heading toward Grande Prairie was one of those moments for me. I have been performing stand-up comedy for nine years. I’ve done hundreds of shows. I’ve driven or, for obvious reasons, been driven to more comedy gigs than I could possibly count. But this felt different. This was a tour.
Grande Prairie, Red, Deer And Lethbridge!
And it started with three guys in a van. Three Guys, Three Completely Different Talents At the beginning, our travelling crew was Scott Ward, DJ Rocko and me. Scott brings hypnosis and mentalism to the stage. DJ Rocko has been professionally DJing since 1999 and knows how to get a room energized before the show even begins. Then there was me. The blind comedian whose primary job is making everybody laugh even when I’m not onstage. We left Edmonton around 10 AM. Thursday morning for Grande Prairie, and there was no stress. No worry. It was three guys living their lives, talking, laughing and heading north to put on a show. The conversations in that van became one of my favourite parts of touring.
Rocko told us about balancing his work life and his love of DJing. We talked about business, different revenue streams and the weird collection of things creative people do to make a living. I talked about TikTok, brand deals, comedy and what I’m trying to build with Blind Guy Comedy. Scott talked about the business behind his performances and travelling. Rocko talked about developing training based on his experience in his line industry. We talked about what worked. What didn’t. Sponsorships. Merchandise. Show structure. Revenue. Expenses. It became a travelling business meeting with considerably more inappropriate jokes that may have been caused by me. I was the youngest at 35. Rocko was… Well I don’t remember how old he is. Scott is 50. We were at different points in our lives and careers, and everybody brought something different to the conversation. I also talked about why I think people respond to my content about blindness. I don’t want my entire story to be about everything blindness prevents me from doing. Here is how I live. Here are the barriers. And here is how I get around them. Sometimes the answer is technology. Sometimes it is another person. Sometimes it is laughing at the ridiculous situation I have found myself in. Obviously, if you’re blind, don’t drive. But other than that, let’s see what happens.
Grande Prairie Going Home
As we got closer to Grande Prairie, I started recognizing the journey in a way that probably doesn’t make sense to someone who relies primarily on sight. I remembered the turns. The roads. The bumps. I started pointing out pieces of my old life.
There was where I got my first bank account. There was Esquires Coffee House except apparently somebody decided coffee wasn’t good enough and now the location sells meat. Everything felt familiar. I left Grande Prairie in 2015 to move closer to family in Central Alberta. Returning was both incredibly happy and surprisingly sad. Because part of me immediately felt like I was home. When we arrived at the Douglas J. Cardinal Performing Arts Centre at Northwestern Polytechnic, formerly Grande Prairie Regional College, that feeling became even stronger. That campus was once a huge part of my life. I used to drop my three-year-old son off at daycare while I worked on my academic upgrading. That little three-year-old is now 15 and in high school.
Life does not ask permission before it keeps moving. Now I was back at that same campus, except this time I wasn’t there as a student. I was there as a touring comedian. I ran into my old friend Hala, whom I’d known from high school. She was working front-of-house and asked “J.R. do you know who I am?” Within about 2.5 seconds “Hala?” Scott’s reaction was basically, “Oh my God! He doesn’t need to see! He remembers everything!” Everybody laughed. What can I say? Give me a familiar voice.
During soundcheck, one of the stagehands, Ethan, told me they’d recently painted the stage floor. It had a beautiful new shade of black. Then he added something along the lines of maybe I could feel how new it looked with my feet.
That’s exactly how you talk to a blind comedian. We both cracked up.
The City That Helped Create Me
Grande Prairie knew me long before Blind Guy Comedy existed. Some people remembered me from radio at 104.7 FREE FM. Some knew me from East Link television. Some might remember ordering a burger from me at Harvey’s and getting comedy with their fries. I’d even been on that theatre stage years earlier through Spirit Seekers, a conference empowering Indigenous youth, where I worked as a facilitator and MC. Grande Prairie helped develop the personality I eventually took into stand-up comedy.
And because so many people already understood who I was, I didn’t have to spend the first several minutes convincing the audience that laughing at the blind guy was allowed. It was my favourite performance of the tour. I nearly forgot my 20-minute timer—or at least thought I had until my Fitbit vibrated right when I needed it. Thank you, technology. Afterward, people came over for pictures. I sold some Blind Guy Comedy shirts. I reconnected with people from different chapters of my life, including a former teacher whose name I’ll keep private. My friend Erica Fisher also came out. Although Erica and I didn’t actually work together in radio, we became friends through the local broadcasting world, and having her there meant a lot. Then came one of the hardest parts. Packing everything up. You spend all this time anticipating a show, and suddenly it’s over. Fortunately, we had a videographer, Bruce, capturing the night, so some of those memories will eventually live beyond my slightly questionable brain.
And how does J.R. Bjornson celebrate an emotional homecoming performance? Boston Pizza. Obviously. Blaine, Alexis, Bruce, Scott, DJ Rocko, our merch assistant Kim and I ended the night hanging out together. Blaine was one of my best friends in high school and one of the first people to welcome me when I moved to Grande Prairie in 2003. On our way out of the college, I also discovered Grande Prairie apparently installed the world’s brightest billboard. “When did you guys get that blinding billboard? That’s terrible! That’s just more light pollution!” Blaine laughed. Apparently it had been there awhile. Good to know Grande Prairie waited until the blind guy returned before installing a miniature sun.
Leaving Was Harder Than I Expected
Friday morning, we headed south. A small part of me wanted to tell everyone “You guys go ahead. I’m staying.” When Sheena picked me up at the Bear Hills rest area between Edmonton and Red Deer, we talked about it. Would I move back? In a heartbeat.
But my life is in Central Alberta now. Blind Guy Comedy was born here. My family is here. My friends are here. My comedy opportunities are here. Grande Prairie will always feel like home. Red Deer became home. Sometimes both things can be true. And when I walked through my actual front door, Murphy made sure there was no confusion about where I belonged. If you’ve never seen a Boxer perform the kidney-bean dance because his human returned home, you’re missing out.
Red Deer From Volunteer to Performer
Saturday, September 19, it was time for Red Deer. This one was especially fun because I wasn’t doing one show. I was doing two. First came the Red Deer Memorial Centre. I’ve volunteered there as a ticket taker, so I know that building extremely well. I know where the green room is. I know where most of the bathrooms are. I’ve also performed there before. But this time I wasn’t checking somebody else’s ticket. I was part of the show. And Sheena got to be there with me. People see Blind Guy Comedy and naturally see the blind guy. What they don’t always see is everything Sheena does behind the scenes. Transportation, logos, organization, helping with shows and perhaps her most important position telling me whether a joke should ever be spoken in public.
She is my wife, my best friend and the voice of reason in a business operated by someone who thought becoming a professional comedian was financially responsible.
The Blind Influencer Arrives
During this tour, I started my sets carrying my Insta360 X6 on a selfie stick. If blind people are going to be influencers, we’re going all in. The camera lets people on TikTok experience the entrance with me my reaction, the audience’s reaction and what it feels like walking onto these stages. Red Deer was more challenging than Grande Prairie. Sometimes audiences particularly people unfamiliar with my comedy need a few minutes to figure me out. Are we actually supposed to laugh at the blind jokes?
Yes. Please. That’s why I’m here. Scott described it beautifully afterward. He said he enjoys watching the transformation happen. For the first five or eight minutes, some people aren’t quite sure whether laughing is okay. Then they understand.
I’m laughing at these experiences too. Suddenly the room relaxes. By the end, they’re completely with me. I tell them I quit going to the gym because I wasn’t seeing the results. I don’t dislike self-checkouts because they’re taking jobs from cashiers. I dislike them because I can’t check myself out. And if I could drive in Red Deer, I’d fit right in. I wouldn’t use my turn signal until the last possible second. Fortunately for everybody, I take the bus.
Alberta’s Biggest Selfie Stick
Then came one of my favourite experiments of the entire tour. I pulled out my three-metre selfie stick. I may never own a giant lifted Alberta truck, but apparently this is the next best thing. I kept extending it. “Would you like it bigger, ladies?”
Longer. “Gentlemen?” Longer. “Grandma?” Longer. “Grandpa?” Longer. “Scott Ward?” Even longer. Eventually this ridiculous thing was the full three metres. Then I asked Red Deer to make as much noise as possible. I did the same thing in all three cities. The recordings will be put together so my TikTok audience can decide which city actually won. This is important scientific research.
7:50 PM. Goodbye!
My Red Deer set ran approximately 7:30 to 7:50. At 7:53, Sheena and I were leaving. Because at 9 PM. I had another comedy show to host. We drove to Beats & Bourbon Country Saloon in Springbrook for my Blind Guy Comedy open mic. I hadn’t promoted this show nearly as much because most of my attention had gone toward the tour. I figured we’d have a small turnout. Twenty-five people showed up. In that room, 25 people makes the place feel packed. That meant a lot to me because Beats & Bourbon has become my baby. My goal isn’t simply to run an open mic. I want the venue making money. I want people in those seats buying food and drinks. I want comedians to have a professional place to work on their craft without charging the audience a cover.
As sponsorship grows, I’d love to create more paid opportunities for comics. And somehow, after already performing that night, I wasn’t tired. Adrenaline is one hell of an energy drink. We finally got home around midnight. I crawled into bed.
Because naturally, the tour van was coming back the next morning.
Then There Were Four
Sunday morning, I met the newest member of our travelling crew properly. Karim Rushdy. Onstage, Karim creates music live through looping, beatboxing and other sounds. Think about the basic concept of a musician building layers live with a loop station, except Karim can turn sounds from his own body and voice into something that suddenly feels like an entire arrangement. We’d briefly crossed paths in Red Deer, but I had raced off to Springbrook before we could really talk. Now we were sitting together in the back of a Mercedes for hours. And two strangers started becoming friends. We talked about love. Relationships. Finding our soulmates. Music. Comedy. Creativity. Travel. Why we do what we do. Karim gave me two CDs, which naturally meant the blind journalist in me started investigating. And this is where his story got even more interesting. Karim Rushdy is a musician, producer and facilitator who founded The Rap Camp, a program using hip-hop, poetry and songwriting to help young people express themselves and build confidence. He has also worked in recording and music production. One of the CDs he gave me was Thief in the Night, created by NKAK Nabil, Karim and Anise K. The album was released in 2019, and the story Karim told me in the van checks out. The project says it was supported by nearly 400 Kickstarter backers. Karim contributed vocals, production and mixing across the project. His musical catalogue goes back years. His solo Bandcamp page includes projects such as iSHORTS from 2012 and Wide Awake from 2013, alongside later collaborations. He is actually performing an all ages show in Red Deer this coming Sunday September 27, 2026 at 1 PM. Reach out to me for the direct link. So apparently I wasn’t just sitting beside some guy with a loop pedal. This dude had been building things for years. That’s one of the beautiful things about touring. Sometimes the person sitting beside you in the van has an entire story you haven’t heard yet. Listen to Karim Rushdy’s music on Bandcamp
Motel, Hotel… Holiday Inn
Every city meant another Holiday Inn & Suites. You better believe I made every possible musical reference. Motel. Hotel. Holiday Inn. What you doing? We chilling at the Holiday Inn. By Lethbridge, the novelty of hearing me make Holiday Inn references had probably disappeared for everyone except me. The crew headed to the Yates Memorial Centre around 2 PM. for setup and soundcheck. I stayed behind until about 5. I needed some time alone. Not because anything was wrong. I wanted to edit.
I genuinely enjoy taking people with me through social media. I want someone watching from home to experience a little bit of what touring feels like, what being blind feels like, and what it looks like when somebody is simply grateful that they get to do this.
Then I headed to the theatre. There was Chinese food waiting. This was excellent news because sometimes I become so focused on everything I’m doing that eating somehow gets removed from the schedule. Food restored. Time for comedy.
Lethbridge The Exhaustion Finally Arrives
I noticed a larger Indigenous audience in Lethbridge, so I brought out some of my Indigenous and Cree humour. Including being a “bingo orphan.” The joke involves being abandoned at a McDonald’s PlayPlace in 1998 while Mom went to bingo.
For legal purposes and because my mother hates this joke she did not actually abandon me at McDonald’s. But it’s funnier when she does. Lethbridge needed some warming up too. Five minutes. Keep going. Let them understand who I am.
Eventually they realize Ohhhh. He actually wants us laughing at this. Yes! Welcome aboard! One of my jokes involves someone approaching me at Walmart and saying “Hey, just so you know, your kids look like you.” Thanks. I had never considered my wife having an affair, but I’m glad we’ve cleared that up. By the third major show, though, something finally caught me. Exhaustion. Not necessarily physical exhaustion alone. I was getting tired of hearing myself tell the same jokes. Some comedians can perform exactly the same routine night after night, and I respect the hell out of that discipline. My brain doesn’t particularly enjoy it. After a few days, I want to change something. Add something. Chase a different idea. But on a tour, consistency matters.
So I did the set. We sold another two shirts, leaving me with only three. Then we went to Denny’s. Because apparently my touring diet is sponsored by restaurants that are open when comedians finally stop working. I ordered a sampler platter.
Initially, I told Scott I’d give my performance about a four out of ten. After food, I upgraded myself to a seven. Perhaps never conduct a performance review while hungry. Scott also gave me perspective I couldn’t have from the stage. After about eight minutes, he said, I had them. That matters to me. I want the people I’m working with to know when I think something went wrong. Trust means being able to say, “I don’t think that was my best performance,” instead of pretending everything was amazing.
Sometimes somebody standing offstage sees your performance more clearly than you do.
Going Home
Two Diet Pepsis and post-show adrenaline ensured I didn’t sleep until around 2 AM. At 8 AM, we were back on the road. Heading home. When that Mercedes finally pulled up in Red Deer, I hugged every gentleman I’d spent these days travelling with.
Nothing more manly than hugging the guys you’ve just spent hundreds of kilometres trapped in a van with. As they were preparing to leave, I told them exactly which song was going through my head Leaving on a Jet Plane. They laughed. Then the van drove away. And I was genuinely sad listening to it leave. I walked inside. Hugged my wife. And Murphy immediately informed me that being gone for approximately 26 hours required another emergency kidney-bean dance. Then I sat down in my recliner. Home.
What Did I Learn?
I learned that I can tour. I also learned that three days of touring might be plenty of touring for J.R. I love performing. I love travelling. But I also love coming home and resetting. Could I do 42 straight tour dates? Maybe. Would everyone still like me by date 37?
Let’s not conduct that experiment. More importantly, I got to see the business from the other side. Audiences enter a theatre, buy a ticket and experience a show. They don’t necessarily see venue rental, travel, hotels, merchandise, promotion, staffing and all the other expenses sitting behind that ticket. They don’t walk into a ballroom or theatre wondering whether the person who rented it is going to turn a profit tonight. They think I’m here to have an experience. For the first time, I really got to experience both sides. And I learned. I have ideas for how I’d approach my own future tours differently. Maybe fewer consecutive dates. Maybe four or five days between shows. Maybe five cities only when the opportunity makes sense. But would I tour again? Absolutely.
Don’t Wait Nine Years If there’s one thing I want someone to take from this, it isn’t that a blind comedian managed to go on tour. It’s this Don’t wait for permission to start building the thing you want. I wish I hadn’t waited nine years before realizing I could approach venues myself and create shows. I wish I’d started doing that around year five. There will always be barriers. Disability creates some very real ones. If you’re blind, please don’t take “follow your dreams” to mean you should operate a forklift.
Some barriers deserve our respect. But don’t turn every barrier into a stop sign. You only get so much time. Start the project. Make the phone call. Ask the venue. Perform at the open mic. Write the song. Tell the joke. Get in the van. I could theoretically quit comedy tonight and still say: I did comedy for nine years. I performed hundreds of times. And once, I went on tour. But I’m not quitting. In fact, here’s the ridiculous ending to this entire story. After five days of travelling, three cities, three major shows, another open mic, countless kilometres, Holiday Inns, Boston Pizza, Denny’s, merchandise, old friends, new friends and one extremely emotional Boxer… I’m home in Red Deer. And tonight at 7 PM? I’m going to another open mic. Because the comedy never stops.
You show up. You keep grinding. You keep learning. And if you’re fortunate, somewhere along the way you collect enough experiences that one day you can sit in your recliner, hear your dog snoring beside you and think Man. What a life.