From Muckraking to Open Mics

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When we met over Zoom, Jamie Mack insisted I tell you they were having a bad hair day. It was the truth, they said – and for someone who once built a journalism career muckraking City Hall and the federal government, I suppose it was familiar guidance: start with the truth, even when it isn’t flattering.

(For the record, I thought their hair was fine!)

Jamie spent years as an investigative reporter at the Washington Times, then worked as a private investigator in D.C. But after a series of losses caused them to take stock of their life, Jamie got sober, came out as trans, leaned into the arts, and started building a name as a stand-up comedian.

We talked below about living life closer to their truth, what to do when the script you were following no longer fits, and how putting yourself out into the world – even when you’re terrified – can lead to unexpected kindness and courage.

Here’s Jamie’s story:

I kind of bumbled my way through school and barely graduated college, but I always had a knack for writing.

After college, I freelanced for the weekly paper. I worked at small-midsized daily papers in Texas and New Jersey – mostly as a feature writer and won regional journalism awards from time to time.

In 2000, my younger brother was killed in a car accident at 19. I moved home, and something in me changed. I went from feature writing to investigative reporting – and almost without realizing it, started doing more aggressive reporting.

That led me to Washington, D.C. where I started a family and got a job at the Washington Times, which is a conservative paper. In my standup, I say I was a conservative reporter, but politically I was moderate. I was on the metro desk – stories about corruption, City Hall, local industry – classic muckraking.

Then I transferred to the national desk, and covered the federal government the same way I covered City Hall. I carved out a niche doing what you’d call accountability stories – fraud, waste, and abuse.

These were stories that fed my soul – why I got into journalism – and stories that kept me in the business.

Over time, the metrics shifted. Journalism became less about being a watchdog and more about clicks. I was good at it and participated in it. I was happy when my stories got on Drudge Report or I’d get asked to go on the news.

But I became disillusioned. Journalism itself was under pressure, and it was a matter of time before layoffs were inevitable.

Eventually, a source helped me get a job as a private investigator at a firm in D.C.

During that time, life humbled me. I lost people I loved, faced unimaginable loss, and realized how fragile life is.

I took stock of my life and I didn’t feel good about it. I knew I needed help.

In 2018, I began seeing a gender therapist and slowly opened myself to the possibility that maybe the life I was living – the one I thought I was supposed to live – wasn’t the only option.

My best friend Pat was diagnosed with a brain tumor on June 16, 2021. That was the last day I drank. Pat approached his diagnosis with such joy. He talked about burying the bad and holding on to the good for the time he had left. It was like he took me along for the ride.

I began to radically change my life. I got help. I stopped drinking. And I decided to take some time off.

I got a job at the grocery store and started experiencing the world in a drastically different way. It changed my perspective on the world, on politics, on people.

And then I started doing comedy. I went to support a friend at an open mic and thought, “Maybe I can try this.”

For me, life is taking stock of what’s deep inside you and reconciling that with who you are out in the world.

An openly trans nightclub comedian might seem like an overcorrection, but it feels so much closer to my truth than muckraking private investigator reporter in D.C.

I wrote and acted in a small play in Baltimore. One night backstage, someone mentioned newspapers. He couldn’t believe I’d been a reporter at the Washington Times.

The next day I brought in a copy as a joke. I looked at it and saw a lot of the same bylines from ten years ago. It made me think: my God, I could so easily still be there living that life. And now I’m here, about to go on stage, surrounded by these people.

Life isn’t a script we follow. It’s uncertain and scary when you live it head-on and write your own story.

I don’t presume to know my purpose. My goal is to do what Tolstoy said: “If you want to be happy, be.” And I am.

I feel happy. I feel happy to be alive.

And it’s such a contrast from, “The Obamacare website takes seven seconds to load and should take four,” or “GSA spent $500,000 on a conference.” I don’t care about those things. I was part of a game.

People in power say trans people are a danger to society. The person I was – Jim – was struggling deeply and not living up to my potential.

Now I feel good about the life I’m living. I’m having a good impact on the world.

I think back to my dark days and how much progress I’ve made – the joy I have now, the friends, the experiences.

Six months ago, I was in Baltimore dressed as a nun, performing behind an Elvis impersonator and drag king named Justin Thunderbump, in front of a room full of people half my age. That’s amazing.

I’ve had stories discussed in the White House press briefing room. But seeing my picture at the bottom of a poster on North Avenue in Baltimore for a comedy show far eclipses that.

I’m just happy to be alive. I didn’t feel that way before.

The smartest thing I did was put myself out into the world. When I was Jim, I’d get invited on cable news and I was uncomfortable in my skin. When I started becoming Jamie, I decided, “What the heck,” and I took acting classes, did poetry, storytelling, and I found people like me – people my age looking for connection.

One of the great things I learned doing stand-up is: most people aren’t listening to you. People are wrapped up in their own lives. And that gives you license to do whatever you want.

The first time I went out alone to do spoken word, I was terrified. A woman saw me sitting alone and invited me to sit with her friends. That kindness turns into courage when you go to sleep at night. Then you want to try again.

I’ve fed off the kindness of other people.

The people who support you – sometimes they’re only in your life for four weeks, but that’s long enough to light your way. Keep putting yourself out there. You’re never alone.

It’s a good question. It’s not an easy answer.

In 2018, a family member was diagnosed with a brain tumor. I saw them endure chemo, brain surgeries, losing the ability to write with his right hand and deciding, without complaint, “I’ll write with my left.” When you’re around something like that, it changes you. You’re in the presence of greatness, and you can’t be in that presence and not want to be better.

I also lost my mom around that time; my brother earlier; my dad. Earlier episodes led me to self-medicate and drink. But then I kept experiencing more hard things, and eventually I thought: my God, I’m still here. I’m alive. What am I going to do with this? Life is precious.

I don’t know what I want to do, but it’s not writing stories about conferences and bonuses. There’s something more out there.

I grew up in a way where it was impossible to imagine a different life. I had sparks earlier, and then my brother died and I moved back home and I boxed up that spark and buried it. I decided to live a certain life.

It took me half a century to figure things out.

Being Jamie allows me entry into spaces to see life and people in ways I never could as Jim. It isn’t always easy, but it’s still a better life.

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