For the past year, I have scrubbed my soul clean with the salt and sugar grains of improv. I’ve been raw. I’ve been restored. I’ve been transformed. I’ve been static. I’ve had to question everything I thought I knew. I’ve rejoiced in impossible things. I’ve laughed to find out that there is no such thing as an impossible thing. Nothing clears the undergrowth of unkept vines quite like stepping out on stage, under lights, with nothing but a single word upon which an entire universe hangs.
Talk about power. There have been moments where I have been convinced that I could perform Hamlet. There have been times when I’ve been dead-certain that it wasn’t meant for me, or me for it. But I kept going.
What a brave thing to do.
To step out in the middle of the stage with half an sentence, maybe, half a thought, the barest of an idea — sometimes, only a spark of instinct.
What a silly thing to do.
To step out in the middle of a stage with half a sentence, MAYBE, half a thought, on a good day, the sliver of an idea.
But there are people there to hold you up. There are people there to brace your idea or, better yet, to change it. And you are not alone. And you are not without friends.