I have a wonderful friend who is incredibly brave, wise, and in love with the stage. She loves everything about it to the point where she wanted to challenge herself and started doing improv. Fast forward a few months or maybe even a year later, and she is on a mission to create a cult for it and recruit everyone around her. At some point, I became one of her victims. At the time she proposed that I do it, I was still very cute but also very much a chicken. I sighed, I downplayed, and I really didn’t want to do that. Because, guess what? It’s freaking scary. But life is full of surprises. And there was one ready and waiting for me.

I reached a point where my therapist decided to break up with me – and that’s a story for another time, but long story short, according to him, my last lesson was of letting go; according to me, I was not even close to being done. However, we did break up, because I am a good patient and I do listen to my therapist. That meant I was too idle, which meant I was also spinning. And this is how all of a sudden the words “I am thinking of doing improv” left my mouth. I was surprised, especially because I never seriously considered it. I was more surprised when my husband was too excited about it and threw out, “Our therapist would be very proud of you.” With that, I also knew there was no turning back – I was goaded into doing it. A few clicks then, and 4 months later, I am about to start my 3rd level of improv at Boom Chicago.

Every time I tell someone that I am doing it, people are surprised and then usually ask me if I am enjoying it. I always say yes, because who would be so weird to sink months of their time (and money) doing something that they dread? So, I say “yes, it’s a lot of fun. I get to play, and I get to explore.” But reality is… I dread it. Every. Single. Time. Because it’s so freaking scary, uncomfortable, and did I mention it’s scary? You have to be present, you have to be open and vulnerable, and attention is on you – from your partner, from your teacher, from the few classmates that are in the room. You play scenes where emotions or newly established relationships are at the core of it. But how do you show an emotion if you don’t really know if you can feel yourself? And you can’t really control anything, because depending on someone else is a definition of improv. It’s a continuous exercise of trust in yourself as well as in others. So. I dread it. But I am also grateful for the lessons it is bringing. So, I choose to continue. I choose to struggle on.

I am in awe of my ability to flip the switch when we start the scene and just go with the flow – I don’t think about what or how I say. There are even days when I am ready to volunteer just to see what happens on the stage and what version of me will come out. But everything before and after… I am conscious of who I am and that I am not good enough.

By now, I have seen different people doing it, and some of them… let’s just say, they are not great. I don’t want to be one of them. I want to be playful, I want to allow my silly roam free, I really, really want to be funny and confident. But I don’t feel like it. But that doesn’t mean that I am not that. How I see myself, how I behave, and how others see me are not always the same. Or rather, rarely are they the same.

I was told I am quick. I was told I am supportive. I was told I am safe space that challenges me to imagine. I was told they can see the flip of a switch – between shy me, who dreads, and free me, who plays. I am grateful for that. I am grateful for the friend who pushed me. I am grateful for my improv classmates who are creating a safe space to learn again how to play and how to keep my head high, even outside of us doing scenes.

So, yeah, improv is scary. Because it forces you to shed the layers and just play the reality you choose for the moment. It teaches you that your world is so much bigger than you thought, because we can imagine so much more. It also challenges me to ponder outside of the class. With the magical friend, I have debriefs every time I finish the class, because every class makes me question who I am and how I see the world. And slowly, I realize that I am more. It’s not that I am enough. I am a full scoop of the spoon and so much more. I am a friend, a wife, a leader, a writer, a kid, an improviser, an adventurer, and anything else in between. So, four months later, it is still scary – I am not sure if it will ever be not scary – but I am really excited to see what else I can improvise. On stage and off stage. And I welcome you to join this cult. If not on stage, then at least off stage.