Improv(ing) my Life

Forgive the pun. Or not. You choose.

I started taking improv classes a year ago.  After Jesse and some friends began classes a few months earlier, I sensed that I would also enjoy the experience.  I'm not sure why -- maybe I just wanted to learn what they were talking about. I didn't have a strong desire to perform, and I certainly didn't expect to be funny.  I know myself well enough to know that I'm not funny, nor do I even like comedy very much.  In fact, I often watch most comics in a stance of belligerent defense: "So you think you can make me laugh? Well, just try, idiot."  It's an area to which my hospitality rarely extends.  Still, I started Level 0 with neither good nor bad expectations.  I just simply made the choice to do it. I'm forever thankful that I did.  

In the spirit of my favorite warm-up game "Seven Things," here are seven things I've learned from improv:

1) Focus on the present:  I've always been a future-oriented person, skipping over the very moment to dwell on what I need to do next.  Improv requires that I listen, watch, and let a moment happen.  I can't plan ahead, nor can I go back and correct something.  That's really liberating.

2) Put all of your energy into other people:  In our lives, no matter how conscious we are of others, it remains hard to put them first, especially in a high stakes situation. There is a fierce temptation in improv to be the person to say the thing that gets the reaction, the laugh, the applause. But improv teaches us to give gifts and support others.  Once I forget about myself and put all my energy into the others on my team, the result is right, even if it isn't the best show in the universe.  I'm not always successful in this area, but improv is great training for continually sending loving kindness to others and working to make them shine.

3) Be honest and vulnerable: Paging Brene Brown, here! I've linked much of my reading of her books to my experience in improv.  Brown discusses how so much of our daily routine involves putting on armor to shield ourselves from shame, vulnerability, fear, fatigue, and self-loathing. It is exhausting, right?  In improv, we come to each other in vulnerability and honesty. We must. If there is a falsehood among us, then it will tear down the whole team.  I think that in our jobs and daily lives, we often cling to images of ourselves that aren't real -- the whole "fake it 'til you make it" idea of success.  Improv has shown me that you cannot fake it.  You just have to get in the arena (thank you, Brene!) and commit to your best/worst self.

4) Get past obvious thinking: In improv, we rely on the audience for a suggestion.  That suggestion does not need to be taken at its most literal level.  In fact, often the most literal representation of that suggestion can take the scene nowhere.  If I get a suggestion like "roller skates," and then I just start to act like I'm on roller skates, I have bypassed relationship with my scene partner.  In such a case, I'm more concerned about a thing than a person -- never a good idea. Instead, if I take "roller skates" and think of "roller rink," then "lady's choice," then "date" -- boom! Now we can have a couple on a date. We don't even need to be in a roller rink -- maybe we are outside in the parking lot or at the karaoke bar inside or buying popcorn at concessions. Going beyond the immediate, obvious thing is more interesting, and it is usually more grounded in honesty and relationship.

5) The golden rule is really "Yes, and...":  Most people have heard this improv "rule," even if they have never taken an improv class. It seems easy enough, right?  To anything your partner says, answer "Yes, and..."  And yet how many times do we "Yes, but..." in daily life?  Always. We have been acculturated and programmed to "Yes, but..." our lives away.  We take away from others instead of adding to what they have. We dismiss harmony in favor of validating scarcity, tell others of what we lack rather than contributing what we have.  Improv reminds us to "Yes, and..." others and add to what we all have.  And, and, and.... what a loving conjunction!  After a year of improv, I still find this first rule the hardest to learn, but I'm working on it. 

6) Letting go: Once a scene is over, you let it go. Once a show ends, you let it go. To perform for an audience may create anxiety and fear, but it also produces bravery and joy. In every thing we do, we tend to replay it all in our "monkey minds," but we will no longer return to that time, that moment, or that event.  In improv, a scene disappears with an edit, in an instant. We observe it, learn from it, accept it, and let it go.

7) The approval of others is not the goal: Anyone can gain the approval of others if you play the game of pandering or lying.  We always fear that our most honest selves will not warrant approval for some reason.  So we often aim to win others over by allowing dishonesty into the equation, even if it's in small amounts. In improv, we are also tempted by dishonesty by going for the easy joke, grabbing for low-hanging fruit, or (as I learned from Susan Messing), "dropping our shit" by not staying true to a character.  I often sense that characters choose me instead of the other way around.  If I force myself away from my first movements or thoughts, I'm giving into dishonesty.  I might think, in a flash second, "No one will like this character!" or "This will be really funny!"  and pow! -- I'm made myself a panderer for the audience.  Obviously, the audience does matter, and we want them to enjoy themselves -- we aren't sadists, after all!  But we also aren't liars that take cheap shots. If are real with no expectation for laughter or applause, the viewers will naturally join us in that honest space. After that, any applause or laughter is simply a side benefit.

For any improviser, what I've written here is not new or revelatory, but it is what I've been enjoying and learning as I've taken classes.  Tonight, I'm getting ready to perform in my second of four showcases with my class.  Here goes!  I'm continue to improve as I improv (again, pun, avoid at will). For now, it's great to keep playing in this sandbox. 

Kitana & The Kittens That Found Us

On October 19, 2015, we put our dear Kitana kitty to sleep. She followed her sister Mileena whom we put to rest just over a year ago and whom I blogged about then.  You can read more of their shared history on Mileena's post.

It has now been nearly 3 months without her, our pumpkin Kitana-bear.  She was always the alpha-female of the two sisters - the bigger one, more social, always caring for her meeker twin.  After Mileena died, Kitana was clearly lonely and in mourning. No one -- no one -- can tell me that our companion animals do not grieve or have feelings.  She dropped much of her weight in the next few months, and it was clear that her own pain was increasing. Since she was now a 'lonely only,' we treated her with as much extra love and spoiling as possible. She got outside "catio" time in the sunshine, and Jesse always made it a point to hold her in a certain way that eased her pain.  Suddenly, in October, she made a drastic turn for the worse after suffering a UTI in September.  We had vowed that we wouldn't wait as long as we had with Mileena, and so, we wrapped her in a blanket, and took her to the vet one last time.

I fell into one of my valleys of depression after she was gone. Her death seemed so much more final than Mileena's. Now, there were no cats in the house at all.  I missed them both so desperately.  They had been my constant companions, especially in 2008 when Chris died and I moved to Greenville. Jesse had grown to love them so much, too, and it was hard for us to face the house without them. After 17 years, I did not have a cat pattering through the rooms, leaping lightly on bed, or snuggling next to me at night.  However, I thought that Jesse and I should wait to adopt new kitties until January.  It seemed as though we needed to wait and give Kitana her due.  Both of the girls were gone, and we couldn't just replace them by adopting more.

People told us that the right cats would "find us."  I had no problem believing and expecting this to happen. Cats are spirit-filled, after all. I do believe many of the myths surrounding them, even the idea that they have (or even steal!) souls. A friend told me several years ago that one morning, his cat was watching an empty space in his apartment with great attention.  Suddenly, my friend had a thought: "If you are a ghost in this room, move around for us," he said. The cat's eyes then trailed the along the walls and around the space, as though she was watching someone or something move around the room.  My friend said it was one of the most frightening and peaceful experiences of his life. Cats have an awareness -- a sight into the spirit world. The ancients recognized this, so why shouldn't we?

It is fair to say that we lasted all of two weeks tops before we found cats, or they found us.

As supporters of stray rescue in St. Louis, we wanted to adopt from Tenth Life.  We filled out our application and received approval.  We knew we wanted two kittens from the same litter, and we soon found Sparrow and Kinglet on the web site.  I could tell they would be a perfect fit for us.  We had to delay meeting them, however, because Jesse had a week-long travel trip. We set up a Friday evening appointment to visit them at their foster home as soon as Jesse returned.  Little did we know that the feline universe had additional plans.

When Jesse's boss and co-worker dropped him off at our home after their trip, Jesse was greeted by a grey and white tabby kitten.  It was just sitting on the sidewalk outside our house, looking at Jesse as though it had just been waiting for him to get home.  The kitten ran right up to Jesse and then turned toward the house, clearly ready to come right in.  Jesse texted me, "I found a kitten." He followed up with this photo:

Ashes, the stray who found Jesse

I knew he was ours. Moreover, I knew he was Jesse's.

Granted, we did a fair amount -- half-heartedly -- to find his previous home, but the vet revealed that he'd been on his own enough to have fleas and mites.  He also wasn't neutered or chipped.  Once we offered him food, he ate with gusto. We did what we could, but we already loved this kitten, so (truth be told) we did the "ethical minimum" to locate any owners.

But what about the two others? How many cats could we have? Would they all get along?

On the very day we found this new kitten, we went to visit our new wards. Kinglet and Sparrow were perfect kittens, and just a few weeks younger than the kitten we'd found. Of course we would care for them all.  I always told people that two cats were as easy as one, so three were certainly as easy as two, right?  The next day, we brought Sparrow and Kinglet (now Ripley) home to meet the recently named Ashes.

After a day or two of hissing and unease, the two siblings eventually began to tolerate Ashes, then play-fight with him, and finally, everyone was snuggling with everyone.  If Ashes was meant for us, he was clearly meant for Sparrow and Ripley, too.

Sparrow

Ripley

Kitty triptych: Ashes, Sparrow, Ripley

Sparrow uses Ashes as a pillow

As we simultaneously grieved Kitana and adopted Ashes, Ripley, and Sparrow last fall, we realized that Kitana isn't really gone, nor is Mileena.  Their spirits are very much alive in the three kittens who found us.  In fact, we like to imagine that the souls of our previous kitties are bound up in the souls of these three.  We mark the habits that the cats share: Sparrow refuses to be held, just like Mileena. Ripley loves hair ties and milk bottle rings like Kitana. Ashes enjoys being held on his back in the same way that Jesse held Kitana.

The spirits of animals are deep and full of knowledge.  I'm so thankful that all of these cats knew when and where to find me on the journey.

2016, or The Next Big Thing

It is a new year -- almost two weeks in -- and I already know to expect a very different adventure. And I'm finally ready for it.

I will be leaving my current job at the end of May.

Well over a year ago, I made the decision to draw up a timeline for leaving my job as a professor and faculty member at a small Christian liberal arts college.  Like Legion, my reasons were many, but they were actually a mix of demons and angels -- not solely bad, not solely good.  At the end of 2014, I put myself on a 3-5 year plan for exiting my position. I knew I was ready to leave academia, but I didn't want to drop everything at once. However, after some serious policy and cultural disputes began to raise their heads at the institution, I knew I had to leave sooner.  Now I am about to begin my last semester at the college.  It is so exciting to feel this new freedom coming.  While I'm not exactly counting days -- well, okay, some days I am -- I am ready for the next big thing.

Why am I leaving now? Several of my personal reasons involve faith and policy at the institution itself.  For one, my current and ongoing questions regarding personal faith and spirituality no longer mesh with the theological expectations of this institution. Also, my anxiety and objections continue to grow regarding the policies that the college may put in place as a result of its faith-based status.

Other reasons for leaving have been clinging to me for years and have no connection to this particular college at all. Even when I was completing my Ph.D., I held many fears about my work in research.  I may be a talented and passionate teacher, but I'm not a talented and passionate scholar, a key part of remaining in academia. During the past eight years, I have dedicated time to every other task for my job except publishing and scholarship. Now I realize that this blank space in my CV has, in actuality, been no great loss to me.  I was probably ignoring it, hoping it would just go away and not nag me anymore. I do not wish to pursue academic publishing -- maybe I never really did. (There. I said it.) I love analyzing literature and film with great gusto, but the idea of writing something that maybe eight people will read on a good day no longer fuels my fire. Of course, since I do not want to pursue academic writing, I also know that I cannot pursue another full-time faculty position.

There are other reasons why it is time to make a change. It is an understatement to say that the past seven years or so have stood witness to chaotic upheaval in my life.  In 2008, when my first husband Christopher suddenly died of cardiac arrest, I blindly started my new job as a newly-minted English Ph.D. with no real clue of who I was or what it meant to grieve, live alone, or be in a new place. On a daily basis, the only thing I clung to was the fact that I WAS AN ENGLISH PROFESSOR.  The only things I knew how to do were write syllabi, teach a 50-minute class, be responsible, act like I had it all together, and grin and bear it before I crumbled to pieces every night. I could see a day in front of me, then a week, then (maybe) a month.  I could count days until a semester ended, and then I could work on creating myself again. But there was never enough time to get acquainted with myself. I was probably leaving this job the day I began it. Even though I was living in a community that embraced me, they didn't know me.  How could they?  I didn't know myself. It was hard.

Now, seven years later.... after remarrying, moving to St. Louis, encountering new neighbors and a new community, living in a new home and about to purchase another....the time to leap is now.  So where to?  I want to be good at a few things and not mediocre at many.  I'm ready to be more than an English professor...perhaps not even an English professor at all. I can no longer be defined by that one role -- it no longer fits who I've become. I'm read to obey the voices inside that have been screaming at me for nearly four years, "You need to go!"  I was too frightened for too long, but now, I'm ready to heed Lissa Rankin's words:  "When the pain of staying put exceeds the fear of the unknown, you leap."  So I'm leaping. 

It's fair to say that we've already been leaping.  My husband Jesse and I have been running a "dry run" AirBnb that we call Urban Roost -- we've been renting an apartment from our good friends next door.  This has been a successful venture for us, perhaps not in monetary terms but certainly in popularity and bookings.  It has given us just that bit of confidence to move forward.  We are now planning to expand Urban Roost into our upstairs unit and (we hope!) into a 4-family building in St. Louis.  We expect that this process will take the next several months to a year, and it will require property management, time investment, and organization.  Eventually, we hope to transform our AirBnb into our own business property, Urban Roost.  This transition will require that at least one of us work part time (if not full time) on the business booking and management. 

I'm sure many think this is a crazy plan.  Maybe you do. Or maybe that's my own voice as well, the one worried about making less money or learning new skills or being too old to begin again. However, I think it no more crazy than (heaven forbid!) pursuing a Ph.D. in English. I took that risk, I met those challenges, and I fulfilled my goals. Why not do it again, in another form? 

Naturally, I am still a teacher, and I will pursue part-time or full-time work in that area, at institutions where I will prove a better fit. But the next big thing is here -- finally! -- and it is in my interest to leap towards it.  Thanks for greeting me on the journey.