Pre-Ramble: Ok, so, in an effort to shake things up a little, I decided to step out and try a few new things… like take piano lessons (again), start a website/blog (you’re there), and, what the heck – take a beginner improvisational acting class, a.k.a. Improv. Those who know me know that this is a huge and unprecedented step (see October 9th posting on turtlenecks). To put this into context, I was voted “Most Easily Embarrassed” in high school. This, and the fact that I was raised Lutheran, will make the following scenario even more horrific.

Improvisation – A Primer: Improv is a rapid-fire, “put-it-all-out-there” activity. The improv mantra is “move the energy forward,” which basically means, don’t just sit there pondering what you might do, JUST DO IT, and JUST DO IT NOW. According to the experts at Minnespolis’ Brave New Workshop (BNW), founded in 1958 by revered improv innovator, Dudley Riggs, improvisation is defined as “an attitude that allows one person, or a group of people, to innovate and create instantly using their own sense of truth, trust, acceptance, and creativity.” Note: Hillary’s BFF, Al Franken honed his political skills on the BNW stages. And curiously, Microsoft spell-check keeps correcting the word “improv” into the word “improve.”

Coming fresh onto the improv scene, I was bolstered by the assumption that, while I would never be Robin Williams, this was a doable thing. Surely I could handle whatever came up in Level 1; you get in there and play along … you make stuff up … you jump around … how hard can it be? (Said the deer standing on the double yellow lines.)

The Incident: So, it is the fourth or fifth session of class, and we are doing a dialogue exercise. When my turn comes up, the leader asks the group to throw out an animal. Somebody says, “Giraffe!”  (I’m thinking, “Yay, I love giraffes!”)  Then he asks for a musician, to which somebody yells out, “Bob Dylan!” (I’m thinking, “Crap, I hate Bob Dylan!”) Then he asks for a musical item, and somebody throws out, “Guitar pick!” (“Sure; swell; whatever; make it work…”)  So, the exercise progresses and I am fielding the questions fairly well. I’m actually thrilled that I am able to form thoughts and verbalize them in a semi-audible manner in front of the group (not something I was successfully able to do during my wedding vows.) I was also heartened in the knowledge that the three minute exercise would soon be over.

Then it happened. Somehow or other the conversation torqued around to a place where I heard somebody saying something that sounded like, “Can you sing a little bit of that for us?”

“What?”

Do you see that blank area between that question and this line here? That is a billion times smaller than the blank space that came over my brain as I struggled to verify that I was still in possession of all of my limbs. Did someone just suggest that I should s-i-n-g something?  Here, in front of the class?  More specifically, did someone just suggest that I should sing a few bars of something as a giraffe channeling Bob Dylan? To say that this was a tall order would be a grave understatement. The unfortunate event that followed was the improvisational equivalent of being beaten up on the playground.

By now the class is clapping, wild with encouragement, and I am forging upstream through the blind terror hissing in my head. In what’s left of my peripheral vision, I notice that the teacher is inadvertantly blocking the room’s only exit and realize that I am either going to cry or barf or both. After several failed attempts to fend off the surreal situation, it becomes clear to me that I am not getting out of that chair until I sing. In fact, the teacher’s exact words are, “You’re not getting out of that chair until you sing.”

The only lyrics I can think of while lying in state are the words to Happy Birthday, which I somehow manage to squeak out while playing air guitar on the hem of my cardigan. I wish David Sedaris were here to do the description justice. (I really wish David Sedaris had been there to sing like a giraffe doing Dylan.)

The Take-Away: You can’t just pay lip-service to the idea of ”stepping out” and “shaking it up a little.” Inherent to the concept is that you don’t get to choose what the new situation will be. The element of challenge is key. Was I shell-shocked by the impromptu singing scenario? Absolutely, but getting out there in new and unexpected ways is not only part of the deal, it’s where the value lies.

So then, there’s the silver lining. There might be some truth in what they say about hindsight and that whole, “if it doesn’t kill you” platitude. I survived it. Two-and-a-half days after the fact, I’m able to eat solid foods again, interact with others, and see some shreds of up-side. The good news is that Randy, Paula and Simon were not in the room during my performance, and, to my knowledge, my vocal stylings were not captured for broadcast on YouTube. More importantly, like a grain of sand in an oyster shell, the universal haz-mat team immediately rushed in to soothe my scuffed psyche with a cosmic cocktail of denial, rationalization and fairy dust. I’m probably not looking at a record deal, but if the analogy holds up, I should be sitting on a nice shiny pearl in no time.

And finally, there’s the element of synchronicity; never doubt the mysterious ways of the cosmos. Last night, I wandered into a little botique, just to check it out, and there among a small display of earrings, was a pair made out of guitar picks. Really. I “picked” out the animal print pair to wear to improv next week.  Stay tuned…

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