This I Believe by Lori McClain
because of my Buddhist leanings, but mostly because of a life I spend improvising. I am a professional musician, improviser and actor in Chicago, and for the past 17 years have learned, performed and taught this art form called “improv;” putting to practice the philosophy of “Yes, and.” The basic tenet of improvisation is that the players must agree. We “heighten and explore” what has been offered. We don’t know where our scene is going, but we are wholeheartedly in it together. We set up a reality, and silently say to one another, “Yes, and. Yes, I hear you, and I have this to offer.” It’s a delicate balance between absolute self-certainty, and positively letting go of the need to steer your certainty towards a goal. Forward action happens with “Yes, and.” Partners must hear each other’s ideas and expand on them. Good improvisers and musicians (and good Buddhists, come to think of it) learn to listen when necessary, make noise when necessary, and to always let go of an attachment to the outcome. Rumor has it that years ago at Second City, the world famous theatre that has put improvisation and numerous comedic actors on the public’s radar, there used to be phrase painted over the dressing room entrance to the stage that said, “What the hell do you want?” as a reminder to the performers. An improviser helps herself by having a “want” or desire that motivates her character – just like an actor in a scripted play. That “want” might be tucked away for the entire scene, and may never be spoken of or acted upon. Having a desire makes the scene rich and the character beautifully human, but as the actors we know that we might not get what we want. And that will be just as interesting. Improv has taught me to face my fears. Fear says, “What if I have nothing, do nothing, say nothing – I might be nothing.” Through improv, I know that I’m okay if I’m fully in the moment. My body and my imagination are all I’ve got, and they’re enough. Improv trumps fear by saying, “What if I’m amazing, just as I am?” Improvisation has taken me around the world; most notably, a trip to Kuwait and Iraq in 2004. Our merry and cynical band of players said, “Yes, and,” and even though we were afraid, we went to entertain the troops for over a week during the American Presidential election. When I met the soldiers, I was worried about what to say -- should I talk about home and ask what they missed? Should I bring up our newly re-elected President? The power of “Yes, and” can be most impressively embodied in the simple act of listening. In each and every conversation I had with a soldier, when I let go of what I thought I was supposed to talk about, I was pleasantly surprised by their beautiful monologue. At times, I got the incredible experience of listening to a first-hand-account of adventure and peril. I would nod my head, “Yes, I hear you, and I understand.” In scenes, improvisers often talk about the gifts we give to our partners. I was given a gift by that experience. To know for certain that it was enough just to be there -- aware, observing, listening. Yes, I hear you and acknowledge you, and that’s really all there is. |
