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| by Jude Treder-Wolff, LCSW, RMT, CGP |
Improv guru Del
Close famously advised his students to “follow the fear,” a phrase printed on a
T-shirt I recently bought at The Pit-NYC and framed to post in my office. “He didn't just say this to neophyte improvisers afraid of performing
without a script,” writes Mike Bonifer, founder of the business learningcompany Gamechangers on Huffington Post.
“Del taught the best there was. Bill Murray, John Belushi, Tina Fey, Gilda
Radner, Mike Myers - his former students are the improv
hall of fame. What he said is that you can use your fear as a kind of divining
rod. Do what makes you uneasy, he taught. Do the thing that scares you most. You
will discover new worlds.” When we step into an improv situation, we agree
to rattle our own cage by engaging in an activity that involves psychological risk.
Defenses structured to keep our flaws hidden from view - what we habitually, reflexively, do to look good - are threatened when we
surrender control in order to respond to unexpected choices from other players.
This is a healthy way to cultivate resilience to stress, to train both brain and emotions for the unexpected. Because one never knows when we might have a day like this:
The 6:55 a.m.
Long Island Railroad Train gets me into Penn Station-if all goes according to plan-at
8:19. More than enough time to travel to the New York Public
Library in midtown where I’m scheduled to run a staff training that begins at
9:30. Except this time, nothing goes according to plan. The Long Island
Expressway, always busy at this hour, is a parking lot. Service and side roads are
also paralyzed. At 7:30 I am trapped on a side road miles from the train
station wild with anxiety, trying to calculate how late I am going to be if I
get on any train at this point. I call my husband – who is, remarkably, always
able to wake from a dead sleep fully alert when a call for help comes in – and
he immediately offers to drive me to a station closer to the city using the High
Occupancy Lane (HOV). Nick is already
outside when I pull up a few minutes later - his crazy morning hair in an homage to Einstein - but hope plunges once
again when we are crawling at 5 mph in the HOV lane. I leave frantic messages
to my contacts at the Library, knowing it is likely they will only be heard
when angry participants storm Human Resources. They are entitled to anger –
they took time from work to attend this thing and it cannot be easily re-scheduled.
I want to tell myself “I’m only human,” or “this happens to everyone, at least
everyone who lives in New York,” but this does not mitigate the completely irrational
but ever-so-familiar shame triggered by failure. As a free-lancer, these are
important gigs and I can't afford to lose this business. The shame grows as
time races by, along with dread over having to face an understandably frustrated
and possibly hostile group. I know I have to do something. So I cry.
Nick continues the mercy run – well, crawl
- all the way into the city while I rethink my presentation based on how late I’ll
be. I breathe from the diaphragm. I repeat affirmations. Anxiety wins. As we exit the
Midtown Tunnel into Manhattan it is clear that here too, cars are moving much slower than people. I jump
out of the car and run - in my suit, my high heels and carrying my briefcase. I
run without thinking and definitely without stopping, and enter that training
site dripping like I just came from the gym. My hair is stuck to the back
of my head. It’s like a sauna inside my suit. I've sweated off whatever make-up had not been washed away by tears. Vanity and ego threaten to
derail my focus on the presentation. After all that stop-and-go,
moment-to-moment decision-making, I am only 30 minutes late but there is no time
to waste on how I look. Walking into
that scene feels exactly like entering an improv scene, with no time to feel the
fear but a clear injunction to follow it. I explain the situation while
catching my breath. We have a wealth of real-time material to work with
that relates to the training theme: “Creative Thinking In Difficult Situations." The participants receive my story and my imperfect self as if they are experienced improvisers themselves - they listen. They express understanding. We go from there.
Improv trains us
to accept uncertainty and exposure, in order to – hopefully, possibly,
sometimes gloriously – create a truly alive and spontaneous moment. To tell a
story. To find the funny in a dynamic and authentic way. The improv scene is
like the blank page to a writer, the empty canvas to the painter, the design
problem to the engineer. It is the training ground for getting over ourselves.
Jude Treder-Wolff is a trainer/consultant, writer and performer. She is performing her new show CrAzYToWn: my first psychopath at Broadway Comedy Club in New York, NY on Feb. 18 and 25. Click here for more information.
About CrAzYToWn: How do you know that nice, helpful guy in the
next cubicle is a psychopath? You don’t. Some people can lie better than the
rest of us can tell the truth. In Crazytown, real-life therapist/performer Jude
Treder-Wolff takes you down the rabbit hole of belief that led to her being
blind-sided by reality. It’s a comic take on an over-eager therapist getting
over herself (when nothing else seemed to be working). And these days, when our
phones are smarter than we are, and we can meet, fall in love, shop for a ring
and get some counseling with someone and never meet them in person – it’s a
cautionary tale about how authentic a completely fake person can be.