Life's a Stage: An Ode to Improv
Theatre, or rather performance, and I have had a unique relationship that has developed quickly over the last half-decade of my life. What started as a mandatory arts credit in the ninth grade turned into a drama class that I never wanted to miss. This snowballed into making room in my timetable for a yearly drama course, to gaining a specialty invite to my high school’s drama council (which initially entailed seven of us eating lunch together in the drama room once a week and nothing more – but you’re definitely still allowed to be jealous). I continually garnered raised eyebrows when people found out that the girl who was hoping to go to university for a science degree (it’s good to dream big, but I am now in a BA), was also so committed to performance. High school drama allowed me to meet some of my greatest idols and mentors and became one of the first times where full trust was put into my creative abilities by individuals I looked up to the most.
Prior to grade nine, I never considered myself a performer, or even the type of person who would enjoy performative arts. As a child I was crippled by anxiety (which eventually turned into a generalized anxiety disorder diagnosis at twelve and a depression diagnosis at sixteen), meaning new experiences were tough and gaining self-confidence was tougher. The black hole of teenage self-doubt felt never-ending, and drama classes became a phenomenal outlet. I learned that physical symptoms of anxiety that previously would have shut me down could work in my favour by enhancing a character, scene or comedic moment. My heart racing just meant that I was excited to be on stage, the nervous pit in my stomach was the catalyst to an emotional punch in a scene, my shaky hands could work to enhance the physicality of a character. Being forced to take drama in grade nine gave me a newfound confidence and a sense of personal assurance. I developed a chosen family of sorts with likeminded individuals who pushed me to continually be a better person and performer. These things anchored me for four years of high school, and helped me through some of the toughest moments of my teenage years.
And then I moved to university.
Not realizing how dependent I had become on these drama classes and the community I’d become a part of, I felt so lost in first year. A random stroll through a clubs fair left me signing up for email lists I knew I’d unsubscribe from in weeks, until I stumbled upon the booth for the university’s improv club. Having done predominantly scripted work in high school, I was nervous to try this new type of performance art, but I forced myself into one meeting and very quickly started going regularly. The friends I have made through university improv, are uniquely some of the greatest connections I’ve experienced in my life. Levels of friendship that would take years to cultivate, were fast tracked through a working relationship; learning to show up for a person in an improvised scene made it easier to show up for them in a real-life situation.
The positive experiences I had in high school were amplified tenfold, as I built a toolbox of productive social skills. The older students I befriended in first year are still lovingly described as my ‘improv parents’ to this day. My scared first-year self was able to find the truest definition of a safe space, in the form of an improv club. I quickly learned that the best scenes were the ones built on trust and vulnerability, which allowed my to develop skills that have not only helped me in an academic sense, but that have also made me a better daughter, sister and friend. I will be forever grateful for the loving and accepting environment I just happened to stumble into in first year.
I honestly do not know where I would be without it.
My best friend Mary and I often discuss the line in the film We Bought A Zoo, where Matt Damon’s character Ben Mee looks at his son and says,“Sometime all you need is 20 seconds of insane courage, just literally 20 seconds of embarrassing bravery, and I promise you something great will come of it.” I’ve determined you really only need ten –that’s plenty of time to take a chance and get up on stage. So, go on, give me a prompt, throw anything you can at me, and I’ll harness my bravery, and give you the show of a lifetime.