Improv Against Amygdala

Eyes wide open. Too open. Palms sweaty. Too sweaty.

I feel like I'm about to throw up and turn into the reason Eminem wrote this one song.

I'm about to step on stage for an improv comedy event, in a theater I've never been in, performing in front of complete strangers.

Sometimes, shame haunts my days and nightmares. That's why I started doing improv comedy. My goal was clear when I booked the course: get better at thinking on my feet. If shame would stop gnawing at every fiber of my body, that'd be great as well.

The fun of improv comedy is, well, the improvisation part. As an actor, you don't know the scene you're going to get or the improv game you're going to play. Not that bad in a safe course environment.

Absolutely terrifying in front of people you've never seen before.

My improv team and I are in the changing room. It has a low ceiling, making the atmosphere thicker and the nervousness even more intense. Then we're called on stage. Only a staircase is between us and the roaring crowd of…maybe 50 people. But still.

We're given the go-sign, and we step on stage. Bright lights hit me in the eyes, causing me to not see the crowd at first. After a few seconds that feel like an eternity, my eyes acclimate to the brightness, 100 eyes are staring back at me.

"Let's start shaking", my knees said to each other.

They don't get any more time to talk, because the first game is announced: "Word at a Time": The game master gives a starting word or concept, and the group has to make up a story as they go. Each person has to build upon what was said by the person before. But if they take too long to say something and keep the story going, you're out of the game.

All participants line up, shoulder to shoulder. The game master gives us the concept, we're retelling the story of Pinocchio. Off we go.

The story travels down the line, getting more and more intricate with each participant's contribution. One problem, though: I'm the last one in line. When the story gets to me, I'll have to remember where the story started and how it got to where it is.

Now, the person to the right of me is speaking. Suddenly, the game master stops her, which means it's my turn now.

At this point in the story, the crew decided that Geppetto, a master puppet maker and Pinocchio's creator, is horrible with money. He's so bad that he can't even buy new supplies to create new puppets. That's a logical problem my brain can solve!

Which is why I somehow come up with Geppetto having a green thumb and becoming a weed dealer to get in some extra cash money.

The moments between me finishing the sentence and the audience's reaction feels like seven eternities combined.

Then, the crowd bursts out laughing.

Hallelujah to every deity out there!

What I forget is because I'm the last in line, I have to go twice so that the chain goes the other way around.

I forget too long.

The game master looks at me, shrugs his shoulders, and shouts "and you're out!". The rule is that if you're out of the game, you have to act like you're dying the most horrible of deaths.

That's why I act out my demise in dramatical fashion.

And guess what? I didn't die of shame.

That experience taught me that fear is not an emotion to be avoided, but one to go through. Every time you overcome fear, the next time gets easier. I remember being terrified of going to Brazilian Jiu Jitsu for the first time. Now it's one of my favorite pastimes (as much as getting regularly choked by other people can be a favorite pastime).

Fear will never completely vanish. But that's good, because fear is a useful emotion. It tells you where not to go, but also where you must go.