When I was young, maybe around eight, my mom placed me on a swim team. I hated the idea. Due to some scheduling issues my first practice was to be with a different team, mostly of older kids. I was petrified. I cried and I yelled. No way was I going to swim in front of a bunch of older kids while I get made fun of, if for nothing else, for how slow I am. I was afraid, and for the first time I had no choice. Mom made me, and was actually pretty furious about it. She told me that I have to face my fear. That I can’t always run away from it but deal with it.
I didn’t go. Somehow I got out of having to face the older kids. I weiseled my way out of it, as I have out of similar situations in the past. We all know now that it probably would have been OK. I probably had nothing to fear. My greatest fears always came out of a fear of confronting people. An overdeveloped sense of shyness. So how the hell do I do improv so comfortably?
I don’t. A part of me has a near death experience every time I have to go out on stage, or even take tickets as people walk in. Let’s take it back to The Basement Theatre back home, my last regular improv gig. With audiences ranging between four people and 28 people a night, you’d think my sense of shyness would be relaxed. In fact I always found Basement shows terrifying because I could hear each individual laugh in an identifiable way. Every show was a struggle.
I like big crowds. Huge crowds. I’ve played only a few, but they were the easiest crowds to please. In front of a crowd of say 100, you never feel like you interacting with each individual, but rather with a large laughter blob that does nothing else but steer you in the right directions in scenes. Three’s a crowd? No, three’s just awkward.
In Chicago, I have been experiencing more fear than ever. It is horrible, and it is wonderful.
One major aspect of the fear is a general fear of failure. This is mostly financial, and it changes the whole way I think. Let’s face it, I was raised to waste. I was told not to, but that within a world where even being thrifty was still somewhat wasteful. Being in a situation like I’m now in will change the way you see and interact with the world. You will actively think about how much dish soap you are pouring into your pots and pans as you clean them. Your definition of “clean” and “dirty” with respect to clothing will shift dramatically, mostly to classify items previously labeled “dirty” as “clean” instead. You will rarely ever go grocery shopping, and when you do your main thought will be, “How can I make $30 feed me for a month?” You will lower your dependance on condiments. You won’t snack. You will download TV shows and video games from the internet to keep you from wanting to go out (and be tempted to spend money while you are out there). You will always be looking for a job, even if you have one. If you didn’t before, you will learn to carefully hang everything up, fold and organize your clothes very meticulously, and anything else to prevent ever having to set foot into the cleaners. Whichever Subway sandwhich is the $2.50 daily special is always your favorite. You won’t buy trash bags, but rather you will collect plastic shopping type bags from wherever you buy anything. Pabst Blue Ribbon will be your favorite beer, and you will rarely even drink that. Your friends will come up to visit to show you a good time.
Your life will change, that is for sure. I have found all kinds of ways to cut corners, and every time I have to buy something, I start to feel scared. Now in terms of my improv fears, they all stem back to my most fundamental fear: the fear of social confrontation with a stranger. When I was a kid I wouldn’t ever answer the telephone. I would hide from most forms of stranger encounters. So last weekend when Larry came up and I started working for him, walking around a Tower Records and having to ask strangers to come over and watch a movie trailer and answer survey questions, I wanted to die. One stranger after another, learning their names, trying to be as friendly as can be, getting turned down by many, and generally abusing my inflated sense of rejection. It was hours of misery. The fear collected right in my stomach and never left. It subsided a bit near the end though, and once I got a better grasp of the approach Larry recommended I found that people were responding well to me. The funny thing is that and the end of the day when I did something as simple as buy milk at the drug store my mode of interaction with the clerk was much more lively than usual! I found myself much more engaging and personable.
I have realized that I am up here not just to learn improv but to learn to overcome my inherent shyness, to toughen my skin, and to face my fears. It’s go time, baby, and the more I plow forward the more rapid the changes within me seem to occur. Bring on the swimmers.
