Everything I learned from stepping outside my comfort zone and into an improv comedy class

Feeling the very real fear and doing it anyway

Whose Line Is It Anyway?

Our kids were terrible sleepers. Brutal. Really bad. I wrote about it here.

They were fine once they got to sleep (they’d sleep the night) but the three hour pitched battle to reach that point was grueling. And included in the list of things we did to get out of putting them to bed by ourselves was: we signed up to an improv class. 

Having gone to the effort of arranging a regular babysitter every Thursday night for eight weeks, we probably could have done something normal like go for a drink or a bite to eat but we’re masochists, so improv it was. 

People have one of two reactions when you tell them that you’re doing improv. New Yorkers’ eyes sort of glaze over, completely bored by the clichéd activity newcomers to the city take up to “try something different” or “meet new people”. 

Irish people have a very different reaction but their reaction is similarly uniform:  “What would possess you?” / “On what planet is that a good idea?” /  “You couldn't PAY me” / “That is my idea of hell” or, one person, who summed up all of the above sentiment in a single word: “WHY?” 

When I told my sister and mother over a video call that we’d signed up to an improv class, my sister told me that her stomach dropped simply hearing the word ‘improv’ and my mother asked me if it was part of some wider therapy.

I had put almost no research into choosing the class but through sheer good fortune, we wound up learning about, and practising improv, under the guidance of Armando Diaz, a founder of the Magnet Theater and one of the most renowned teachers in the business.

Bizarrely, I wasn’t at all nervous the first week because I really didn’t know what to expect and honestly, I was so delighted to have gotten out of bedtime. But once I knew what to expect, I was beyond nervous. It was terrifying. 

If I were to describe what I don't like about doing improv, the words that come out of my mouth are the very definition of ‘improvisation’. So, for example, I don't like how there are no lines, how you can’t prepare, how you have to come up with the ideas on the spot, think on your feet, react to what someone else says when you have no clue what they are going to say, rely on someone else reacting to you. I don’t like how the whole thing is in front of other people and on top of that there is the added pressure that it is meant to be humorous. That bit. I hate that bit. 

Every week I’d go to class and think: Am I enjoying this? Why am I doing it? Maybe it's like running - no one enjoys it really but you feel good when it’s finished? 

Standing outside the theatre one evening, waiting for class to start, I asked one of my classmates “Do you enjoy improv?”. With a genuine grin from ear to ear, he enthusiastically answered, “Oh yes!”. 

“Do you ever ….hate it?”, I asked. 

Starting to look confused now he said “....No?” 

“Do you ever hate yourself?”, I inquired further. 

By now, his cartoonish smile had disappeared and he was shifting uneasily from foot to foot, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was coming to let us in. 

“Maybe it’s because he’s American”, I thought. He grew up around something that we had only seen on TV: confidence. But I knew, deep down, that wasn't it, so as soon as we got into the class, I made a beeline for a different sample - also American but this time a woman and I skipped straight to the juicy question and just said “Do you ever hate yourself during this class?” and finally I got the camaraderie I had been craving. She looked me in the eye and told me: “I lie awake every night thinking about the cringeworthy things I’ve done here.”

Every week, my mother would call me to ask how the class went and I could hear her licking her lips in anticipation of the mortifying stories I was about to tell her. Her favourite was the story I told her about a game that we did in the class every week, where one person would jump up and initiate a non-verbal scene and others in the class could join in to play other parts. Like a giant game of charades. So for example, this week, my husband, David, was the first to jump up and he stood in the middle of the floor with a wide stance and started swinging an imaginary baseball bat. Another guy joined, crouching down behind him to be the catcher while a third person joined in as pitcher. Then there were (silent) supporters and vendors and commentators and then that was the end of the scene. 

On the way home,  I said to David “God, I'm really bad at that charades exercise  - I didn't even know you were playing baseball”. 

“I wasn’t!”, he told me. “I was meant to be chopping down a tree! I was wondering why a guy was sitting down behind me. That’s why I put my foot on his back, I thought he was there to help me while I chopped. It was only when the pitcher showed up that I realised what was happening”.

Oh my god my mother laughed so much. She said she dined out on that story for a week. And every week after,  I had ample content of how excruciatingly awful it was to satiate her. 

Until one week,  I didn't. We turned a corner. Maybe it was that a few classes in, something clicked. Maybe it was that as we got to know eachother, we cared less and gelled more. Or maybe it was that one week, David and I arrived early and Whatsapped the group to say we were having a drink in the bar next door if anyone else fancied a warm-up and then the pre-class imbibing became a tradition.

But a few weeks in, I began to enjoy the classes so much. Armando’s calm voice and wisdom was like listening to a self-help book, a very practical and encouraging one.

Nothing ground-breaking or new but it suddenly seemed to make so much sense. Lessons like ‘fake it till you make it’: if you present yourself as mortified, people are going to feel mortified on your behalf. 

Improv forces you to live in the present moment. You have to listen closely to the conversation. Say yes. Being negative blocks the creativity and the magic. Don’t obsess about coming up with the perfect line, just get out and say any line.  Not everything has to start with the perfect idea. You can’t overthink it, you have to just do it. Shorten the time between making a decision and taking action. Sometimes it goes well and sometimes it doesn't and when it doesn’t, that’s no big deal. Everyone has those moments. But they tried, and they're still trying. We learn by trying. Not everybody is good at the start but you improve through practice and through play. So have fun!