Repeating, not heightening

Yes, this is an improv post. I don’t like it either.

Improv has saved and ruined my life, often simultaneously. It has been both a lifeboat and a child’s floaty I cling to in the ocean of life, barely keeping my head out of water. It has awoken me to parts of myself I didn’t know I possessed, and it has also made me utterly miserable. I am grateful for both.

I never felt joy like I did when I took my first improv class. Everything made sense. If my life was a puzzle, improv was a piece that was hiding under the table for years, and once I found it, all the other pieces I had made sense and locked into place. I made friends, I was less shy in public, I was a better actor. I could do anything with the power of improv by my side!

And then I studied it in depth. I took new classes that were very different from my beginner classes. in fact, these classes made fun of my beginner classes. This new form was the cool one, the right one, the one best suited for boys on the spectrum who hated being silly but loved being clever. You weren’t supposed to think in improv, just be in the moment. But…you did have to think, all the time. The longer I was there, the more I hated improv. I was certain it would be where I found my people, my new friends in this town. They were not interested and they did not like me. Okay, it was one person, but she actively made fun of me in scenes during class, which kissed what little confidence I had goodbye as it headed out the door, not to be seen for a long time. I wasn’t bad, but I stopped taking chances, intitating, being bold. My fire had died, and left me a spineless mess. Class after class did not help me, even at new schools. I knew what I wanted and nothing fit the bill.

Ironically, it was a practice group started by someone I did not think was very funny that saved me. I was weary, but desperate for company. We weren’t very good, but the practices were fun, the people were nice, and that lit a fire in me again. That team soon fell apart due to anger issues by the same person who had started it, but I formed another group, this time with people I had chosen. It was great. Improv came back to make my life bright.

Without improv, I never would have found sketch comedy. While looking at another improv class on a website, I found a very affordable sketch class. Affordability is often a key factor to the changes in my life. It was here that my improv puzzle piece connected with the lump of sketch pieces I had gathered, whichall this time I was certain belonged to the musical theater part that I had abandoned working on years before. I had found my thing, and I wasn’t letting go. Improv became fun again because it was not my endgame, thank god.

AND YET, I’M NOT DONE.

Years later, post pandemic, I was a miserable person throwing myself pity parties because I emerged from isolation with less friends, no creative job, and no performance opportunities. My sketch team had naturally ended right before the pandemic due to people growing up and moving on, but I felt like I remained in the same place. Instead of introspection and focusing on the next step, I repeated past patterns that has helped me out of my darkness before.

So now I try something completely new, right?

Nope. I went back to IMPROV.

I took beginner’s improv (lord help me), and fell back into all the bad tuff. I held back my ideas, my silliness, my risk taking. Thinking was back in full force, and this time, I was a writer. I was too busy “solving” the scene in my head before the location was determined. Still refusing to believe the problem was me, I took a more advanced class, and found myself face to face with people who still actively love improv, were still trying to make it work, but also felt the same despair I once did. It was me from 12 years ago. I am grateful for this class. It’s essence was to get people to stop thinking and start playing, and helped me immensely, but the biggest way was to realize that I was repeating old patterns, hoping for new results.

In improv, you work on heightening your beats(while still also not thinking! jesus christ) to create a bigger, better, stronger scene. Beware of moving laterally, it kills the scene and becomes repetitive. I have been moving laterally in my life, preferring to (excuse the improv metaphor) bore an audience to death with safe choices instead of jumping off the back line, unsure of my next move, but trusting I’ll find something. Because the reality is I don’t know my next move. I truly don’t. It might not involve comedy at all, and that terrifies me. Pre-pandemic, I always had an inkling of my next step, but this life and this world and the full on welcome party for fascism came crashing down and collapsed the staircase I was slowly climbing. The way up isn’t where it was before. And I don’t know where to go. Maybe it involves a little jumping into the unknown. I hope I have the guts to do it.

I LOVE YOU, LA

Los Angeles is a magical city. She’s not for the faint of heart. I’m a California girl, born and raised, and in my hometown, when you wanted a bigger pond where no one recognized you, you go north to San Francisco or South to LA. I chose south, even though LA does not have the best reputation outside of it’s county. Every town associates it with traffic, which is…fair, but only a sliver of the pie.

The rest of America hates us as well, I guess? They used to not care about us, but recently something (People in power pitting groups against each other to distract them from same people abusing their power, maybe?) has changed that. I recently found this out while visiting a friend in Michigan. When a group of guys we were talking to found out we were from Los Angeles, the mood changed. “I hate Los Angeles,” the only talkative one growled. I asked him some follow up questions, because one must not get defensive without proper information. Did he use to live there? Nope. Did he visit? Also no. So why does he hate LA? He had a layover at LAX and went to the Santa Monica pier. Okay. Sure. You’re basing your opinion of a gigantic city on it’s airport and a tourist attraction? Totally legit! Makes all the sense in the world. We didn’t argue because you can’t argue with crazy, but we were still called Coastal Elite (Love the term, can’t get enough of it, want to name my first born after it), and witnessed a male storm off. It’s like a female storm off, except way more dramatic. He didn’t even take his beer!

It took me a long time to love LA. She’s not an easy lady, she makes you work for it. My first year I got chewed up and spit out multiple times. I had to share a room to make rent, and I had three jobs that barely paid me. I came down with bronchitis for a month because I had no health insurance and had to keep working. I got involved in a scam theater that I knew was a scam going into it but since I was an assistant director and not an actor forced to pay 400 bucks to be in a play, I told myself it was fine (it was not). I took classes at a cult improv school, hoping I’d find a community of comedy nerds, but no one would talk to you unless you knew someone. I could not afford anything so I walked up and down Ventura Boulevard for hours. I had very little friends. I lived in the valley and did not like it. My cult improv classes were in Hollywood, and I did not like it. One job sent me all over LA during the height of rush hour. I did NOT like it.

One day I realized that I did not have to stay. I could go to another city, like… Chicago! Comedy and theater were my two loves, and the only thing I knew the city for were for both of those things! It felt so freeing once I decided. I loved telling people my plans. What have I been working on? Uh, getting the fuck out of LA and moving to CHICAGO! How’s work? Great! Just severing ties with all my bosses so I can go to CHICAGO! My life isn’t falling apart, it’s just about to begin, in CHICAGO! After my 301 cult improv class I told someone about my plans, and she asked me how long I’d been in town. I think I was at the 8 month mark at that point. She looked at me with wide eyes and said, “You can’t leave yet! You have to give LA a year!" I did not know this lady very well, and yet, I listened to her. I can make it to a year. If it’s still bad, then I can go experience real cold for the first time in my life.

So I stayed in LA for four more months. And just as my one year anniversary rolled around, I reevaluated. I had a (slightly) better job, I had a better living situation in a part of town I loved. I made friends at my job, I stopped giving the cult improv school my savings and started doing comedy with people I liked and thought were funny. I learned my way around town, found the places I liked to be, and went there. I still had to deal with Hollywood, but that got easier as well. Sort of. Now, when I encounter someone who is having a hard time, I pass along the same advice given to me. Give it a year. Because 12 years later, I’m still here.

I’m not trying to convince anyone how amazing LA is. I don’t know how long I’ll stay here, but for now, I love her. She’s not perfect, she’s got some scars, and she’s been used and abused for her resources, but she’s resilient and strong and super fucking weird. The fires have devastated this town, but she’s going to rise up and reinvent herself like the aging pop stars that live in her hills. My mom recently told me that she feels bad that I don’t have community because I live in a big city. I told she was wrong, that we have so much more because of our size. She insisted that only small towns show up for each other. These fires showed just how much community we have here, and how much we love our city. But if you want to keep hating us, please go right ahead. We’ll be at the beach.

Things I Have Done That Are Easier Than Sharing My Feelings With A Loved One

• Spit chewed up food into someone’s mouth

• Had chewed up food spat into my mouth

• Eaten Spaghetti with my toes

• Ate spaghetti from someone else’s toes

• Got drenched in fake blood

• Appeared onstage in granny panties

• Flashed one boob (the good one) at an audience

• Rapped about my insecurities to strangers

• Sang about rape (in a fun way!)