This weekend I had my first ever improv audition to get on a house team. The experience was, to say the least, absolutely terrifying. I was feeling groggy because the cold I’d been fighting off had finally gotten the best of me, and I was struggling with a creative block that I’ve been fighting against for over a month now.
As a person who spends most of her time either writing, drawing or improvising, “creative” is a large part of my self-image. Lately, however, I’ve been feeling like I’m anything but. And what’s left to fill the gaping void that a lack of creativity has left in my life and in my definition of myself? Struggle.
I’m not usually one to hate on myself. But it’s tough to go through phases of bountiful creativity followed by seemingly endless dry spells that leave you feeling depleted and useless. Lately every time I jump on stage I feel like the next few minutes are spent fighting against myself. My brain can be an asshole at times. It blocks me, doubts my ideas and offers a lot of counterproductive insight.
“You shouldn’t say that, it could be offensive.”
“Think of something, QUICK! Think!”
“Don’t forget to be physical, why are you just standing there? MOVE.”
“What do you know about your character? Nothing. You know nothing.”
“Do this! NO! Wait! Do that! NEVERMIND! What are other people doing? DO THAT!”
“ABORT ABORT ABORT!”
Silly brain. Y U NO BE NICE?
As with most artists, I’m my own worst critic. I replay scenes in my head and think of what I could’ve said, what I should have done, how I could have made the scene better/clearer/funnier. When people compliment me, I question whether or not they just have a pathological need to please others.
I never used to have this struggle. When I started improv, I loved the thrill of jumping up and not knowing what would happen next. When I was on stage, my mind was empty and completely immersed in the moment. When I had a bad scene, I could easily brush it off. I even managed to convince myself that I loved being a part of a failing scene because of the opportunity for growth that it provided.
So why the sudden change?
Given that I’ve never been through this before, I’m not exactly sure why it’s happening and what I can do to fight it. I’m willing to bet, however, that this is a natural transitional phase that occurs when an artist makes the terrifying leap from “student” to “performer”.
The classroom is safe. You’re allowed to fail. You’re surrounded by a group of supportive peers who understand the difficulty of what you’re doing. Ironically, when you feel like you’re allowed to fail, you usually succeed. You become less afraid to make bold choices, more inclined to try something new, and more willing to share your ideas. At the very least, this results in a scene that is very fun to discover. All of that goes away as soon as you tell yourself that whatever you do, it has to be good.
Given that I recognize all of this, you would assume that it would be easy to just tell myself that I’m allowed to fail and be done with it. Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. Giving myself the right to be bad at something is a struggle. But I’m making the promise to myself that from now on I need to treat myself the same way I would a friend. And the truth is, if a friend of mine tried and failed, I’d still see it as a victory. I’d say “good for you for trying,” and I would trust that they would only get better. What I would NOT do is assume that, because of one bad scene or off night, they’re untalented and should spare any further embarrassment by giving up.
I know that many people have gone through this or are going through something similar right now. I think that mental blocks, whether they come in the form of bad scenes, low inspiration or reduced confidence, are an integral part of the creative process. That’s why, as difficult as this post has been to write, I’m hoping it will generate a useful conversation. Admitting to failure and struggle makes me feel vulnerable, but it’s a feeling I’m trying to get used to. Realizing that not everything I do will be perfect or even relatively good is one of the wonderful lessons that improv teaches for a richer, more fulfilling life. Accepting this fact, and learning to get up and keep trying regardless, is a lesson I’m still learning.
By: Tasha Lovsin
