Quittin' Time

Ben's comment on my last post made me realize that many people probably only have a partial picture of my recent improv experience, and it might be helpful if I explain this whole quitting deal a bit further. (Ben, I hope you didn't think I was ignoring your comment -- I just thought the questions deserved some attention and it took a few days before I found the time to sit down and type this all out.) For reference, here's Ben's comment, which I imagine sums up the questions most people would have:

As a fan, I'm concerned. ;)

Seriously, I didn't realize improv wasn't fun any more. Why is that? Is it possible that there's a way to make it fun again?

You're so good at it, and it seemed to give you more joy than anything I've ever seen you do; I guess I don't understand why you're considering quitting.

Of course, I don't want this message to sound like I'm pressuring you not to quit. Just wondering what you're thinking about...

I know this must be what people are thinking, because it involves thinking I'm awesome. That just rings true, doesn't it?

Basically, I was thinking and feeling several things. One of the biggies is something I've been aware of from the beginning, which is my tendency to take things so seriously that the fun gets sucked out of them. This happened with music. It even happened with this blog, which is why 2007 contained a whopping 14 posts; I had only been blogging for a few months when I felt the pressure of having to post almost every day, and I took a year off before returning to a moderate output. At various points throughout my improv experience, I wondered if I should take a break, but I never did. And for the most part, I was glad to have kept going. But eventually the nerves I felt before performances felt more like dread. I was losing the expectation that a show could go well. Rehearsals became something to get through. I was beginning to feel disconnected from the activity, rather than fully engaged; in the past, I had been truly engaged, even when that engagement involved frustration.

Now, this hadn't been going on all that long, and in the midst of it I had the hugely positive experience of the grad show, which I'd thought could have been the home run that knocked me out of my slump. But I'd begun to have negative associations with the activity of improv, and one show wasn't enough to undo that feeling. I'd already determined to take a break after this round of House Teams, but after last weekend's rehearsal, I was wondering if that break should start even sooner. I went home and prayerfully made a list of reasons to stay and reasons to go. My reasons to stay were the same as those that had kept me in situations in the past -- I'd made a commitment, I didn't want to disappoint anyone, there was always the chance that things could get better and I didn't want to miss out. I only had one reason to go: It wasn't fun, and I didn't really expect to get any more joy out of it in the near future. In light of that one reason to go, all the reasons to stay became reasons to go, because they were coming from a motivation that didn't involve authentic joy. For someone like me, who's always tried so hard to do the "right thing" that I hardly even know what I want in a situation, actually paying attention to what I want takes practice. This seemed like the perfect opportunity for practicing just that.

I was thrown when my improv coach gave me encouragement, telling me that she was pushing me harder because she saw me on the verge of a breakthrough. I have talent? Potential? Dang it, those are positive reasons to stay! I wasn't expecting those! Right up until Tuesday's show, I didn't know what I was going to do. But I've been used to letting other people heavily influence my decisions, and I figured it was time for me to make my own, even if that meant trusting my assessment of the situation above everyone else's. So that's what it came down to; I needed to make my own choice, even if it ended up being a bad one. I do feel like I made the right choice regarding improv, but I think that it would be OK even if I hadn't, because at least the choice would have been mine.

I've been learning how intertwined trusting in God and trusting yourself can be. For example, if you're going to trust what God says to you, you have to place some trust in what you think you've heard from God, which means trusting your own ability to hear God! Scary. It can lead to some interesting mistakes, but the motivation is right, and God-ward. I'm also learning that our instincts and desires aren't necessarily the suspicious entities I'd once thought. Perhaps they're like hunger and thirst -- while they can get out of hand, they're essentially good things that we need to pay attention to, and God can steer us by these as well as He can by anything else. So then, if I'm going to let God lead me by my desires, I'm going to have to pay attention to those desires. If I'm going to find joy in God and find God in joy, then I need to pay attention to what is and isn't giving me joy! Perhaps I've said this here before, but it's worth repeating: It's a kind of discipline, not letting myself fall into my old habits of discipline!

And quitting something halfway through?? I never do that! Even if the quitting itself isn't the best idea (though in this case I think it was -- bonus!), it could be good for me just to buck convention that way. It can be easy to assume that it's human nature to always do what's easiest and most self-indulgent, but that's not my problem. My problem is taking the "no pain, no gain" philosophy to the unhelpful extreme of "more pain, more gain." But sometimes more pain is just more pain, and it's a sign that you should stop what you're doing and go make yourself some chocolate milk.

I don't have a plan, which means that I'm not determined to quit improv forever. I feel more like it's a seed, and because I value it (it was SO good for me, I got so much out of it, and I'm so glad I did it), I choose to plant it and step away, trusting that if and when I come back, it'll not only be there waiting for me, but it will have grown bigger and stronger in my absence. In the meantime, I have other things to explore that will only help. Remember that week of physical theater I did in July? When I came back from that, I felt somehow bigger, expanded. Right on the heels of that, I had the most amazing improv class! Somehow, taking creative and emotional risks, even though they were more physical and less comedic, left me much more able to do improv comedy. I expect my various creative explorations to reinforce and support each other this way, like lots of poles resting against each other to make a teepee. I also think it's important for me to keep exploring, and not commit solely to one activity yet. It would be premature.

I have a few ideas about what I can try out next. Perhaps after the new year, I'll try acting classes, or another physical activity like improvisational movement or some kind of dance. Those ideas both excite me.

But like I said, no plan.