Four days out… in four days on Friday, I will be in New York City with other members of Roar Theatre. At 8 p.m. on June 26 we will step onto stage at Magnet Theater. We will be one of many, many groups performing as part of the 72-hour Del Close Marathon, put on for 17 years now by the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre. I am terrified. Okay, terrified is not the right word. But just typing this, I’m getting excited/nervous butterflies. I’m alone and still in my house in San Diego in my pajamas and getting butterflies.
Whenever anyone asks me how long
I’ve been doing improv, I feel like the number is wrong… I can’t have been doing this for multiple years. I just started. I still have so much to learn. Like working with objects that aren’t there – how do you climb a ladder that isn’t there? I forget; maybe I never figured it out yet to begin with. But then, the second I step out onto stage, it melts away. I’m not even me anymore, performing improv for the first time outside of San Diego, let alone in front of lots of other way-more experienced improvisers (and strangers! New York City-dwelling strangers!) I’ll be someone else. I don’t know who I’ll be. I don’t know where I’ll be. I don’t know how I’ll feel, or what choices I’ll make, or whether I’ll be kind or mean or plain or pompous or human or a plant or in love or living with regret or on fire or in a spaceship or… I don’t know right now. But, I do know this: I’ll be in the moment. I’ll be with people who have my back, and I have theirs no matter what. I’ll be listening.
Hopefully I’ll notice when the audience laughs so I can keep following those funny moments, hopefully, I’ll make bold choices and take risks, hopefully I’ll remember to live in my body as much as my head and hopefully I’ll manage to come back to myself for a half second after the set is over but before we all walk offstage again together. So. Four days. I’ll have to let you know how it goes…