To my almost baby, on the eve of my thirtieth birthday: Improvisation as a way of life
Hello little one. Tomorrow, your mama turns thirty. You will join us out here in less than eight weeks (unless you take after me, which might make your grandma feel vindicated). As I take time to think about the life that’s led me to this milestone birthday, you are also on my mind. While I evaluate my choices and consider the lessons I’ve learned, I can’t help but imagine how your own life will unfold. Undoubtedly, you will encounter many challenges, and your dad and I will do our best to help you navigate them, while giving you space to fall, learn, and move through it all. Eventually, you will create your own roadmap of expectations and ambitions, and you will chart your own way through that territory.
If I have learned anything as I follow my own roadmap, it’s that rules and expectations will shift and change unexpectedly. And because of this, one critical component in my life as a dance artist has led to a life filled with meaning; a life that I appreciate more and more every day. I have adopted improvisation as a way of life. You will have your own journey to your own thirtieth birthday, but I’d like to share this with you. Perhaps it will help you understand your mama better, and maybe it will give you some guidance when you feel stuck.
Show up.
A dancer enters into an improvisational dance experience with knowledge passed on from their teachers and peers. They also bring their unique perspective and experiences into the space with them. The “rules” I use to guide me through movement improvisation recall the wisdom of my teachers and friends, and they have translated beautifully into living an improvisational life. Show up is the first of these rules.
When you initiate a movement experience, your presence is critical. You must locate yourself, mentally and physically, in right now. Acknowledge your current state of being, and let it exist fully in this particular place and time. When you initiate a life experience, try to do the same. Know who you are, how you feel, what you want; commit to being present in each moment. Sometimes this will be easy, but often, you will find this quite difficult. Life gets busy, and we get distracted. Try to notice when that happens, be okay with it, and drop back in. When you feel stuck, notice if you’ve taken time to show up.
Pay attention.
Attend to what is happening. Notice everything. In dance, improvisation requires us to pay attention to the space, to other bodies, to all opportunities. As we tend to these, we notice patterns and relationships that open up new possibilities. The same is true in an improvisational life. Pay attention. Notice what holds meaning for you. Listen for what isn’t being said. Absorb all of the information available to you, through all of your senses. This will be especially important as you navigate away from the familiar, and you chart your way through new experiences.
As you develop your own identity and define what’s important to you, know that your relationships with other people will give shape to the way you perceive the world. If you pay attention to nothing else, pay attention to the people in your life: your partner, if you have one, your closest friends, your mentors. Know that they will communicate in powerful ways beyond words. They will show you so much about the world. Nurture your capacity for empathy through the ways you connect with them.
Be open to every possibility.
In improvisation, we do ourselves a disservice when we adhere too strictly to “the plan,” or to our expectations for what should happen. If we self-critique and edit away the possibilities, never giving them a chance to breathe, we lose the opportunity for a meaningful connection. This rule is so hard to follow, but when you can, be open to every possibility.
In every major life choice I’ve made, I’ve found myself choosing the path that took me away from my “plan.” Eventually, I stopped worrying about it, and it’s been incredibly rewarding. College, meeting your dad, my early career, marriage, graduate school, re-entering the workforce, you… all of these unfolded in ways that had nothing to do with a set vision for what I wanted my life to be. These were all thoughtful, intentional choices, but sometimes the conditions were out of my control. Allow the conditions to be what they are. Consider all of the possibilities available within them. Show up, pay attention to what is meaningful for you (and for those affected by your choices). And move forward.
Tell the truth.
All of the rules for improvisation are deeply connected. How well you perform one informs the others. If you have shown up, if you are paying attention, if you are open to every possibility, then you will know the truth, and you will be able to share it. But you must also be willing to share it. Your ego won’t always get to call the shots. Sometimes, telling the truth means taking a step back; it could mean admitting you were wrong, it might even mean owning some deep discomfort. Turn your discomfort into inquiry. Ask lots of questions, and seek honest answers from yourself.
As I consider the last three decades, I’m humbled by the privileges and opportunities I’ve been afforded. I’m grateful to have spent the last eleven of these thirty years with your dad, making our way in the world, honoring our commitment to each other to live full lives that are both independent and also perfectly integrated. I am in awe of the challenge before us now: raising you. I know it will be an improvisational endeavor unlike any other. Be patient, little one, as we figure this out. I look forward to reflecting back on this moment in another thirty years, enriched with the experience of being your mother for three decades. For now, I’ll leave you with this: I want you to know I will show up for you. I will pay attention. I will be open to all of the possibilities for you. And I will always tell the truth.