Students scaring teachers

Last night, I played again with my friend Brendon at Open Source Improv. It was our second show. We were all warmed up, the logistics were taken care of, I was feeling relaxed and ready ...

Until 3 of my students walked in the door.

Then I got anxious.  

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Every week or two, Jimmy Carrane posts a talk show podcast called Improv Nerd, which I highly recommend. His guests are talented improvisers who have some connection to Chicago's improv scene. In the dozen or so episodes I've listened to I've noticed a trend:

It doesn't matter how many Second City Mainstage shows they've done, how many i.O. classes they've taught, even how many seasons they performed on Saturday Night Live. They say that they're afraid of being found out as frauds.

This seems especially true of improv teachers. When I took classes at i.O, a few of my teachers would encourage students to come to their shows, then quickly admit that having students in the audience freaked them out. If they just taught a 3-hour class on environment, then their show better have a rich environment. If it doesn't, their students might call them on it. Or worse, their students might lose respect for them.

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I think that's where my anxiety was coming from last night. It helped that I'd heard so many players I admire come on Improv Nerd and name that feeling. Naming the fear drained some of its power. That gave me enough distance harness that fear as energy instead of letting anxiety win the day.

I felt better about this show than about the last show, partly because the students were there to scare me.* I think I play better when I'm scared but don't let the fear win.



*I do not think they were there for the purpose of scaring me. That was just a side effect.

It's not called stealing.

When I get home from taking an improv class, coaching a troupe, teaching a workshop, or playing in a practice, my first impulse is to write. I don't know really know what I think about anything until I've written it out and looked at it.

(When I finish performing a show, however, my impulse is to stay out too late eating junk food with my friends, then come home and crash. I don't know why this is, but I think it's a good thing not to over-analyze your own shows. Let someone else do that.)


When I've taught and coached, some of the more proactive students/players have emailed me to ask me for more personal feedback than I could give in front of the group. If you're one of those wonderful people, I hope you don't mind that I'll be borrowing from some of my responses to you.


If you've ever been one of my teachers or coaches, I've probably written down things you've said. I hope you don't mind if I share them with other people. I'll do my best to remember who said what.

But my favorite teachers have gotten so deeply into my head that I may steal from them without realizing it. I think I'm ok with that. If you're one of those teachers, I imagine that you're ok with it, too, because you know that this art form will wither and die if we don't let other people take our ideas and run with them. That's how we're trained to act toward each other on stage, anyway.
 

"In the arts, it's not called stealing. It's called being part of a movement." -- Noah Gregoropoulos