Annelise Lawson
Psychology / Theater Arts
Berkeley, California

My sophomore year, I skinned my shoulder blade on the concert hall stage during an improv performance. I was playing an improv game in which I had to help my scene partner guess which process I was personifying – in this instance: digestion. I had just begun to pantomime traveling down the intestinal tract, when I heard someone yell “BILE!!!!” from my left and a fellow improviser dropped me with a running tackle. In the ensuring rumpus, my shirt slipped up – exposing the bare skin of my right shoulder blade to the stage – as I was dragged across the floor by an ankle. Immediately I realized that rug burn is a far less serious affair than varnished-wooden-floor burn. But I kept on wrestling with “bile” until he pushed me out of the imaginary intestinal track and off the side of the stage with the appropriate rude sound effect.

The first rule of the improv book is: “yes, and.” “Yes, and” means perseverance in the face of the unexpected; that you will accept whatever your scene partner establishes (“yes”) and support them by expanding on it (“and”). For example: if Improviser A says: this castle is falling apart, Improviser B responds: yes it is, and I think the moat is leaking, rather shooting him down by saying something like: what are you talking about? We’re in the middle of the desert! Following this rule requires silencing internal voices of censure: the focus is to support your scene partner regardless of his or her direction, while knowing they will do the same for you.

I’ve always been deeply fond of the “yes, and” rule, because not only improv scenes but also real-life situations benefit from its application. For instance – embarking upon our Carleton careers. From our first moments here, we relied on innovation and flexibility to navigate unfamiliar situations. An example: Yes, this Musser room is very small for two people, and if we bunk the beds we might be able to fit a mini fridge in here. This state of open affirmation was also invaluable throughout our education – helping us summon the fortitude to face each new academic challenge. Yes, the writing portfolio is due tomorrow, and sunrise is lovely through the windows of the Sayles computer lab. It helped us process new and novel situations: Yes, apparently there is such a thing as cheeseburger chowder, and Hogan Bros makes a great Turkey sub. It led us to make acquaintances we will always cherish: Yes, Russ is the best part of the math skills center, and I’m going to register for his aerobics class. Occasionally, it even guided us to those rare moments that managed to transcend mundane life and instantly crystallized into treasured memories: Yes, it is 2:25 am. And we should play on the swings at Central Park.

But on that night sophomore year, as I tried with mixed success to reach my skinned shoulder blade with a Neosporin-covered finger, I thought about how dangerous “Yes, and” can be. It asks you not only to accept a state of instability, but also to use it as a jumping-off point. It seems more prudent to keep your feet rooted in the comfortable certain. Otherwise, you may find yourself in free-fall

But it is precisely element of risk that makes success in improv scenes all the more rewarding when you attain it. I still have a faint scar from that performance, and on the rare occasions when I catch a glimpse of it, happily remember the ebullient sensation of hearing the audience laugh that night.

I’ve developed a saying about the mixed quality of spontaneous action: When you’re flying by the seat of your pants, you will probably get a wedgie, but at least you’ll have a good view. To put it another way – the world is the most unpredictable, uncontrollable, and exhilarating improv partner of all. It will drag you out of your comfort zone, and throw unanticipated obstacles in your path. But it will also reward your willingness to walk the edge of stable existence, and turn obstacles into gifts, if you know how to look for them.

We can’t know what’s coming. Like many of you, I’m daunted by not knowing what life will give me next, and wondering whether I will be able to accept and build on whatever it may be. Even our most seemingly dependable plans are not necessarily secure given the state of the world we are entering. Yes, times are uncertain. Yes we walking away from a life over which we have developed comfortable mastery. Yes, there will be hard moments, and days when we miss our time at Carleton. Yes, the world is going to challenge us, and – if we remember to trust the world and ourselves – we will rise to meet it.