Your note is my trauma
Before I dig into the topic, I want to make absolutely clear that I am not calling anyone out. If you have coached me or taught me, I have agency. I also want to make clear that I want the note! I want to get better. I signed up for this. I am not in this class or practice accidentally. I am also fortunate to have great coaches and teachers who I know will listen to me if I have something to say. I also wouldn't be in any kind of relationship without good two-way communication. I am also a cis white male who recognizes that many deal with additional layers to this issue.
I tend to get one note.
"Bigger!"
"Commit!"
"A little more energy"
I think we all get those notes, but it took me a while in improv to realize why I sometimes have such a strong block to actually playing bigger, committing, and delivering energy. One of the ways I dealt with the artisanal bullying I experienced growing up was to try to be invisible. From elementary to high school, getting noticed meant not just getting my ass kicked, but getting pushed against the wall of a school bus as the bigger kids crushed me, panicking if I was going to suffocate. I've done a lot of work to get better, and I'm still not where I want to be with life or improv. But sometimes, when a coach notes that I am playing bigger, I wish they knew why I struggle with it.
I should note here that this isn't the only reason I sometimes fail at this: Sometimes I'm in a practice that's right after another two-hour practice because I just want to be in that practice group so much. Sometimes I just don't. None of this is meant to be an excuse, so much as this is me trying to be transparent in my processing of what's happening and how to get better.
I am doing improv on stage for an audience. Sometimes those people have paid to be there. It seems weird that, after so long convincing myself I was a behind-the-scenes person, and trying to hide in plain sight, that I should be trying so hard to be seen. There is a tension at the heart of the endeavor: attention. Attention that I control. This is not a unique desire to the point where I don't even feel like I need to explain it.
There's a block, big and grey and cold, old granite, hewn from an old earth. I put it in place long ago for a reason, a foundation of necessity. Now and then I bumped into it, but now I'm bumping into it more. It will never go away. It's part of me, and I should love it. But if I find a way to rearrange my matter so I can pass through it. Be like water making its way through cracks.
If you're loved by someone, you're never rejected; decide what to be and go be it.