There’s perhaps some irony that—even though I’ve chosen it for this month’s theme HERE and despite having several clients who are experts and teachers of the craft— I’ve never actually taken a single class or workshop.
I can justify this since—for better or worse—it’s been my lifelong modus operandi, aptly summarized by Indiana Jones when asked about his next move:
“I don’t know…I’m making this up as I go.”
Indeed, that’s the very definition of improv, whose core core principal is this month’s theme:
Last month, I wrote much about the concept of a Fresh Start, one that’s available to us not just in January but year-round.
Living out that theme, Vlad and I were also prepping for our move, especially with our TaskRabbit of choice, Vladimir.
(Just FYI, happy to share our secret packing playlist—one I made of Russian liturgical chants to (jokingly) make the very Russian Vladimir feel at home—and which always calms Vlad down HERE)
I chose “Yes, And” for this month’s theme not just because it follows nicely from previous ones like Embracing the Unknown and A Fresh Start.
While that daredevil willingness to show up and take risks is an essential first step, this is truly taking things to the next level.
What I appreciate most about “Yes, And…” is twofold:
An acceptance of what is, followed by a welcoming of what’s next.
(my mini-van copilot)
In improv, no matter what your partner or the audience tosses at you, you can’t say “No.”
Instead, the “Yes, and…” tenet requires that you embrace what’s given (no matter how random) and build upon it, allowing the scene to evolve naturally and collaboratively.
You cannot resist or indulge in regret.
Instead, you must actively co-create the path forward, even when the circumstances are unexpected or the situation feels absurd.
Obviously, setting aside the challenges of doing this onstage, try applying that practice to real life!
I’ve shared before that my maple tree (pictured above) was the primary concern of my move, given that beyond a crane, there’s no way to move it.
A few years ago, the roots required more room, and I had to chainsaw their edgesand add soil to the base.
There’s no way it could ever depart the way it came in.
Still, I held on to hope, much in the same way that Jane Hirshfield’s poem speaks about trees and their resilience.
Optimism
More and more I have come to admire resilience.
Not the simple resistance of a pillow, whose foam
returns over and over to the same shape, but the sinuous
tenacity of a tree: finding the light newly blocked on one side,
it turns in another. A blind intelligence, true.
But out of such persistence arose turtles, rivers,
mitochondria, figs – all this resinous, unretractable earth.
Trees say “Yes, and…” in other words, not resisting but always bending to the light.
It doesn’t end, however, with just the “Yes” of Acceptance.
There’s also an “And…” that follows which is just as important.
The “And” is where you contribute your own ideas to move the scene forward, adding layers, depth, and creativity to build something greater together.
This move absolutely had it its own “And…” built in.
Since the event weaves directly into the piece’s broader narrative, the documentary crew (above) for my art project filmed the day.
I’m so glad on so many levels that they captured everything, furniture flying past me as I’m interviewed.
Yes, adrenaline might have helped, but nothing deflates sorrow and loss morethan knowing the moment’s meaning already extends beyond itself.
I also love this poem by Robert Bly
It’s playful way of seeing the world, where change isn’t a threat but an invitation to think in new ways, is saying “Yes, And..” to endlessly expansive possibilities.
Things to Think
Think in ways you’ve never thought before
If the phone rings, think of it as carrying a message
Larger than anything you’ve ever heard,
Vaster than a hundred lines of Yeats.Think that someone may bring a bear to your door,
Maybe wounded and deranged: or think that a moose
Has risen out of the lake, and he’s carrying on his antlers
A child of your own whom you’ve never seen.When someone knocks on the door, think that he’s about
To give you something large: tell you you’re forgiven,
Or that it’s not necessary to work all the time, or that it’s
Been decided that if you lie down no one will die.
Vlad and I arrived safely at my family’s home where we’re enjoying an improvised idyll before this three-month writer’s fellowship I seem to have won.
(More details on those adventures soon enough).
Alas, here’s the only real casualty of the move.
Sadly, our friends the upstairs neighbors shared that management arrived soon after our departure with a chainsaw—ironically, one I gifted the super after we used it to trim the roots before replanting—and cut down my beloved tree.
A very, very big sigh… and a few tears.
Yet, quite fortunately, there’s a “Yes, and…” here.
When my tree changed genders a few years ago—written about HERE—each spring it released helicopters seeds, creating its own descendants.
In fact, Vlad’s BFF Cha Cha has one.
And I gave another to Robbie.
And then there’s Benjamin.
Before the move, I wisely gave away a lot of stuff.
A young violin teacher who just moved to the neighborhood, Benjamin, arrived via Facebook Marketplace to claim one pottered plant for his new terrace.
He ended up leaving with six large trees and five seedling (above).
My tree and I spent over a decade together, so while I feel the loss, I take some comfort in knowing that its progeny continue on other nearby roofs.
In every way, I’m trying to say “Yes, and” to this moment, finding first acceptance and then embracing possibility.
And, like the poet’s tree and my own, as we move to new horizons, remembering to always turn to the light.
Namaste for Now
