LIVING UNSCRIPTED

We’ve talked about the idea of “offers” in this newsletter series -- a term used by performing improvisers to describe just about anything that’s made available to use in a scene. Offers can be verbal (a narrative about the storyline) or physical (players acting out cooking dinner). They can be gestural (a mooney lover blowing kisses to her partner across stage) or presented in total stillness and silence. The point is, offers are everywhere and happening all the time, and every single one of them is critical to the progression of a scene. But sometimes, they are elusive and very hard to detect. It’s a skill that improvisers practice and hone across loads of rehearsal time, through listeni

I attended a two-day workshop last month in LA, hosted by the illustrious Rob Bell, called Something to Say. I went in thinking we’d be a mismatched group of creatives/business people/performers who would spend both 9-to-5 days leaning all the tricks of the public speaking trade from one of the greats; that the workshop would be more listening, absorbing and note taking; that we would leave with a set of tips and tools to help craft our Tedx-style talks. I could not have been more wrong. This workshop brought shifts and tilts I never expected. There were connections and tears, revelations and shared growth at the soul level. And when my chance came to be in the “hot seat”, one-on-one with

We are a collection of our pasts and the truths we’ve cultivated about ourselves -- who we are, what we value, how we’re supposed to perform -- in order to make sense of things in this world. But they’re just stories, aren’t they? Programmed into us at an early age, so that we have some semblance of identity and purpose. Because there’s safety in meaning, right? Things are more comfortable if we can explain why. And how convenient to have that collection of value systems and past stories to pull from! Quite literally, a reference library to help our brains make sense of things. To make meaning. An acting teacher of mine often talks about our “Meaning Makers” getting in the way while we c

I’ve been caught off guard a few times, recently, with people graciously complimenting me on parts of myself unseen to...myself. I was called a “rock star”, that my energy is “off the hook”; that the workshops I host, bolstering connection and aliveness, makes me a “healer”. And my ego says all the right things: Thank you so much… Wow, what an amazing thing to say… You’re so sweet to tell me that… But my Inner Mean Team has a whole different narrative, and they must have a freaking bullhorn, because they’re all I can hear. They remind me I’m none of those things -- no rock star, no inspiring energetic presence, clearly not a healer. None of it. Just a young kid in big girl clothes with g

I was talking with a friend of mine recently, about being creatives; mostly about the pushes and pulls of ideas, and how joyously overwhelming it can be to have so many of them. I’m going to write poetry for 30 days straight! It might be time to outline my Tedx talk... Maybe I should try painting seascapes, or grasses...or fruit! And then there’s the (yawn) reality of time and responsibility that puts us back in check; the mama voice that asks, “So? Which is it then? You know, you can’t do them all. You’re not a superhero after all...” Aren’t I? Because last time I checked, I kind of feel like one. I mean, isn’t it the greatest, most awe-inspiring creative endeavor possible, that we’re he