Written and Narrated By: Kara Lea Kennedy
I blinked at those instructions on the paper, now trembling in my hands. I thought this new improv class had begun in my favor when the director passed around a worksheet. Yes, step-by-step instructions, I can do. Written words? Fantastic. The smell of paper, I think, quickens my pulse and releases my endorphins. But when my rule-following, people-pleasing-self saw those words, FAIL. FAIL BIG, boldly printed in all caps, my confidence crumbled.
The “Safety Net”
Though I had lived a fairly adventurous life before taking my first improv class—a six-month trip through Australia, China, and Mongolia; marrying a man I had hardly dated; living in Japan for three years—none of that prepared me for what I would experience on the improv stage.
It quickly became clear that many of my so-called “adventures” had come with a built-in safety net. An “anti-fail” device. I went on that overseas trip with a team and a plan. That guy I married? I had actually known him all my life, just not in a romantic sense. The Air Force made sure we had housing, medical, and reliable pay while living in Japan.
But improv? The scenario was always changing. I was thrown on the stage, in front of a live audience, with a scene partner whose worldview, past life, and present inclinations bore absolutely no resemblance to mine. Then he/she would look at me, mime some sort of action, and say, “Maureen, I know you love Miley Cyrus, but I’d rather eat dirt than go to her concert.” From this, I was expected to create a believable reality that I had never even touched. My biggest “success” in improvisation was that I failed big. Publicly and regularly.
However, in the midst of that fog, I found that failure is not a synonym for “The End.” A new day would mercifully come, and I could look back on my failings and learn from them. So, I slowly built a new framework around the concept of failure. That “safety net” I had nestled into was rewoven, from something that meant “no chance of messing up,” to what became “choosing to learn and improve through whatever you will mess up.” Failure was no longer a measure of my value. Embarrassment became nothing more than just an emotion.
The brick-lined improv stage became a greenhouse of personal growth to me. I learned to embrace new opportunities and uncomfortable situations, even if I had to wince while doing it.
What now?
In those life arenas where I feel stuck, I ask whether I’m avoiding progress because I’m afraid of rejection or embarrassment. And, if so, when did I allow acceptance to become more important than creativity?
Obviously, if the failure has to do with children losing their way, or a marriage falling apart, that sort of possibility demands careful and prayerful thought. But, in much of the tedium of daily life, fears may keep us from calling a friend, volunteering, or pursuing a new hobby. What do we miss?
The slinky. The waffle cone. The pacemaker, post-it notes, penicillin … these came to us through ventures that did not go as planned. Now they save lives, schedules, and taste-buds around the world. Miracles happen when we choose growth over despair. As my daughter boldly declares after a mess-up, “Mistakes grow your brain!” What if the most direct pathway to success takes us right through the steel barrier of failure? What if it’s possible to become tongue-tied on stage and return the next week with a new plan?
We take failure far too personally. But it’s larger, more collective, than that. When received as teachers rather than prosecutors, our failures can show a class, a village, a factory, a lab how to perceive differently.
So, yes, fail big. And be willing to laugh at yourself as you build a new road to a new future.
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