The Power of Improv (Or, a Continuation of How I Justify Making Up Damn Near Everything in My Life as I Go Along): Part 2

          I last left you with my history of improv and the theory of “yes, and”—we’ll pick up from there.

            I’m not sure what’s in the water, but I seem to be encountering an unusually large number of “yes, and” situations lately. Let’s take a quick look at the most significant ones of 2019 so far:

A simple one to start—I met my friend, Seth, in yoga at the local YMCA. He once upon a time was a doctor who commuted to hospitals by helicopter, and now he splits his time between our tiny little southern town and sailing around the world while writing a novel.

…Okay. Right. Totally normal. To say I was fascinated by his story would be an understatement. After a couple weekly yoga classes, I finally got to know what his novel was about (still under wraps for you general public folk) and somehow it came up in conversation that I was an English major with a writing concentration. What followed was a beautiful back and forth of “yes, and”—he asked me if I’d be interested in reading his almost-publish-ready novel while he’s still working on it, and he’d appreciate any feedback. I said, “Yes, and I’ll be happy to keep a list of organized annotations as I read” to which he said, “Yes, and I’ll include your name at the end of the novel in my thank you’s for all your help.” It’s small, but, hey, my name is going to be in the back of a book someday! As an English literature nerd, this was unnecessarily exciting for me.

Next: Remember how I said at one point I hated the sound of my voice and gave up on the whole theater/singing thing? Yeah, that changed. A little in the later years of high school with my friend Addie—with her and her alone, I would fearlessly and poorly belt along with whatever was playing, usually Bruce Springsteen or Mamma Mia. It changed even more with my friend, teammate, and eventual roommate, Ali, in college—we sang everything, everywhere, always. It was fantastic. It still makes me a little sad that I can’t seem to find a friend like her to over-enthusiastically sing any and everything with me at all hours of the day and night without any warning or preparation. Without her around, I was forced to either stop singing, or just stop caring. I went with the latter.

Fast forward to this year—It’s late March or early April, and a local restaurant is holding a karaoke night as a fundraiser for the senior center. I NEVER get to experience karaoke that isn’t 1) at a ridiculously late hour of the night, or 2) in some grimy, slimy bar, so I was IN. I dragged as many friends as I could (an entire 4 and my dad who happened to be in town. Good job, self). I had a list of songs ready to go. I was PUMPED.

My “warm up” song was the one, the only, “True to Your Heart”, a collaboration between the 90’s boy band 98 Degrees and Stevie Wonder. Oh yes. It was on.

At some point in the evening, they announce that not only is this a karaoke night fundraiser, it is a CONTEST. And the winner would be awarded $50 cash. THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING. Now I will be REALLY reaching for some songs that are WILDLY out of my vocal range. Go big, or go home, folks.

At one point, I was standing around with my very tolerant and supportive father, just chatting with what few friends agreed to come along, and I was drawn out of the conversation by the music. There was an awfully long introduction to whatever song was playing, and apparently no words because nobody was singing, but the slow, soft notes just sounded so familiar. Finally, after saying a few times that I KNOW I know this song, I heard someone mention in the distance the magic word…”Broadway”…and that’s when it hit me. My head snapped around to look at the stage:

Me: THIS IS FROM WICKED! THIS IS DEFYING GRAVITY! THIS IS A DUET!

Lady on stage: Get up here!

This song, this show, are my bread and butter. Wicked was the first show I listened to (because I didn’t get to see it until I was 22 despite knowing every word by heart since I was 11) that made me sit up and say, “Wait, this musical theater thing might be really cool.” I’m sure you can guess—I “Yes, and”-ed the SHIT out of this moment.

            I FLEW up on stage and grabbed the secondary microphone. That’s when they explained the situation—for some reason, they didn’t have access to the lyrics for this song, and the lady couldn’t remember the words of Elphaba and Glinda’s banter in the beginning. Thankfully, I know this song so well to the point of autopilot, so off we went. I sang anything she didn’t remember, she sang the high notes I couldn’t quite get, I got ENTIRELY too worked up by it all, and had a tremendously grand time. When the song was over, THEN we introduced ourselves to each other—we had so much fun singing together, my dad thought we were friends already. I’d never seen her before in my life. But she threw me the “Defying Gravity” ball, I caught it and tossed it back, and we kept going throughout this very lengthy and challenging song, trusting that the other would be there to carry each other through. 

            It was amazing. All walls were down, and we were two strangers working together to create something we both loved. We sang another Wicked song that night (“What Is This Feeling?”), and, just for the record, I WON THE CONTEST. (Not that it was that hard, it was basically me, two other people who sorta hit the notes, and a bunch of drunk rednecks. BUT IT STILL COUNTS.)

            With that, I’m going to pause dramatically one more time for the sake of blog entry length. Unfortunately for you, dear reader, there will be no photographic evidence of the next couple ridiculous, shameless acts. I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better in the future.