Practical stuff first: There are still slots open in the North and South sections of Improv for Introverts. Not to provoke anxiety, but this is your last chance this year to take Austin’s best improv class for nervous beginners. You know what to do.

Or if you’re a mental health professional, you might want to take Improv for Therapists instead. This is essentially the same curriculum as Improv for Introverts, just heavily weighted toward the skills needed for effective counseling. It will be very fun and if you’re a therapist you should definitely consider it.

If you’ve already taken Improv for Introverts, keep in mind that you can always take it again, which more and more people are doing (and enjoying). You’re also eligible to join the Mercury Monthly workshop. The November class is already sold out, but watch this space for the December session announcement.

Below are some thoughts on the Venn diagram of improv and therapy, but as far as useful real-world information, that’s it for this go-round. I hope to see you in one class or another soon!

Till then,
John

Improv Is Not Therapy (But It’s Not Not Therapy Either)

Back when I was a working improviser, I heard a lot of variations on "I don't need to go to therapy, I do improv instead." I found this provoking, because it's based on a misunderstanding of what happens in therapy.^[1] And yet I have to admit there's a lot of overlap.

In the broadest sense, improvisation means working with available materials. So in improv we're always asking the same question: What do we have to work with?

Once we're in a scene, this usually breaks down into a series of practical questions: Where are we? Who are these characters? What facts have we established?

But before we know anything, in that moment before the scene starts, there’s only one answer to "What do we have to work with?" The answer is “Us.”^[2]

You can't work with something until you know what it is, and to know what it is, you have to look at it closely.^[3] Students understand that you need to pay attention to your scene partner. But one unexpected benefit of improv is that you really start to pay attention to — and appreciate — yourself.

This is scary. Most adults (not just introverts) are convinced we're not enough and just barely managing to fool everyone and that sooner or later they're going to figure that out and exile us from humanity. So the idea of being seen is inherently terrifying.

One of the things that happens in an improv class is that we start noticing things about each other. And because the first principle of improv is unconditional support,^[4] those things tend to be kind of cool and interesting. As it turns out, in addition to being terrifying, being seen by other people can also be kind of freeing and fun.

But to do this you need other people. The teacher, sure, but a good improv class is largely about the interactions between the students.^[5]

So one way to describe a Mercury Improv class is people paying attention to each other and reflecting back what they see, all while being kind and supportive about it.

Which, I will concede, sounds a lot like therapy. Just don't push it.

1. To be clear: It's none of my business whether you go to therapy. But you don't need to gin up a bullshit reason for it. You don't owe me an explanation!↩︎

2. Okay, fine, us and also some chairs.↩︎

3. "Anything becomes interesting if you look at it long enough." — Gustave Flaubert↩︎

4. Also, one advantage to calling a class Improv for Introverts is that jerks don't sign up for it. ↩︎

5. This is why every class has its own distinct personality, and also why taking the same class twice can feel like a completely different experience.↩︎