“I said Corgi.”

Corey with a Corgi

For a few weeks now, I’ve been on a journey that I never thought I’d take. My boss and I had a discussion about my facial expressions, and while I was upset about the conversation, I knew it was definitely something I could work on. But how?

I asked around, presenting the problem as a learning experience. I mean, I now work with people after a long stint in academia to try and avoid people. I’ve learned that I’m actually a likable, kind person. How can I address this issue?

I received a great deal of feedback. Much of the feedback aimed to tweak my interpersonal skills. Makes sense, right? Helpful but the the right thing for this particular problem.

Finally someone suggested improv. Improv, he said, would be a great way to stay in the moment and learn how to build conversations collaboratively. I could get in touch with my feelings and gain awareness around how I interact with people.

So every Sunday I have sacrificed my afternoon nap and diligently biked over the Philadelphia Improv Theater (PHIT) for class. And the results have been quite impressive, from an “I haven’t given up and run away” point-of-view.

It’s uncomfortable at times. I like to plan. I like my plan to have contingencies, and I like my contingency plans to have additional plans. Working without a net in this way scares me to death. I’ve never thought of myself as quick on my feet. In fact, I have overlapping learning disabilities that pose minimal problems until I experience moments of stress. Being center stage would be one of those moments.

Who doesn’t have issues with stage fright? Sociopaths. I’m glad that’s not me.

Today we did work around emotions. And frankly, I know I’m in touch with my fears if nothing else. I felt fear about the fact that I wasn’t always in touch with my emotions. Well, let’s walk that back. I know what it is to be a happy monkey. I know what it is to be an angry, poop-flinging monkey. I often miss the opportunity to feel sadness and often fear.

It’s a kid of an alcoholic thing. And sometimes they come out sideways.

Working with your emotions when you don’t feel like you’re in touch with your emotions is like trying to imitate someone you don’t know. It feels fraudulent, and to be honest, scary performing an art form based primarily on authenticity.

The Costanza

One of our exercises today included a two-person scene in which one person said something mundane: “The sky is blue.” And the other person had to react with 110% emotion about the statement. Our emotive options could be happiness, sadness, anger, or fear.

The exercise was named for the bombastic George Costanza from Seinfeld. It should be noted, for those who have never seen the show, that George lacked initiative and ingenuity except in situations that best served his primal needs. He also overreacted to everything.

Needless to say, I have worked hard in recovery to restrain my emotions. I experienced an uncomfortable crossroad between lacking a connection with my feelings and letting loose on the emotions that I did have control over.

Release the Kracken

Image by Noupload on Pixabay

I felt a tension when my turn came around. I don’t like losing control at all. But it was the Costanza exercise and all, so I needed to do my best. My scene partner and I stood awkwardly for a second or two, waiting for the other to start. And he did:

“There are certainly a lot of Coreys at the park today.”

I cocked my head to the right and looked at him, almost like taking aim. “Coreys?” I asked, wondering how to build a scene out of that. I mean, how did he know there were a lot of Coreys in Rittenhouse Square? Did he poll them?

The class burst into laughter.

“I said, corgis,” he said gently. He’s a kind fellow.

“Ah!” I said before launching into a diatribe about Corey Haim, Corey Feldman, and the Royal Corgis – none of which made any sense.

I’m not sure if my fear short-circuited my brain or if my age (hearing) struck again. My takeaway, though, is that I have much to learn about my emotions. I experience them whether I know it or not.

Recovery is like that though. Sometimes these types of learning moments cover an absurd stretch of time. Others feel like they click in an instance. It’s typically the things zapped by both sides of the alcoholic coin – emotions, relationships, people – that have been my most circuitous, at times heart-wrenching, lessons. It’s only because I feel when my performance fails to meet some unrealistic expectation, I’ve somehow missed the mark.

Improv will help with more than just my face, I think. In improv, there are no mistakes, and the space is always being revealed.