Last year I took improv classes. There I was, my British restraint cast aside, and I’m yelling, laughing, and loving the troop with whom I found myself. Free from judgment, and where the prime directive is to support your partner, it’s a place of safety. But despite that nurturing environment, the instincts remain.
One Thursday evening I was quite happy reproducing (my admittedly poor) Scottish, Irish, French, and South African accents, but as soon as I was called on to produce an American one, I clammed up; suddenly I had 15 experts in the accent who’d judge me!
Their attitude was nothing but supportive. Indeed their response when I finally caved was similar to that of my friend, Geoff, at karaoke. Namely that it’s not about being good, instead it’s about having fun, having a go, and letting go.
One of my favourite sayings about friendship is that a friend is someone who knows you and yet still loves you. When in their company they provide a little papoose of comfort and safety.
Getting older also helps dissolve those deeply rooted fears of being judged, because the older I get the less I care. I wish I had been older when I was younger.
