To still be here means having survived and endured threats inward and outward, internal and external. To still be here may mean having broken and remade yourself into a new shape that is entirely your own, and could both feel like still being here and no longer being here at the same time. To still be here is not guaranteed.

It occurred to me I could crush her tiny body with one book...

Sometimes true mutuality requires us not to make room for other postures, but to physically take the posture of another, so that we can indicate our vulnerability and our welcome to them.

Through processes of struggle and change, I have found myself unrecognizable, having to get reacquainted with who I am now in this season, in this new skin, within my whole story. I have found myself in the process of both discovering my True self and also collaborating and improvising within community and alongside God, incorporating who I was with who I’m becoming as I live and create a new story.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was led to believe that her voice wasn’t important.

'I didn’t expect this' and 'Now what' are precisely the spaces where improv arrives again and again. As improvisers, we’re never expecting this; we arrive to the unexpected. We willingly take it on, delight in it, craft with it. What is mishap to the grief-stricken is the method of the improviser.

"your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it." - Rumi

Look at me. No glance. She’s notoriously defiant. I wait. Look at me. She continues ignoring me, eyes fixated on the world around her. Scout, look at me. She gazes up and begins to lick my nose.

Improv teaches that it’s not necessarily where we end up that matters the most, but that how we go will determine where we arrive, and who we become.

We bring our ideas, our creativity, and our skill of working together; we create in the midst of absence and space. As it does in the Okavango, life floods abundantly onto the improv stage.

‘Do you want a puppy?’ A dreaded, hipster couple had found two abandoned puppies wandering the streets; the man held a sleeping, snuggly, tiny beige and chestnut bundle. ‘No, I can’t,’ entering the bathroom. But when I emerged, without hesitation I scooped Riley up in my arms and walked back to the hookah bar to rejoin my group. ‘YES.’

They open up, they drop their shields, they know that no matter the tears, flaws, or struggle moments, their vulnerability is a beautiful and human thing.

Whether we are tapping out, walking on, or simply creating the scene, ‘yes, and’ wisdom encourages us to use our gifts, strengths, and ideas for the sake of ‘serving the scene’, rather than merely serving ourselves.

Our teachers encourage us: follow your feet. They seem to have a wisdom of their own; we lurch forward as if about to fall off a ledge. Coming up to our toes and then back down to our heels, something within us had an idea...

I believe ‘yes, and’ is the best act of support and revolution I have ever encountered.

Such a terribly unpleasant word to any improviser. Even worse, when the no isn’t said, but it is felt.