Breathing & Partners & Haystacks

I recently improved my improv game by a factor of ten by using a breathing exercise from improv teacher. I told Charles I wanted to work on discovering a scene, not inventing one, as the father of modern improv Keith Johnstone writes. In an improv scene, we are supposed to listen and respond to what the other person is saying and doing instead of making up random shit. If you are in a scene in a grocery store looking at eggplants and a dinosaur walks down the aisle without prompting, someone is making shit up.

This breathing exercise is a game changer in discovering a scene:

1. Breathe in what your scene partner says
2. Breathe out your interpretation
3. Breathe in your feelings
4. Breathe out as you engage

This slows a scene down to a screeching halt--in a good way. I am forced to listen, absorb and respond.

The scene started where I was a Hollywood prima donna on set with a famous director. As I was preening, he was wasn't happy with where things were heading. I interpreted that he was calling me a bitch. My feeling was anger. I was pissed off, but I responded politely through gritted teeth. It was a battle of status, and the prima donna lost. In the end, she ended up wearing a gorilla suit at the director's request.

She was a damn good gorilla, dammit.

This breathing method allows us to move in tandem with our scene partner. 

At pickle ball last weekend, one of guys I played against repeatedly poached the ball from his partner. I hit the ball across court to the woman, and the dude ran across the court, jumped in front of her, and slammed the ball back. This annoyed me, and probably also his partner.

"The goal is to make your partner look good," Ace said.

"Isn't that true in all of life?" I replied. "When is it not true?"

Partnerships are hard, especially for me coming off a divorce. I had thought I was good a partnerships for basically my entire adult life, to now realize I might not be as great I thought I was. Now that I am divorced, I am learning about partnerships through improv and pickle ball.

In pickle ball, I don't want to let my partner down. Most games are mixed doubles, and I don't want to be the weak link, the reason my otherwise good partner lost. The funny thing is that I beat myself up when I lose a point, but I don't pick on my partner for missing one.

Improv is collaborative, not competitive like pickle ball. I still struggle with winning and losing. I feel bad when I get crushed, but at the same time I don't feel amazing when I win. I don't know why. 

This concept of winning and losing is becoming my haystacks. I feel about winning and losing the way Monet looked at haystacks. He painted a series of them in different light and from different angles. There will never be the perfect, definitive haystack. There are a thousand ways to look at a haystack, and each of them gives us an idea of possibilities. Half of my hangup about pickle ball winning and losing isn't as much about me as it is about my views of partnership. Why do I internally carry the blame for a loss?

Maybe I just want someone to want to play with me again.

Today

I wish 

I was 

my dog

so I could 

eat my breakfast

and then

go back

to bed.

Overlook Walk and the Full Glass

Finally!

The new park at the Market is complete! After a decade or so of planning, downtown is done.

First, Seattle built a tunnel for traffic to flow under the city. 

Next, they tore down the Viaduct, an elevated highway with spectacular views of Elliot Bay and downtown.

Once the Viaduct was down, they build a park where the highway used to be, so people could walk around and enjoy the views instead of seeing the view from driving in their cars at 50 miles per hour and trying not to crash.

Sunday morning, I was walking Fox by the new park, and I met a couple from London. They were blown away: "This is incredible, so beautiful!" They were glowing. I have walked my dog through that area many times before, and I never got such a reaction. 

(They were also enamored with Fox. "That is a fine hound you have there," the gentleman said of my lapdog.)

I am hoping Seattleites will be more excited about visiting the Market and downtown. Traffic will be a mess, but now there is a train that can bring people within blocks of the park. Seattleites and members of the PNW are an outdoorsy group, and many don't appreciate a solid urban core. To be fair, the urban core in Seattle could use a little TLC, just like many cities around the U.S.. But this park is more than lipstick on a pig. This is an urban hike for those who want a dose of the mountains and water without leaving town.

Seattleites can also be a grumpy bunch, finding fault instead of looking at what is good. This town--in spite of its beauty and wealth--tends to be a "glass is half empty" kind of place. This new park is a full glass, but I am sure people will find room to complain.

The wonderful thing about cities is they are what we make them. We can make the places we live and love beautiful and magnificent.

Ladder

In order

to climb

a ladder

you must 

first 

let go

of the 

lowest

rung.

I started a new job and I've been thinking about growth. Part of growing is letting go of the old, the safe, the familiar, so we can climb to the next level. We can't do both--climb while staying in place. Think of kids in school. Every year, they change rooms and teachers, sometimes even schools. They can't go to first grade if they stay in kindergarten.

Letting go of the old can be scary, especially if we can't see the rung above, or where it will lead. Are we strong enough to pull ourselves up? We hope we are, and we try.

Some people are happy and content where they are, and this is fine. Other times, we don't have a choice but to move. Maybe the rungs below can no longer hold our weight, or they disappear. We can free fall, or we can reach and hold on.