The reason I am able to make a living as an improv instructor is because of a societal bias that means that people who look and sound like me (white, male, cis-gendered) are often in positions of authority. Therefore, if people aren't paying attention to their internal biases, authority is conferred on me whether I've earned that privilege or not.

I absolutely know that to be true and can cite many points in my life where that has unquestionably been the case. So why does a secret part of me still believe that even if the playing field was somehow magically levelled overnight - that people would still want to take improv classes with me?

I think some of it is pride. I'm proud that I've worked at this skill for well over a decade and I'm excited to share that knowledge with other people. I'm proud of my standard as a performer and pleased that people return to my classes often because they enjoy the learning environment I provide. I have to remind myself that the reason for all of this is not an innate affinity with my art form but because I had the time and resources to get good.

I started improv. I wasn't very good. I made a lot of mistakes. I made it all about me, I hijacked other people's scenes to get a laugh, I made choices out of fear rather than a joyful wish to elevate my scene partner's work. But I kept going. I took classes 3 or 4 times a week. I paid more money so that patient, kind improv teachers could slowly instil the real values of improv - collaboration, empathy and generosity - into me.

The fact I could be bad and keep going until I wasn't as bad was privilege too. Likewise that people would sit and watch me fail and let me go on stage again the next week to marginally better results. And even in that failure I had an advantage because, in general, my cultural reference points were those of my audience - the names I called my characters, the TV shows and films I referenced, the middle-class upbringing I had - they allowed me to forge an instant connection with the majority of people watching my shows.

The same when I started teaching. I could build instant rapport with my class because most of them came from the same approximate background.

Those were some of my advantages - a trust I hadn't earned, resources to keep training, playing to audiences that already understood all my references. The fact that how I looked and expressed myself landed dead centre of the majority's expectations.

I wouldn't have succeeded (even to the modest extent that I have) without all of those things.

But the discourse is changing and the absolute, unquestionable need for diversity in our art form is being expressed in so many eloquent and passionate ways by all corners of our global community. I've learnt so much these last few years, as my horizons have opened on all sides to other practitioners and cultures of improv.

And the things I'm learning mean that I no longer have the ease I once had - the sheer number of issues that I hadn't considered, the new practices that I'm going to need to internalise and address in every class in order to make those spaces inviting for our diverse community is formidable. I'm back to being a beginner again, stumbling over my words, unsure how to express myself - struggling with things that appear so easy to my wonderful peers.

And I'm ok with all of this because I know that in another 10 years, those things will have become easier too. And if the result is a wider, more diverse, more welcoming improv community - well, that seems like a road worth travelling.