I have this thing where everything I learn ends up relating back to improv.

And, I mean, of course it does - because improv is the great work of my life. It’s the thing I’ve dedicated myself to studying. Other people have mastered the binding forces of the universe - physics, biology, chemistry - they’ve built structures that challenge the horizon, they’ve become acquainted with the tiniest sub-atomic particles.

Me, I just want to get better at telling stories in the moment. Incrementally, over the decades. I want to keep walking the path and discovering new things.

And this is what I mean about everything relating back to improv. Because lately, I’ve been cultivating a stillness practice. Which is a fancy way of saying, I sit for 15 minutes every morning and I try not to move.

The idea is that thoughts surface in your mind, and you acknowledge them without letting them pull you into the past or the future. You sit in the present moment.

I find it excruciatingly hard.

To just sit.

I wonder how I might get better at it. That there must be a more advanced concept or technique that will get me there faster?

But the simple truth is there isn’t a better way.

I just have to sit there every day.

Turn up every morning.

Sit again.

And over a long time, I’ll begin to understand how my particular combination of hardware and software - my own unique blend of values, experiences, hopes and neurosis - gets to meditate.

No one can actually teach me that. I have to find out for myself.

I have students who are desperate to become great improvisers.

And they will. I can see that they will.

And I can give them advice, and introduce them to new games and ideas, try to inspire them as they walk their path.