Teaching has made me a better improviser.

It’s given me the opportunity to work out exactly what I think about improv.

It’s allowed me to polish my theoretical musings and develop exercises that hone the skills good improvisers need. Teaching & coaching means I get to see students at all stages of experience - from shepherding their very first encounter with improv, all the way up to working with professionals who have been doing the make ‘em ups way longer than I have.

Seeing that range and quantity of improv, and moreover being required to analyse and reflect upon it regularly, has toned my improv muscles to an alarming degree. I’m like Ryan Gosling over here, but with storytelling instead of abs.

I’m very lucky in that I get to teach improv around 8 times a week. It’s a dream come true for me. I feel like I’ve found the cheat code to the universe. I get to do something that I enjoy, that I’m pretty good at, and that makes me a better human being.

But you can’t just be a teacher. Your batteries will eventually deplete to nothing.

You can’t help other people unlock their innate creativity, if you’re not creating yourself. Fundamentally, as an improviser, you need to keep performing and learning if you want to maintain your mojo as a teacher.

The longer I go without working on a show, without performing in ensemble or learning new things with new people, the worse I feel as a teacher. We all know of at least one improv instructor who hasn’t performed for years, who is living off his past glories instead of taking any kind of creative risk and making something new. Those classes feel stale. Students can tell when all your ideas are theoretical and never practical.

And sure, there are lots of activities that can prime that pump - writing, directing, making podcasts - but for my money, nothing can truly substitute for the act of being in shows. Creating together, making mistakes, trying new ideas, dreaming bigger and, yes, sometimes failing quite spectacularly.

You’ve got to keep that flame burning within you.

Teaching can’t become an exercise in rote instruction.

And I can feel that call within me now. The finger-twitching impulse to make something new. And it doesn’t need to make money or enhance my reputation. Hell, it doesn’t even need to make it onto a stage at all.

I just want a blank piece of paper and an unmarked path before me. I want to plunge off into the undergrowth.

Only then can I return and take others with me.

<aside> 💡 Hey, my name’s Chris Mead. I write an article about improv almost every week. You can get the latest in your inbox by subscribing to my newsletter. Or check out the archive.

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