In Yes, And authors Kelly Leonard and Tom Yorton of The Second City apply lessons from improvisation comedy to success in business. The title refers to rule number one of improv, which is to give every idea a chance to be acted upon. This excerpt from Yes, And (HarperCollins, 2015) looks at the need to eradicate fear.
There are several main blockades to good co-creation. In our experience, every one of them stems from fear.
• Fear of failure
• Fear of looking foolish
• Fear of the unknown
Fear may be a useful emotion for keeping us safe, ensuring that we floss, or making sure we turn in our taxes, but it’s detrimental to the act of group creativity.
Fear does not inspire elegant creative thinking; it inspires knee-jerk, path-of-least-resistance ideas. When used as a motivational tool, fear may push someone to run harder, but it’s never going to push anyone to run smarter. No organization or business will ever gain creative advantage when governed by fear.
It’s almost impossible to live and create in a moment when you’re wracked by fear. We know this because we’ve seen plenty of examples of fear-induced mistakes and missteps over the course of casting and running our theatre for so long, especially during auditions.
Every year, hundreds of young improvisers come onstage for fifteen minutes or so to work in front of producers, directors, and teachers, trying to get one of the coveted few spots in The Second City system. It is, without doubt, the most anxiety-riddled event that occurs at the theatre.
For so many of the young people who audition each year, this job is a life’s dream. The pressure is intense as these young hopefuls warm up in the theatre lobby before they take the stage, and the stakes get only higher when the stage doors open.
The best improvisers find a way to put their fears aside. They improvise freely and loosely; they make smart and defined choices; they take care of their scene partners and they let their unique sense of humor shine through in all the choices they make onstage.
One of the very early rules you learn in studying improv is to avoid asking questions of your scene partner. When improvising a scene, you’re supposed to be in dialogue, creating together. When you ask questions, however, you put the onus on your partner, and your partner alone, to provide the content and laughs for the material you are supposed to be creating together.
People improvising in fear ask questions because they are too afraid—too inside their own heads—to put themselves on the line and take responsibility for making the kinds of declarative offerings that serve to build the content of a scene.
Here’s how it might play out onstage:
GOOD IMPROVISER I love this time of year in Chicago. It makes you forget how terrible it is the other nine months.
A great initiation. The good improviser has placed the scene in a time and place—it’s summer in Chicago.
FEAR IMPROVISER Why are we here?
The question provides no information for the scene partner to build upon. It basically pushes the creative act back upon the Good Improviser.
GOOD IMPROVISER You know why we’re here. We’re here to get great tans, meet people, and maybe save some folks from drowning.
OK, the Good Improviser has us back on track. Without seeking to lessen the status of the scene partner, this information affirms that everyone onstage is in this together, knowingly. And now it’s clear that the pair are lifeguards.
FEAR IMPROVISER But what if I can’t swim?
This scene is going nowhere. The Fear Improviser is blocking every new piece of information and throwing it back at Good Improviser. The problem is not that Fear Improviser has introduced a lifeguard that can’t swim (that could actually be pretty funny). The problem is the way he has introduced it. He’s blocking, not building, the scene. He’s throwing curve balls and challenging Good Improviser to figure out how to handle them.
It’s not fair to Good Improviser, it’s not funny, and the customers want their money back. How might the same sort of scenario play out in a business setting, say at a brainstorm for the marketing of a new product?
GOOD MARKETER OK, everybody, our client has introduced a new craft beer. It’s aimed at men ages twenty-five to thirty-five, living in urban markets, and with disposable income.
A clear initiative to start the brainstorm—naming the product and its audience.
FEAR MARKETER Well, who would actually buy that beer?
Good Marketer has already established the audience for the beer. With this question, Fear Marketer undermines the validity of the information already put on the table.
GOOD MARKETER The demographic is pretty specific: young men who live in the city. But you’re right, we don’t need to pigeonhole our creative ideas to sell the product this early in the brainstorm. Any idea is a good idea at this point.
The Good Marketer has restored order to the meeting without challenging the negativity of the Fear Marketer, and the room has been reopened to all ideas.
FEAR MARKETER Really? I only want to hear great ideas.
And all paths to open and honest creativity are shut down. Fear Marketer is usually using questions to hide his fear of not being creative enough and being unable to provide the idea.
There is a place and time for asking questions. You need to know details in order to contribute to the greater conversation. But once those details have been shared, it’s time for the team to get creative and brainstorm. At that point, questions are a creativity killer.
