Improv and Grief w/ Aram Balakjian
“It would go on to help me deal with loss more than once and ultimately contribute to the new direction my life would take.”
In late 2014, I found myself in a cold, dingy studio in King’s Cross, standing in a circle with eight strangers. A year had passed since my mum’s death and I was feeling utterly disconnected from the world. On a whim I’d signed up to a course entitled Improvisation for Life, which promised to use techniques developed for comedy to equip students to deal with life’s challenges.
The first exercise, the teacher explained, was to take turns “passing” made up words to each other. “Yibip zooop!” shouted a man in the circle. “Zapity hoolah!” another responded, looking at me to indicate I was next. My body stiffened and a swarm of anxiety shot through my abdomen - at the age of 30, making gibberish sounds did not come easily. A rush of adrenaline focused my senses and, more vigorously than intended, I blurted: “YIVOGAN DOOPANDO!”
As the sound emerged, a childish joy welled up inside me, something I hadn’t felt since my mum had fallen ill. This was my first taste of improvisation’s power to pull me from my thoughts and into the present moment. In the coming years, it would go on to help me deal with loss more than once and ultimately contribute to the new direction my life would take.
My mum had always been the most important person in my life. We shared so much of our personalities that it felt like she was the only person that truly understood me. After she died, I remained functional: running my business, maintaining my relationships, and dealing with the practicalities of life. But when I was alone, the grief would be sudden and debilitating. While driving I would be forced to pull over as tears blurred my view of the road ahead. Some mornings, I would even wake up crying.
By the time a year had passed, the sorrow was replaced by a lethargic numbness. At work I sat in meetings with important clients, struggling to generate enough energy to care. At home I found myself lost in nostalgic daydreams; the fridge door wide open while I relived memories of meals shared, or blankly staring at my phone recalling conversations.
When I signed up to Improvisation for Life, I was mostly hoping for a confidence boost; losing my biggest cheerleader had also been crushing for my self esteem. I arrived at the first class nervous and a little skeptical.
The exercises were built around improvisation’s foundational principle of “yes and...” where you accept and build upon another's suggestion. For example, collaboratively telling a story one sentence at a time, or striking poses as a group which are then retrospectively titled. Accepting whatever suggestion precedes you and spontaneously adding to it means there is no space to question ideas, or plan ahead. You must ignore the desire to be “correct” and, like a child, expose your unfiltered self.
The impact on my state of mind was immediate. During class and for hours afterwards I felt exhilarated. I would meet friends and find I was more witty, confident, and engaged. In the months following the course, I practiced regularly, organising groups and signing up to events. The more improvisation I did, the longer the positive effects lasted.
As I struggled to rebuild my mental model of the world to account for someone I loved no longer existing, improvisation was giving me the confidence to take more risks. Soon, I decided to make a big change: to wind down my business and travel the world. A year later, I was exploring Colombia by motorbike, challenging boundaries I had never dared imagine.
Paul Z Jackson, who designed and taught Improvisation for Life, is not surprised the course had such a powerful effect on me. He believes improvisation is far more than the theatrical practice it is known for. “Anyone that does improvisation,” Jackson says, “notices all sorts of beneficial things happening to them. It has a lot in common with mindfulness. Sometimes there is a dramatic shift, but often it starts with small changes and has a permeating effect.”
Soon my life was to take another unplanned turn. I had returned from Colombia when my dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and, ten months later, I sat in the living room of our family home and held his hand as he took his last breath.
Despite the returning grief, I felt more prepared this time. I had, after all, redefined my place in the world and found joy in freedom and adventure. Yet, as I began to travel again, I felt increasingly lost and alone. This, I discovered, was a different grief: the end of my life as somebody’s child. Assuming the same rules would apply was a mistake.
It had been years since I had done improvisation, but when it came up in conversation with a fellow traveller, I was reminded how it had helped me respond to the challenge of losing my mum. I decided to try it again, and back in London, I found The Free Association (The FA), a theater and school which ran courses in improvised comedy, culminating in a public performance. The thought of having to be spontaneous in front of an audience of strangers triggered a familiar gust of terror and excitement in my belly.
A month later I had completed three intensive courses at The FA and performed in my first show. While the goal of these classes was performance, the mindfulness aspects remained intact. Once more, I found solace in being among a group of adults behaving like children, yes-and-ing each other’s suggestions, and laughing uncontrollably as a result.
Significantly, I had also been introduced to the craft of improvisation. Performing good improvised comedy is hard. It takes years of practice, and carries students on a twisting journey of self exploration. Challenging myself to develop my abilities provided direction within an activity that also had a positive impact on my mental health. It was an intoxicating combination.
Meanwhile, in and around The FA, I discovered a community of welcoming, like-minded people. It was the perfect antidote to the isolation I had felt while travelling. Some of those I met had even begun improvisation after suffering loss.
Sammy Hannah, who now performs regularly at The FA, started classes following her brother’s death. “When I went to class,” she says, “everything else melted away and I got to be silly and play. To look for treasure in an imaginary box. It was my happy place.”
“People are there for you,“ says Fergus Shipman, who joined The FA after his divorce. “It’s not a selfish endeavour. Before each show you tell each other ‘I've got your back,’ and it's true. They do.”
Indeed, one of the unique things about improvisation over other performance arts is its selfless nature: the only way to elevate yourself on stage is to elevate your teammates. This results in a community that is supportive off-stage too, something that can be of great comfort to those who are grieving.
“It fosters an environment where it's okay to be vulnerable,” says Hannah. “You learn that your vulnerability is a strength instead of something to hide away.”
Over the years, improvisation has helped me stay in touch with the parts of myself that might have been lost to grief. It has encouraged joy and confidence, inspired life-changing decisions, and immersed me in a supportive community. Most significantly, by connecting me to my experience of the present moment, it has allowed me to respond to loss in more positive ways - to “yes and” my emotions and my grief.
Even so, the loss of my parents is still the hardest thing I have to deal with each day. While I have learnt to live with it, the grief has not left me, and it likely never will. But, I now understand what Jackson meant when, stood in that dingy King’s Cross studio at the start of Improvisation for Life, he told us we were already equipped to deal with life’s challenges. “Improvisation,” he said, “is just a way to connect yourself to the tools you already possess.”
If you want to hear more about our improv classes - click here for info on our March terms! We offer diversity scholarships for every level, so money is no object.
If you have an interesting story on how improv has helped or is helping you in the real world, please complete the form at www.thefreeassociation.co.uk/improv-in-real-life
