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Nowadays, I'm not really much of a performer. I've developed a bit of stage fright since I was ten. In fact, I tend to be really self-conscious and physically reserved in almost any performance-type situation. I hate playing charades, I don't like dances, I don't tend to make wild gestures when I talk. These things just make me really uncomfortable.

But I have it in me, somewhere. My sister can tell you* about the little spontaneous performances I would give to her when she was young. As a babysitter (as long as the parents weren't around) I never held back in my use of voices when I read books to my babysitting charges. Being a teacher often means performing as well. These are all performances that I'm comfortable with, but I've even managed to get over my stage stage fright for a few (brief) public performances: three quick lines in my stake production of My Fair Lady (spoken loudly, in a Cockney accent), a youth conference skit in which I played Noah and had to belt out several bars of "I'm Singin' in the Rain" at the top of my lungs, a nonspeaking role as Penny in Brady's much-acclaimed Dr. Horrible skit last Halloween.

And the truth is that somewhere, deep inside, I occasionally want to put myself in the middle of these uncomfortable performance situations, because I don't actually want to feel self-conscious and reserved. Years ago, in 11th grade, my AP American Lit teacher (who was also the school's drama teacher) suggested that I enroll in a beginning acting class the following year. He had observed that I wrote great papers but almost never spoke up in class, and thought a dose of Drama 1-2 would do me good. I never followed through on his suggestion because, quite honestly, I didn't want to be a high school senior in a class with a bunch of freshman and sophomores, and because the drama people I knew were all a little strange.

But at the same time there was a part of me that really, really, really wanted to enroll in that acting class. Because I did think it would be good for me. And I thought it might be fun. And I sort of have this thing for going outside my comfort zone. I have always regretted that I didn't have the nerve to actually do it.

Awhile back I opened up the Washtenaw Community College Lifelong Learning catalog, thinking maybe I'd enroll in a cooking class or an art class or something, but another class caught my eye instead: Improv I. It sounded fun and absolutely terrifying and completely uncharacteristic of me. So, naturally, I enrolled. And then enjoyed it so much that I signed up for Improv II. And then agreed to continue in the summer. Some of you may at this point may be trying, unsuccessfully, to imagine me getting up in front of people and doing improv, and I admit that I'm not a natural born improvisational actress. But I've been learning a thing or two, getting to know some great people, discovering that at least occasionally I'm better than I think I am, and just having a lot of fun.

I haven't exactly re-opened that acting door that closed on me when I was ten, because whatever I may have thought when I was performing in front of the talent scout, that door was never actually open in the first place. But the taking-an-improv-class-for-the-heck-of-it door is another story, and is especially exciting because it's not something I necessarily imagined for myself. A cooking class or an art class would have been great, but predictable - they're doors that are already half open for me. Sometimes it's a lot more rewarding instead to choose a door that's been closed to you up to this point, open it, and let yourself find out what's inside.


* But she won't. Not here, in a public space, if she knows what's best for her.