Yes, and...
It is January 2001. I am 17 years old and standing in the pulpit of a Baptist church in Southeast Kentucky. Our senior class in youth group was visiting the area—where our youth group would visit for a week in summers—for the weekend. I don’t remember what my purpose in that pulpit was. Maybe I was giving a sermon, maybe I was just sharing some thoughts.
What I do remember is that I started talking about Whose Line Is It Anyway? I’d like to think I was the first person in that pulpit to reference the improv variety show, but maybe not. I was talking about how life is like an improv, how you have to make things up as you go along. Whereas on Whose Line “everything is made up and the points don’t matter,” in our lives everything is made up and everything matters. Seventeen year old me thought that was a killer line oozing with profundity. It feels a little heavy handed to me now, but the kid’s heart was in the right place.
I should clarify that I have never done improv comedy before. Yet the format has long interested me and, though I am not the first, I do think it has much to teach us about living. One of the basic ideas in improvisational comedy is “Yes, and…” which is basically this: you accept what another scene partner has stated (“yes”) and then build your actions off of that scenario (“and”). You can disagree with the direction that your partner(s) take the scene in, but you can’t just blow up the premise because you don’t like it. You have to work together and work with what you have.
That is some basic good advice for life. I think a lot of times we struggle with accepting our lives and the world around us as it is. So we will insulate ourselves in bubbles that are more to our liking, ignore that which disagrees with us, and generally not be great scene partners (human beings) that could improve the scene (our corner of the world). To best move forward, we need to clear-eyed about the scene we’re in. It is not conceding that a better world is impossible, but being honest about working with what you actually have.
This is probably akin to the final stage of grief being acceptance. Or that great Frederick Buechner quote: “Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Do not be afraid.” Yes, this is what is before us. What are we going to do now?
Here are a few examples of how I am trying to “Yes, and…” my way through life.
Yes, I cannot easily run 3-5 miles like I used to…
And I am going to consistently walk, jog, and slowly work my way back to something that is good for me.
Yes, it bums me out when a subsection of Star Wars fans review bomb a show because its leads are women or people of color…
And I am not going to let that ruin the fact that I personally enjoy The Acolyte.
Yes, I have not written as much as I would like to and whenever I start I often want to stop because it seems no good…
And I am going to work out my thoughts through crappy first, second, and third drafts and keep trying.
Yes, the way we pictured our youngest son getting baptized changed…
And we’ll meet for weekly dinners to talk about faith and prepare him for that moment, gather up family and friends, and baptize him in a swimming pool.
Yes, I live far from family members who ground me…
And I will talk to them on the phone, visit them, and more to make that distance shrink.
Yes, being a parent can be exhausting…
And I am going to sit with, listen to, talk to, play video games with, and do whatever else I can to help my boys and let them know they are loved.
Yes, going to church can still be difficult sometimes…
And I am still going to go because there is a life-giving beauty that can be found there.
Those are some really basic example, but you get the idea. My hope for you is that you find your ways to “Yes, and…” through this life, to be a good scene partner, and bring some joy to whatever scene you are in. Yes, terrible things will happen and beautiful things will happen too. Do not be afraid.