Yes and! The two most defining words of improv. I’ve discovered they are not only useful in my work with elders, but also in life.
Photo by Kareen King
Over the last several years I’ve implemented improvisational exercises in my creative engagement gatherings, mostly with coworkers who jump in for a few minutes to “perform” skits and dances with little to no preparation. I love to see what they come up with in the spur of the moment and am rarely if ever disappointed. It’s always a win-win situation because not only do these improvisational moments raise the energy in our gatherings, but also re-energize the performers. Morale and camaraderie move up a notch or two for everyone, improving the quality of life and work for both the players and the observers.
I have played the “Yes And!” game with my coworkers, students, and residents numerous times over the last two decades. It starts with a participant making a declaration such as, “We’re going to the moon!” Everyone responds, “Yes!” The rest of the game plays out like popcorn with individuals randomly adding to the scenario. For example, the next participant shouts, “And we’re going to do acrobatic stunts without gravity!” “Yes!” everyone shouts, and the game continues until it reaches a natural conclusion. Imagination and outlandishness are always encouraged.
Last week, however, I adapted the game a bit, calling it, “While Waiting”. I drew my inspiration from Samuel Beckett’s play, “Waiting for Godot” in which two vaudevillian characters, Vladimir (Didi) and Estragon (Gogo), engage in a variety of discussions and encounters while awaiting the mysterious Godot, who never arrives. The play has been a particular hit in the prison setting where inmates have to figure out how to occupy their time while they wait out their prison sentences. Viola! I then connected the dots, realizing that most residents must do the same, as it is the last home in which they will reside.
“While We’re Waiting” is also played out popcorn style where declarations are made and affirmed with a “Yes!” I tried the game out with a group of coworkers and found it to be lots of fun.
The next day, upon arriving at the skilled nursing dining room, I noticed a different kind of energy in the space. I read the room and noticed the facial expressions and body language of the residents revealed a sense of listlessness and lethargy. I decided to do a quick check-in, asking for a show of hands from those who were doing great. One or two hands rose. I then asked for a show of hands from those who were not doing well. Again, maybe one or two hands rose.
“O.k., several of you aren’t responding,” I probed. “Raise your hands if you feel like you’re just kinda here.”
Almost every hand rose.
“That’s what I thought. Let’s see if we can shift the energy in the room. Who here was born before WWII?”
The majority of the residents raised their hands. So I told them about Theatre of the Absurd, a new theatrical genre that emerged in the aftermath of the war which left approximately 50 million casualties worldwide and a lingering sense of the meaninglessness of life. Enter Samuel Beckett and “Waiting for Godot.” I told them about the play and then invited three coworkers to enter the space with me. I explained the instruction of “While We’re Waiting,” fully anticipating that most of the play would be initiated by me and my workers. I was wrong.
“O.k., everyone, we’re going to pretend like we’re stuck in this dining room,” I began.
Several heads nodded.
“Well, I suppose that’s a common reality, isn’t it? So, while we’re stuck here, we’re going to think of things we can do to occupy our time. Anyone can shout out their idea, and we will all respond, ‘Yes!’”
“Let’s throw our hands in the air!” one of the residents responded without hesitation, to my delight.
“Yes!”
“Let’s smile at one another!” another one shouted.
“Yes!”
And for the next ten minutes, we whispered sweet nothings into one another’s ears, blew kisses, snapped our fingers, made faces, and so forth.
By the time the game was done, I witnessed a visible transformation from what I observed before the activity. Eyes were open, heads were lifted, faces were smiling, and everyone was ready for more. I did not have to juggle flaming swords to engage anyone. Like Vladimir and Estragon, we had figured out collectively how to occupy our time. The circumstances didn’t change. But our sense of well-being had improved.
Since this experience, I learned from my life coach that what I just described is an example of “mood contagion.” Otherwise known as emotional contagion, it occurs when someone’s emotions and related behaviors can lead to similar emotions and behaviors in others. So, before you go to work or enter the presence of others, check your face and your body language. What is it communicating? I have to check myself regularly as my default facial expression is a Norwegian scowl which I have been accused of as being bored, confused, unfriendly, or stuck up on more than one occasion. If you suffer from the Norwegian Scowl or RBF (Resting Bitch Face) or the like, don’t be surprised if you see it spread to your coworkers and the people you serve. But if you replace it with HF (Happy Face) and the genuine actions that follow, it might do more good than you might realize.
Addendum:
A lot of truth and wisdom is contained in the song, “Put on a Happy Face,” a popular song written by Lee Adams and Charles Strouse and showcased in the musical, Bye Bye Birdie which debuted in 1960. If you’ve never heard it before, look it up. I think it’ll brighten your day.
Gray skies are gonna clear up
Put on a happy face
Brush off the clouds and cheer up
Put on a happy face
Take off the gloomy mask of tragedy
It's not your style
You'll look so good that you'll be glad
Ya' decide to smile!
Pick out a pleasant outlook
Stick out that noble chin
Wipe off that "full of doubt" look
Slap on a happy grin!
And spread sunshine all over the place,
Just put on a happy face!
Put on a happy face
Put on a happy face
And if you're feeling cross and bitterish
Don't sit and whine
Think of banana split and licorice
And you'll feel fine