To interview well, lead with curiosity. (But only if you’re ready to learn about questionable social media affiliations.)

I recently had the pleasure of watching a performance by improv duo DUMMY, also known as Colleen Doyle and Jason Shotts.

They were so, so good. Especially with character and relationship development.

And what was remarkable was how they did this from the minute they got on stage.


In improv, you start by asking for a suggestion to inspire your performance.

Jason asked for someone in the audience who’d never given an improv suggestion to give one. “It’s easy,” Colleen said. “Just say a word.”

Silence.

They waited, looked around.

Eventually, someone—we’ll call her Z—said, “House.”

And then they probed: “Z, did something happen today that made you think of the word ‘house’?”

“We’ve been looking at houses.”

“Find anything you like?”

“No.”

“Have you been looking long?”

“One day.”

(Laughter)

“So today was the first day? Let’s HGTV this. What are your must-haves?” [let’s pretend Ophira knows what terms HGTV uses…]

“A big yard. And this exact neighhorhood.”

“Do you live there now?”

“No.”

“Why that neighborhood?”

“I somehow got into a Facebook group for moms in that neighborhood, and now all my friends are there.”

“So you infiltrated this Facebook group…”

And so on.

With close attention to detail, curiosity, empathy, and humor, Jason and Colleen uncovered a sliver of this woman’s story: She and her husband have two kids. They want a 3-bedroom house, but the kids will share—the two adults will have two of the three rooms to themselves. Their second room will probably be an office. They want to live in this exact neighborhood because of this strange Facebook group affiliation, and, by the way, after Z—the sole outsider—joined this group, they stopped allowing outsiders in.


This material. So human! So deep! So abundant!


What’s all the more impressive to me is how even their choice to have a new suggestion-giver likely contributed to the show. My bet is that it improved two things:

  • the prospect of getting good material in the first place: newbies’ suggestions are probably more likely to come from their lives in some way than to be a choice they make simply because they think it would be good on stage; and
  • the hilarity: because nervousness in newbies means either undersharing, like when Z didn’t mention it was their very first day looking for homes until asked directly, or oversharing, like when we unexpectedly learned about the planned bedroom distribution between kids and adults.

But those are improv-centric points.

For the rest of us, who want to interview well but not necessarily to turn it into entertainment, there’s a broader lesson here:

With a little bit of attention, curiosity, and empathy, we can learn so much.

Open insightful conversations with simple questions.

Listen to your interviewees’ stories.

Consider: What context or details are you missing?

And then: Ask for them, one at a time.


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The fine line between laughter and tears

My improv class started meeting outside of class to give us more time to practice.

At the end of the first meeting, we did this laughing/crying exercise: Everyone stands in a circle and two people hold eye contact as they start laughing together. Then, by unspoken agreement, they begin crying while maintaining eye contact. One person turns and makes eye contact with the next person in the circle; they cry together and then start laughing. And so on.

Watching this was amazing.

First, it was funny, seeing the way people cry on demand and laugh with their whole bodies.

Next, it was interesting, observing how the interactions developed and changed and differed among pairs. It was uplifting to hear laughter.

Then, by the time we made it to the final pairs in our little circle, I was almost in tears, even when other people were laughing.

Because this convergence, this edge, this brink of laughter and tears? I know it.

When something horrible happens, I’m on that brink.

You know the feeling?

You think: Did this really happen, on top of everything else?

You think: This is so bad, I can’t even process it.

You think: This is so absurd, it’s hilarious.

Maybe you laugh. And then you remember. And you cry.

And while you cry, you think: Someday, this might make for a good story.


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Learning to say yes

In 2015, I took my first improv class. Several years and moves later, I’m finally taking a series of classes (I’m in level 3 of 6). This post is about why I started.

People relate to each other in all different ways.

Some make steady eye contact. Some nod when other people talk. Some interrupt with questions or with their own, probably more valid, stories. Some look for reasons to agree with each other.

Where my family comes from, there’s a culture of “No”. (Actually, it’s more like “No no no”). It can be in the style of “No, and”, which is how you agree with someone.

Isn’t Italian food your favorite?/No no no, it’s delicious.

We’re having pasta for dinner./No no no, it’s spaghetti.

Or it can be the more typical “No, but”.

Isn’t Italian food your favorite?/No no no, I prefer Thai.

We’re having pasta for dinner./No no no, eggs tonight, pasta tomorrow. 

 

You know how in German, it’s possible to negate an entire sentence with a nicht at the very end? Well. In this case, instead of listening for yes or no to find out what someone thinks, you ignore the no-no-no completely and pay attention to what follows it instead.

What no really means is simply this: I’m talking now. It marks a shift of the spotlight.

But even though these nos carry zero weight as far as the substance of the conversation, they do influence its tone. You start with a word that implies denial. Negation. Rejection.

And maybe, over time, you internalize it.

 


What if you don’t like how you relate to others (and to yourself)?

On the one hand, I’m a problem solver. I have evidence! There was that broken seat-back pocket on a plane that I adjusted with two hair bands. There were the survey questions I suggested to help a friend understand why his research subjects acted the way they did. There was figuring out how to keep our visitors and ourselves happy with different levels of outdoor time and physical activity while maximizing time together. Plus, you know, lots of math classes.

But, when it comes to my own sticky problems? What sticks for me is that “no”. Even when I solicit feedback from other people, my default—for years—has been to look for reasons to reject it out of hand.

To be clear, I don’t reject the feedback or criticism. I’m pretty good at accepting those. Eventually.

What I reject is the proposed solution.

And I do want to do new and different things, in new and different ways.

It’s just that I don’t want to do it that way.

And yet… what if I’m missing out on something amazing by looking for reasons for why not to do X instead of why to do X?

And… why do I reject even my own ideas?

 

Maybe there’s another way.

So I signed up for an improv comedy class.

Even though I’m not a comedian. Even though I’m the person who laughs at the jokes, not the one who makes them. Even though, more often than not, my voice shakes when I’m talking in front of other people.

Luckily, improv isn’t about becoming a comedian.

 


Here’s what improv is about: Accepting suggestions.

Exactly what I suck at.

It’s about saying, “Yes, and…”, which means actively accepting a suggestion: not only accepting it as true, but taking it to the next level. Heightening.

Here’s an example:

You and a scene partner are on stage. Your scene partner mimes brushing her teeth. You say, Ready for your date?

Guess what? This means there’s a reason for you, whoever you are to each other, to believe that she has a date coming up.

She still has options:

  • She can be excited or nervous and say yes and talk about what she has left to do.
  • She can say she canceled it because she ate some bad fish this afternoon and now she’s going to sleep it off.
  • She can be exasperated and ask if you’re serious because just a towel isn’t really appropriate date attire.
  • Or she can say something else, as long as it supports a reality where you would ask her about her upcoming date.

It also means you have to grapple with this:

The most difficult suggestion to accept can be the one in your own head.

You’re on stage (again). You ask for a suggestion of a non-geographic location and someone in the audience says ice cream shop.

And the most vivid association you have with an ice cream shop is getting broken up with, in front of a crowd, in high school.

Your scene partner is miming scooping ice cream into cups. Your first thought is to sob while ordering some flavor that your character will think represents heartbreak.

Your entire job in this moment is to “yes, and” yourself.

But you falter.

You think: Is this funny or just sad? Does it make sense? Am I giving away too much about myself? Will my partner support me?

 

Making the choice to accept what you come up with? It’s a fight against self-preservation. But it’s also a fun, silly, fascinating way to explore your own mind.

And the thing is, improv is a cooperative game. Your scene partner will support you.

Where better to practice accepting your wild self, finding out just what you’re capable of, than in a setting where everyone else will accept you, too?


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