This was sent to my email list this morning. To get these messages in your inbox twice a month, subscribe here.
Long time no email. But I’m happy to report that the manuscript for Improvising with God is DONE and turned in, so the editor can do her magic. So grateful to have the book finished. One giant step down, eleventy-seven (admittedly smaller) steps to go before it's published next summer/fall.
I’ll be getting back to my regular practice of twice-monthly reflections to you all, and I'm kicking things off with something my husband taught me recently about life and improv that has really stuck with me.
Robert is one of those people that picks up new hobbies, pursues them obsessively for a while, and then moves on to new things. I think he feels bad about this, like he should stick with stuff for the long haul, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. Life is full of great adventures to pursue; why not try as many as possible?
About three years ago, he decided he might like to get a fish tank. He researched and planned and ended up with some small catfish, rasboras, and the queen of the tank, a pearl guorami we named Frederica:
And with the exception of the untimely death of one of the rasboras, Joe Pesci, the fish have thrived. When we moved last year, we made a plan for bringing them with us, and the tank is currently in the corner of our dining room, to the entertainment of our kids and especially our cats:
Well, over time, a few more of the fish died, and the tank started to feel like a burden. Life got complicated as life does, until the fish hobby became nothing but a weekly chore: changing out water, scraping algae off the sides of the tank, etc. Every time Robert looked at the tank, he felt the weight of not taking better care of it, which made him want to devote even less time to it. (Negative feelings aren’t great motivators, are they?)
I expected him to keep the tank minimally functioning, but phase out of this hobby over time as the remaining fish died. That’s probably what I would have done.
But he didn’t do that. Instead, he doubled down on it.
First, he bought more fish for the tank, and we all watched with delight as the rasboras schooled with their new friends almost immediately. They even pinked up in color, which apparently is a sign of contentment in fish:
Robert also made the move from plastic plants to live ones. And he acquired some snails and small shrimp, which are theoretically supposed to help with algae cleanup.
In the short-term, all of this involves a lot more work—acquiring the new items, introducing them to the tank, and cleaning it even more often, since the live plants required better lighting, which can encourage algae to grow, and the snail population isn’t quite… how should we say… abundant enough to keep up with their cleaning duties.
But over time, the investment seems to be paying off—the tank still needs maintenance and always will, but the fish are happier, and the shrimp and snails are chomping away at the algae.
This strikes me as fundamental to living improvisationally—to saying Yes And to the circumstances of our lives. When we’re feeling bored or disconnected from something, the temptation can be strong to walk away from it. That’s fine sometimes—energies shift, and Robert is under no obligation to be a fish owner for the rest of his life. But maybe that sense of disconnection isn’t a sign to let something go, but to go deeper with it: to invest more time, not less; to find creative new ways to engage the situation; or to change something about it, even if that requires more energy than you think you have.
I'm curious if you've ever experienced this in your own life.
Peace, Joy and Yes, MaryAnn