It’s not every day that 10 people point at you, yell ‘Die!’ in unison and all collapse laughing, but it happened to me, and I look forward to it happening again. It was during an ‘Introduction to Improv’ class that I took last November, and which I may never have tried if I hadn’t done the Hoffman Process in April.
My Process week had its own singular moment that I will never forget. On our last day, in one of our closing sessions together as a group at Broughton Sanctuary, someone said something funny that garnered smiles around the circle and a few chuckles, but that made me laugh out loud. I laughed so much that it briefly interrupted the proceedings. A few people marvelled at my strong reaction, which surprised even me, before I settled back down (though I had to bite my lip for several minutes more as I replayed the laugh line in my head).
I now see that laugh as a crack in a wall that had built up inside me. I was known by my fellow Hoffmates – and by my friends and family – as a nice, if rather reserved, fellow. Quiet, polite, not much of a talker, least of all about feelings or difficulties. Of course, there was lots going on behind that façade, but I only let people in at times of great distress, otherwise trying to white-knuckle my way through challenging times.
In March 2024 I found the Hoffman Process, whose approach seemed to echo that of some therapists and a life coach with whom I had been working. Of the many amazing things I experienced during my week at Broughton – insights into who I am, how I came to be that way and where and how I could change for the better; loving connections with my fellow Hoffmates that I treasure to this day; a week of reflection and self-development in one of the most beautiful places I’ve had the privilege of experiencing – one that stood out was our ‘play’ day, when we set aside the self-development ‘work’ and gave ourselves over to games, music and dancing.
What I loved most were the comedy sketches we produced and put on in the evening, as we lovingly sent up the week’s experiences and one another. Though my heart raced and nerves were wracked as I performed my part, I loved the preparation (to say nothing of the hilariously creative performances we all gave). We had what seemed like a ridiculously short turnaround time – an hour or so, as I recall? – to brainstorm ideas, draft scripts and work together to finalise our contribution to the ‘show.’ But that tight deadline, which could have felt like crushing time pressure – particularly to the anxious perfectionist who had shown up to the Process at the start of the week – actually lent a lightness to it all: go with what you’ve got, give it your best and hope for laughs (of which there were more than enough in the end).
Fast-forward to October, when I finally signed up for an improv class. For the uninitiated, improv is performing onstage without planning. The guiding principle is “Yes, and…”: take what you’re given (be it a prompt to start a scene or something your scene partner says or does), add to it and follow the flow from there. I say ‘finally’ because I’ve known I’ve loved comedy for a long time, but with the help of the Hoffman Process I’ve learned to call that love by its name and not be content to just watch favourite bits on YouTube (although I still do plenty of that too; recent much-played clips include Martin Short as a smarmy Hollywood agent in The Big Picture and Steve Coogan’s and Rob Brydon’s duelling James Bond impressions in The Trip).
So over the objections of that perfectionist whose pattern can still pop up (“What if you fail?! What if you’re embarrassed?!”), I resolved to find an outlet. That started with the improv class, which itself started with the ‘Die!’ exercise. To show our class full of new improv-ers the importance of getting out of your head and into the moment, as well as to loosen us all up and let us know it’s OK to mess up, our dear instructor had us do a rapid-fire group dialogue exercise. If anyone paused too long before adding their bit, the others in the circle pointed to them and together yelled ‘Die!’ A cathartic group laugh always ensued, and we resumed the exercise, lighter and looser for it for having ‘died onstage’ but lived to tell the tale.
Since that first course, I’ve gone on to do further improv classes, along with some public performances and exploration of adjacent creative areas, such as theatre. I want to try screenwriting too. Already I’ve connected with a comedy community and bonded unexpectedly, and therefore all the more deeply, with the group in that first class – much as I did with my fellow Hoffmates at Broughton. In both contexts, we let our guards down and learned about ourselves and one another.
These began as side pursuits to the legal career I’ve had for the last 18 years, but I quickly found that what I learn in improv – get out of your head and into your body; go with your gut; support others and trust they’ll support you – can enhance my professional work and personal life. As the great Bill Murray said in a December podcast interview, improv is not only “a great thing to learn how to do,” but “it’s great if you can live life like that too.” (Also, watch Murray in the “French poetry scene” from Groundhog Day and try not to laugh.)
In Hoffman terms, improv is play and creativity that engages the Quadrinity – activating the Intellect, energising the Body, simultaneously comforting and letting the Emotional Child play, and lighting up my Spiritual Self. I’m keen to continue the journey, and while I don’t know where it will lead, I know that the exploration – like that laugh that came out of left field on the last day of the Process, taking myself and others by surprise – feels right. I’m trusting it will lead somewhere good.
Thank you to Matthew for sharing his Process Story with us. You can read more stories from people who have done the Hoffman Process here.
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