If the last two weeks are any indication, the next four years will be hard.
In my day job as a marketer, I worked with nonprofit clients as they scrambled to respond to an unprecedented, illegal, and immoral freeze on federal funding—and talked with them about the mental and emotional impact of having that world-shattering order rescinded soon after. In my personal life, I’ve listened to trans friends and partners as they processed fear, anger, and grief—and had difficult conversations about whether and when they might have to leave the country. As a queer man, I’m not doing so hot myself.
I am angry—and I feel alive.
When I think about the next four years, I worry about the impact of the executive orders that are already sowing chaos and causing suffering. But I also think about a Topical Popsicle practice session that happened the night of November 6th, 2024.
That night, a group of people who’d been strangers only two years prior got together to practice an art form we’d grown to love. Those of us who were afraid shared some of those feelings. Those of us who were bitter expressed our rage. All of us made each other laugh harder than we had in the stressful months leading up to the election. All of us were reminded that community pushes back darkness.
When I think about the next four years, I think of the Improv Studio sessions I’ve been privileged to join since this past November—and how, regardless of whatever else was on fire that night, you all managed to make me smile.
In short, I think of you: the brilliant artists who have turned JP Improv from a random assortment of improv hobbyists into a community that makes this neighborhood home.
I think of you all recognizing each other on Centre St. and saying hello—developing friendships and hanging outside of class—going to each other’s weddings, if you can believe that—and, of course, performing hilarious shows that bring your neighbors joy they can’t get through a screen.
I think of you . . . and I think we’re gonna get through this.
I have a hunch that JP Improv can serve this community, this neighborhood, and this rebellious city as the enemies of love and freedom continue to make life difficult. What that service looks like, and how best to do it, are things I’m figuring out one day at a time. I would love to work on this with you.
Stay safe, stay sane, and remember that saying “Yes, And” doesn’t mean being a doormat. We say “Yes” to the reality of the offer given to us—we acknowledge what is in the present moment and agree to engage with it.
How we respond—our “And” —is our choice.