As human beings, we naturally compare ourselves to others, even though it’s often said that “comparison is the thief of joy.” I catch myself doing it too, especially when I’m on stage with other improvisers. I admire how they use their bodies and emotions so freely. For me, physicality in performance is tough—I know I can’t fully mimic the movements of others because of my physical disability. But I feel that way at work too, where it’s easy to measure myself against others.

Recently, I was chatting with a fellow student at the improv jam. I casually mentioned how I am always in awe of how good they’re in the scenes & asked, “How do you do it? I feel like I second-guess myself or overthink.” Since my brain is wired differently, I often lean on logic to navigate scenes. Their advice was - “Just turn your brain off.”

This simple advice got me thinking. While I understood what they meant, it left me pondering. To get more perspectives, I reached out to an online improv group I’m a part of. It’s a community filled with supportive, experienced improvisers, and their insights didn’t disappoint.

Here are a couple of responses I took away:

• No Gap Dialog
• The Second Circle of Attention — Patsy Rodenburg calls this outward focus the “second circle” where you tune in to your partner and the scene instead of getting stuck in your head.

But what really resonated with me was the one thing echoed in the responses: your physicality is one of the many things that brings “youness” to your performances. What’s incredible about that is no one can do what you do, just like no one can do what I do. And honestly, no one wants to see twenty people all doing the exact same thing. It’s that individual flair that makes us stand out.

At the Student Improv Jam this week, we played a game called Half Life. The suggestion we got was to recreate Pinocchio with about eight people. I’ve never seen the movie, so I didn’t know how to jump in. It struck me: why not slightly copy someone’s actions? Kara, one of the people on stage, was playing an angel, so I decided to mimic her physicality but became a bird instead. Surprisingly, it worked! Kara even told me my performance was perfect—it felt great to hear that validation.

That experience reminded me that there are no “shoulds” in improv—only “coulds.” I didn’t have to perform the scene perfectly or in the exact way I imagined. Instead, I embraced what I could do, and it turned out to be just right. This mindset is one I want to carry forward, both on stage and in my day-to-day life.

What I bring to the table—whether on stage or at work—is irreplaceable. It’s not about doing what others do; it’s about doing what only I can do. And I think that’s a valuable lesson in both improv and life.