What improv revealed at the edge of a freezing glacial lake

I’m standing on the edge of a turquoise lake in the Austrian Alps. It’s quiet, still, impossibly clear - snow-capped mountains and wildflower meadows reflected on its surface. 🗻

The water is cold. Proper cold. ❄️

I’m going in. 🐳

My whole body says yes AND no. The part of me that craves aliveness, thrill, and waking-up. But now I’m here, my feet are frozen, my brain’s inventing monsters in the deep, and I’m quietly panicked.

I paddle in… then out again. Avoidant and determined. Half in, half out. Giving up and diving in.

Does this sound familiar to you?

I’ve seen this happen in improv. That moment before play begins. Watching from the sidelines, wondering what other people think, worried about getting it wrong, waiting for someone else.

Am I ready? Am I good enough? Am I doing it right? 😟

In the end, I did get in that lake. And I loved it. But not before cycling through all my usual patterns of perfectionism, wavering confidence, comparison, fear of judgment, and trying to find the ‘right’ way to do it. 🥶

And that’s the thing: the way we do one thing is often the way we do everything.

Improv is a mirror for life. It reveals how we meet risk, uncertainty, and the unknown.

And it can teach us how to move towards our edges with more awareness, compassion, and maybe even a bit more courage or confidence. 🥰