This week, I had the privilege of tapping into two different parts of myself as a teacher, parts that don’t always come out to play. It was a reminder that showing up and creating space for others can spark magic—an energy that feels like letting the whole world flood in.
Picture this: The deep East Bay... 13 bright, strong, opinionated tweens are ready to dive into improv. Okay, technically it’s 12 girls and one... avocado. Yes, you read that right—one girl in full avocado attire, from seed to peel. And she was committed. I couldn't help but admire her dedication.
Some of the girls had some improv experience; others were complete newbies, but all of them were bubbling with excitement. A few couldn’t contain themselves, giving me wide eyes and ear-to-ear grins. Others, however, wasted no time taking charge: “We should play this game, but can we change it like this?” They were assertive, fearless, and ready to take creative control.
And boy, did they play! Boldly, loudly, and joyfully. There were cartwheels, handstands, and yes, lots of screaming. Suggestions like “Channing Tatum” and “flirting” had the room roaring with giggles and blushing faces. They were affectionate, always wanting to partner up, include everyone, and make sure no one felt left out. They embodied everything—couches, tables, trees, rats—and sometimes all at once. They’d burst into song at the drop of a hat, referencing female singers that I, too, thankfully recognized. (I still got it. Still cool™.) The energy was wild, spontaneous, and so utterly free. I couldn’t help but think how lucky I was to be in that room, witnessing it all unfold.
Then came the final performances. They tackled “Dr. Know It All,” an improv game I was taught as the ultimate lesson in collaboration. You listen, you say “yes, and…” and you decide together when it’s time to wrap it up. They nailed it. Hilarious, unexpected answers flowed with such ease.
As someone who was blessed to be raised in theatre and improv classes, watching them felt like peering through a time capsule. Here I was, two decades removed from my own experience, but the heart of it was the same. Being in a space with all girls, supporting, laughing, and feeling free to create—it was one of the building blocks that led me to become a theatre major, an improv performer, a teacher, and eventually the creative director of Provocation Theatre.
And then came the first night of “Fem-Prov”—a female-centric improv space where we aimed to center and amplify our voices. Night one was all about “Be You!”—a space for these women to show up and share whatever felt most important. The curriculum was over-planned in a way—just in case we needed structure, but I also wanted the space to speak for itself.
And speak it did. What moved me most was how quickly these women shared their stories. The fear of being labeled a failure, the societal conditioning to be “good girls,” the painful weight of childhood bullying still lingering—and the call that an improv space could offer a small amount of healing and an invitation to play with these memories and worries.
The surprising part? In just 90 minutes—the same amount of time I spent with the Girl Scouts—these adults were playing with the same abandon. They rolled on the ground, shared deeply personal stories, made bold, expressive gestures, and were generous with applause and "whoo-hoos!"
The final moments were centered on gratitude. The space for women to express themselves and support one another felt so necessary. The playful barrier of improv encouraged risk-taking, and the absence of other societal roles (mother, worker, student) allowed them to simply be. A chance to connect, share stories, or just laugh and breathe together.
And there I was, sitting in the glow of it all, full of gratitude myself. I was lucky to have been a kid who was encouraged to be a Ham (or avocado), to grow up in a world of theatre, and to spend my life pursuing the art of creativity and performance. Now, I get to give back by teaching these same joy-filled activities that get people out of their heads, into their bodies, and a little more comfortable with making mistakes, while having the guts to keep going anyway.
Oh, and how cool was it to center all of it around our womanhood? A space where we could just be—where we could laugh, play, and be seen for who we truly are. A sacred space, just for us.
I’m leaving these experiences hoping that both groups—whether 10-year-old girls or grown women—will continue to carve out these spaces and the cycle of magic can continue indefinitely.
And about the avocado? She got a special shout-out from me at the end. Her dedication to staying in character through the entire workshop was nearly Andy Kaufman-level brilliant. I even told her I’d love to direct her one-woman show: Life as an Avocado: It’s the Pits. Her mom and I laughed, she rolled her eyes. Tweens, am I right?
Kat, as a Girl Scout:
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