Both in improv scenes and out of them, actually liking and caring for someone requires a not insignificant amount of something that might surprise you, and sure as hell surprises me to this day: vulnerability.
Being vulnerable is raising your hand in 7th grade with such enthusiasm, a snort releases from your nose, echoing through Mrs. Early's History class and drawing the entire class's attention to yourself only to get the answer wrong. If something like that has ever happened to you... or someone who's blog you might be reading.
Vulnerability is also asking someone to exchange contact info, sending that first text, or meeting up for that first time. Vulnerability is a willingness to let someone affect you emotionally. Liking and caring about someone requires vulnerability, and vulnerability means welcoming the possibility of being hurt.
Discomfort, struggle, anxiety, nervousness, self doubt and more are all feelings that we often interpret as "bad" or even "harmful", so it would make sense for you (and humans in general) to avoid vulnerability as they would avoid a knife wielding madman. Vulnerability feels dangerous.
Yet, embracing vulnerability is a vital aspect of both improv and personal relationships. In improv, just like in life, truly caring for someone means opening ourselves up to the possibility of discomfort, struggle, anxiety, nervousness, self doubt, disappointment and (yes and...) even hurt. Because, liking & caring means investing emotionally in others, and with investment comes risk.
In improv scenes, showing vulnerability leads to more authentic and relatable characters, in which showing character flaws, doubts, and fears, makes them deeper, more relatable, and engaging to an audience.
When performers are vulnerable, they often connect more deeply with their scene partners, the audience and their own characters. This connection stems from a shared understanding that being vulnerable is a universal human experience requiring mutual support.
In turn, the audience sees someone taking a risk, a chance, or stepping outside of themselves, and they feel it. When a performer triumphs or their character fails, the audience feels what the performers and the characters feel as an act of vulnerability.
An audience goes into a performance, opening themselves up to be entertained, wowed, and emotionally affected. An audience expects vulnerability as they are offering their own vulnerability by attending a live performance. They don't know what they are going to get, but they are open to the possibilities.
Outside of scenes ("on the street!" as the kids say), vulnerability is about being open about our feelings, fears, and desires. Being open about our own thoughts, feelings, and desires is equally as risky as it carries with it the possibility of personal rejection, judgement, and even failure.
Although these different venues of life, from stage to public life, might seem disconnected, they are anything but. Vulnerability in improv, and life, is about having the courage to discover our true selves, and being willing to share who that is, even when there's a risk of being misunderstood, judged, or rejected. This kind of openness can lead to deeper connections and more meaningful relationships with everyone we come in contact with, on and off the stage.
However, often enough, this openness can feel dangerous. Human beings are conditioned to see this openness as a weakness, as if vulnerability were something to be avoided. Which, considering humanity's history, no one would really blame us, since feelings like discomfort, struggle, anxiety, nervousness, and self-doubt are often indicators of loss of status and acceptance in our communities, as threats to our well-being, or indications that we should literally run.
So, the work required in order to become vulnerable is to attempt to re-frame these feelings as natural parts of the human experience. We might try to find ways of convincing ourselves that these feelings are not necessarily "bad" or "harmful" at all, rather, they are our brain's attempts to help us navigate the complex rules and guidelines of functioning within a community.
As uncomfortable as stepping into vulnerability might feel at times, our feelings are indications that we are stepping out of our comfort zones and engaging with the world and others in a meaningful way.
Embracing vulnerability, although challenging, leads to richer, more rewarding experiences, not in spite of the risk, but because of the risk; because by taking that risk we gain a deeper understanding and more intimate connection with the our selves and others.
In this way, vulnerability is always strength, never a weakness. Being vulnerable allows us to fully engage with the world, real or imagined, to build trust, and to create genuine connections in our scenes and with our scene partners.
While there's always the possibility of being misunderstood, feeling embarrassed, being challenged, or having a difficult conversation, the potential for deep, fulfilling relationships and meaningful artistic expression are what makes being vulnerable a risk worth taking.