The nervous tension has softened now that it’s class number two. In its place is a shared anticipation for an evening of play disguised as learning.

A delightful cast of characters: a stand-up comedian, a gentleman in his later years learning something new, a local drag queen, a Casa Bonita actor, two gentlemen exploring a new hobby, someone dipping into corporate learning, a gal building confidence, and then there’s me. Only I’m not quite sure what word my fellow comedy colleagues would use to describe me through their lens.

They don’t know Corporate Emma or Creative Emma or [insert another descriptive adjective] Emma. Just Emma, here to be silly and learn alongside them. Or maybe “Energetic Emma,” as declared during the name game we return to, complete with an exaggerated motion so the rest of the class remembers.

Our evening begins with an exercise designed to pull us out of our heads and into our bodies. We move around the room, make weird noises, mime and mimic one another as the games evolve, each with an intention: eye contact, awareness, listening.

Eventually, we advance into role-playing and scene building, which I’m learning feels a lot like playing imaginary doctor or grocery store as a kid.

There’s something quietly sacred about these Tuesday nights. Phones tucked away for 2.5 hours. Giggles unlimited, both as actors and audience. The stressful client call that fogged up the afternoon somehow dissolves. Dare I say it disappears?

Maybe that’s what I’m starting to like about this improv thing. You’re forced to be fully where your feet are, fully tuned in to what someone else is saying or doing, present to the made-up worlds we build from whatever scene suggestion our instructor throws our way.

Enough rambling.

Just a few thoughts as I scarf down a dinner well past my bedtime.

And a simple observation:

I’m growing quite fond of these Tuesday nights at the comedy club.

Previous words of mine have included undaunted, momentum, and connect.

While on a girls’ trip in December, I was in the weeds trying to land on a word that would symbolize the direction I wanted to grow in—or poetically embody this season. Yet as I sat with God and a thesaurus, I couldn’t help but laugh when it hit me: IMPROV.

Now let me backtrack—I took like four improv classes in 2025, and it’s basically my new personality.

I signed up for improv intentionally, looking to cultivate three skills:

1. To take myself less seriously

2. To build confidence in owning a voice

3. To counteract overthinking through an activity that forces you to move on fast

(And if we’re being 1000% honest, I was told I’m bad at flirting, and improv utilizes many similar skills.)

In those four improv classes, I’ve laughed harder than I have in a minute and made an absolute fool of myself with strangers. I had to pretend to be an old woman in a knitting competition, a frozen statue who talks, and an explorer in the outback. It’s been sweet to feel embraced by some of the regulars—one I particularly take favor in, a woman in her 70s named Karen.

I can’t help but feel that so many lessons from improv are applicable to real life:

• The concept of “Yes, And” (accepting and building upon what’s in front of you)

• Leaning on your instinct and inner voice

• Trusting and collaborating with a partner

• Trying out a scene and following where an idea takes you

While those are my projections, I’m eager to see what lessons come to fruition over the next 365 days in the permission to be bad at something (and so we’re clear: I’m really bad).

Therefore, here’s to IMPROV (both figuratively and literally). I’m officially signed up for 101 starting in February.

Join me in being bad at something this year.

End scene.

em

Also, is it ok to lean a bike against a radiator? (asking for a friend)

There’s a band inside my radiator

who plays concerts unannounced

heavy on percussions

they bring music to my house.

Not quite my style,

couldn’t tell ya what genre they’re in

but their music warms my floors

which I’ll call a winter win.

Eager for the maintenance team

to send them on their way

but the lesson that they taught me

is to find the art in every day.

em

A neighbor with great potential to cultivate what may not appear in your plain sight.

Left, thank you for your efforts to understand life in black and white—but what if we gave Right more room to explore beyond the perception of finite?

You two can be great colleagues when you find where you align. Left, providing logic and structure; Right, connecting dots beyond the lines.

If there’s one thing the scientists, philosophers, and creatives before you two have shown, it’s that there’s an art and science to everything—innovation awaits beyond a step toward the unknown.

Left, I feel your hesitation, the projection of your doubt…

But may I ask that you keep an open mind,

as we give more space to Right Brain—the artist, the creative, the dreamer in me (and you), bursting to get out.

- em

Share Emma McGinnis

Subscribe now

I don’t make art for a living, but I experience joy in living when I make art…

Perhaps that’s the answer: a subjective definition. In some ways, aren’t we all artists? Making things out of the lives we’ve been given, each with our own style, taste, and flair. The art of living is an art form in and of itself—creating from creation.

I know not everyone sees themself as creative (I’m still learning how to own this part of me), but I do believe people are more creative than they think—and with this awareness comes color and exploration of the art in everyday.

Maybe the real question isn’t what defines an artist…

but rather, what would it look like if we all saw ourselves as such?

— em

While home in Nevada over the holidays, my mom and I pulled out the old school photos spanning the years…

And that’s when it hit me—I’m (we’re) growing up.

To be clear, I know 30 is still young, but this turn of a decade has served as a reminder that life is, in fact, passing. I’m a big birthday reflector. Perhaps this serves as an exit interview with my twenties…

To a decade made up of constant change, meaningful exploration, and self-discovery: you were marked sweet by the gift of deep friendship, transformative experiences, and divine provision.

Looking back, it feels like a chapter of chasing—degrees, jobs, races, passion projects. Of trying things on to learn what fits: relationships, cities, & career paths. Twenties, you were a decade of learning—some lessons the hard way, others gently—each with a reminder of my need for grace. A time of fumbling and flourishing; dreams pursued and abandoned; faith discovered; and a constant redefining of what it even means to be a “successful” adult.

To anyone whose path crossed mine—whether for a moment or over the course of the past ten years—thank you for your influence in this beautiful, fleeting gift called life.

While my twenties included many discoveries, one that’s top of mind as it relates to this here substack is creativity…

Shaped by a Craigslist roommate, the unexpected gift of things not going my way post-grad school, and a profound experience called Idea Camp, the journey of creative exploration has become a core part of what lights me up and feels like a piece of my purpose on this earth.

Which brings me to the turning of a decade—and perhaps where orientation for thirty begins.

While many dreams occupy my mind for the next ten years, I’ll keep it simple for this pocket of the internet: when I grow up, I want to be bold—creating unapologetically, continually exploring the right side of my brain, and intentionally connecting with others who bring their ideas and craft into the world. I’m eager to follow the through-lines between art and athletics to see where they lead, and to unravel the creative chaos brewing within.

Therefore, welcome to my Substack—a simple vessel for this birthday wish. A space for curiosity and play, where both you and I can give ourselves full permission to explore our creative callings, at the risk of being bad, unconventional, or misunderstood in the process. I hope it becomes a hub for letting the artistic mind loose and leaving things more colorful than we found them.

Cheers,

em

P.S. We may be growing up, but the only “anti-aging” I truly believe in is time spent with the people and activities that keep us feeling young. (Okay, fine—I caved and got a red-light mask too.)