I Worry

How about this: I’m back in Pakistan on a Citizen Diplomacy Action Fund (CDAF) grant entitled “Supporting Community and Mental Health through Improvisation.” Five days in and I’m only now starting to get my bearings. In fact, when I’ve tried to come up with a cohesive blog entry I’ve punted and, instead, watched all sorts of Instagram reels featuring clumsy panda bears and (why?) anacondas that have somehow slithered into people’s HVAC systems.

I’m here promoting mental health.

Thank you, CDAF.

…and improv, it seems, where we let go of our expectations in order to find inspiration in the present moment (a place where anxiety–which is future-oriented–can’t flourish). My best laid plans have been leading me in circles, so I’m going to take inspiration from my non-linear thoughts and let the (mostly) random order of these photos tell this story.

Onward. Sort of.

Taken from the in-flight screen on Qatar Airlines from Doha to Islamabad. My plane is huge.

The US State Department funds this grant (thank you!) but unlike the previous Fulbright experiences, it doesn’t determine housing or transportation. If you weren’t one of the dozens of travel agents and worldly friends I consulted to arrange this trip, consider yourself lucky.

Once onboard the plane(s) I watched wellness videos provided by Qatar Airways to ease my concerns (are my compression socks working? Should I be able to feel my toes?). After 37 hours of travel I arrived in Islamabad at 3:00am. My talented and funny co-facilitator Casim Ovais picked me up and drove me into town.

Casim Ovais with me on the terrace of the Fulbright House in Islamabad. An engaging storyteller, he.

Jet lag and personality got the better of me at first. I continued to fret about the things in my line of sight (I need eyedrops but can’t keep my eyes open wide enough to use them; the time difference involves simple and impossible math) and about things far beyond it (the world is on fire; the world is really on fire).

Don’t Worry, Be Happy by Emily Starck (2022). How did she capture the human nervous system so perfectly? And ironically?

The day-to-day, moment-by-moment focused my buzzing mind. Some evidence:

Looking out over the Fulbright House gate at the Margalla Hills above Islamabad.

Life goes on at the Fulbright House. (I may never use this.) (I will never use this.)

Ejaz and Sheeru (“little lion” in Urdu). Ejaz takes good care of us; Sheeru has other agendas.

Adeel, engrossed in the Pakistan/India cricket match. We were instructed not to talk during the game. Even now I’m concerned that I’m not using the correct terminology.

We wave at each other every time I leave.

Comforting straight lines between the boulevards in Islamabad. Excellent for channeling the frantic chatter of an anxious mind.

On Day Two I rode with Casim to the twin city of Rawalpindi. A world away from Islamabad, if only a half hour by car.

Saqafati Sure (Cultural Note) by Ahmed Habib (2020). Eerie similarity to Starck’s painting above. An old guide book I found compares Islamabad to Rawalpindi as “chalk and cheese”; “chaos and control” might also fit. Pindi, as the locals say, is vibrantly alive.

My CDAF project began:

I spoke about my CDAF project at the unveiling of the Pakistan Institute of Mental Health in Rawalpindi. An honor. The Urdu script behind me reads, “Untie the knots in your heart.” Poetry and psychology can coexist. See below.

Poster on the wall of the new PIMH clinic. I agree, for what it’s worth.

With the esteemed staff of the PIMH. One of the speakers elaborated on the logo: The endless circles in our mind confuse us; the strands of wheat, when ingested indiscriminately, make us sluggish. The goal, then, is to free the mind and disencumber the body.

Neon in a Rawalpindi coffee shop near the Pakistan Institute of Mental Health. A different approach to the troubled mind.

Visited four schools in five days to facilitate workshops; attended three rehearsals; gave two speeches, AND took part in this talk at The Black Hole, an educational and performance space in Islamabad named by an arts-conscious physicist. Casim-with-a-Q and Fizza shone!

Casim came up with the name “Laughing Matters” for our talks and shows about improv and mental health. Genius!

Along with Casim as co-facilitator, I’ve been leading workshops on the psychological benefits of improvisation. We do exercises that encourage participants to leap into the present moment even as they feel anxious or self-conscious. To do this, I spend a lot of time emphasizing that, in improv, our goal is to make our scene partner look as good as possible. We acknowledge the gift of their presence over and over and over again.

We also have fun, and, in one case, we had cake. I turned 64 on my fourth day here; the teachers and staff at City Grammar School in Rawalpindi got me a delicious red velvet cake. I’m becoming a crier in my old age (with or without eye drops). They sang; I got misty.

Celebratory photo at the end of our three-hour workshop. Cake, Casim, the school principal (next to me), and some enthusiastic teachers whose finely-honed improv skills opened my eyes, again.

Murals everywhere.

Rules, too.

At Bahria University. Modesty encouraged and enforced. Creativity unbridled, despite or because. I don’t know.

Casim is producing a documentary on Applied Improvisation–taking the skills used in improv and applying them to life outside the theater–while Abrar (center) has been our trustworthy and gifted cinematographer. He stepped in front of the camera, reluctantly, after our workshop at the National University of Sciences and Technology (NUST) in Islamabad. My goal is to make him laugh. I have my work cut out for me.

We’re also doing improv shows in three cities as part of the CDAF grant. Our first show opens tonight at Theatre Wallay in Islamabad. At rehearsal, the director and cast gave me a second birthday cake (chocolate with coffee icing). Oh, man.

Happy birthday to Eddie, too. I’m a twin in a family of twins; it felt good–and familiar–to be surrounded by the Theatre Wallay cast while I’m a world away from home. (Hi, Dennis.)

Moon over Theatre Wallay’s outdoor stage in Bani Gala, Islamabad. The logs are part of the set for a Flemish/Belgian play they’re producing, in Urdu, next month.

Casim oversees interviews with cast members for the Applied Improv documentary.

I chose two poems to end this meandering entry. My own words can’t encapsulate the strangeness of doing light-hearted improv workshops while the forces of authoritarianism and fundamentalism unleash such violent cruelty on the world. The poets Adrienne Rich and Mary Oliver will have to contain this fission.

Fission and Fusion by James de Villiers (2023).

Today, it feels right to put Adrienne Rich’s poem first:

Tomorrow, Mary Oliver’s poem may feel to me like “silly” words in my “personal weather.” For now, I like the fact that these poems comment on each other, one ending and the other beginning with that demanding pronoun “I.”

How to resolve this? In improv–for what it’s worth–we try to step into the unknown, the discomfort, the fear (and the joy). And then, moment-by-moment, we live with resolve, if not resolution.

One last thing: Improv’s not about me. It’s not about you. It’s about what we discover together. This takes practice.

Send me some comments, please.

Sunset over Rawal Lake in Bani Gala, Islamabad.