Last Friday, I spent at least an hour negotiating with myself right before improv class.

While I got changed, prepared a snack, and started laundry, each additional decision required more energy, more convincing to push through. After a long week, my usual routine had become an uphill battle. I no longer felt self-motivated or excited, even when it came to going to a class I chose for myself. I felt like I was bargaining with a tired little girl: "Do one more thing and I'll give you what you want."

My body from the moment I decided to get ready all the way to getting to class, felt numb. I had pushed so far that week, I could feel a general humming and electrical buzzing throughout. It was the same jittery feeling as when I've had too much coffee and not enough water: hyped up, moving, but not present and not grounded.

It wasn't always this way. There was a time when there was no negotiation at all. To understand it, I have to go back to my cybersecurity years.

My schedule revolved around three things: work, workout (which, oddly enough, includes the word "work"), and social plans. A typical Monday felt like the start of a race: taking a taxi to the airport around 6:00 a.m. or joining a call with my engineering team in Israel at 7:30 a.m. That early start came with the excitement of a new adventure, the opportunity to approach things differently that week. From the moment I woke up, I already had a lot on my mind: the flight logistics, a deliverable to review one last time, the answers I needed to have ready.

That pace kept me permanently braced throughout the day. Around 6 p.m., I'd head to the hotel to unpack before a team dinner or rush to a workout to close the day. I finished Mondays exhausted but proud. My competitive instincts left no room for a ten-minute break where my thoughts could wander.

Hobbies didn't exist in that schedule. Nothing from Monday morning to Friday evening lived without a measurable output attached to it.

Then Sunday would come.

Sundays are for letting myself be. I just wanted to end my Sunday with a movie while having dinner. I wished Sundays would last forever. Monday would arrive in a few hours and I didn’t want to wait another week for Sunday to come around.

Back then, I didn't know the concept of the inner child, the five-to-seven-year-old version of us who lives within each adult. Somewhere between high school, university, and those first years in the industry, I had completely lost touch with the creativity that had nourished me and the wonder that had entertained me as a child. I couldn't remember the last time I tried something new that wasn't work-related.

When I realized this, I started choosing it deliberately: drawing, painting, Muay Thai, public speaking, salsa, bachata, ceramics, mosaics, stained glass. Some clicked, others didn't. My process was never about becoming an expert. It was about showing up, sitting through the discomfort of being a beginner, and expecting no grade at the end.

Improv class is the current version of that.

So last Friday, I arrived to class where the warmup entailed trying to point in the same direction as our partner and clapping hands when we successfully did so. A couple of exercises later, I caught myself thinking: “What is the purpose of these?” “What is Shane (our instructor) trying to teach us?”

I laughed at myself. Aha! I almost fell into the trap of feeding my mind a logical reason to step out, convinced that Shane hadn't planned the class and that I was wasting my time.

The class was fully prepared: the whiteboard read the theme “Self-Trust. Be obvious,” with fifteen exercises listed below. As the grip of productivity released, it felt okay to stay.

By letting my thoughts flow and acknowledging them, I realized how absorbed I had been in them all week. The little girl in me had been present from the moment I had walked in. I was the one who kept trying to leave.

Recently, I remembered a client once told me he used to play basketball with his best friend before he became a father and a senior leader. They'd go to the court for hours with no agenda, laugh, catch up, let time take its course. He couldn’t remember the last time he did that.

I know exactly what he meant.

When a week gets tough, creativity is often the first thing to lose its spot. Other decisions stack up and the space closes.

The inner child, the one who drew for the pleasure of combining colors, who moved because it felt uplifting, who tried things with no outcome in mind, is still there. It doesn't disappear, it waits. The negotiation is actually the signal of our inner spark still showing up, still asking.

The question is whether we’ll answer.

"The creative adult is the child who survived." — Ursula K. Le Guin

See you Saturday and this Wednesday, if you are in Austin.

Victoria Grandury
CEO & Founder, Limitless Rebel
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