The Opportune Ad Lib

Not That I Can Plan, But I Can Hope

I’m a big fan of the ad lib.

Apart from Donald Trump, who used ad libs to mock, taunt, and generally drive deeper a divisive wedge, ad libs often succeed in informalizing a scripted speech, and drawing listeners close. Going off-script to say something humorous and/or relevant to the moment is both a windfall for the reader and disarming to the audience.

I’m going to be doing a fair amount of public speaking this week, and I’m nervous. I have two tribute speeches to deliver for graduating seniors, I was asked to share a personal reflection on why I write along with some of my work at school, and most terrifying of all, I am reading a story I wrote at a storytelling event. Reading what I have written aloud to myself has made me acutely aware of how practice might make for fewer errors, but it often results in less sparkle. That’s why I am hoping for an ad lib.

The thing about ad libs is that, by definition, you can’t plan them. They have to connect organically to what you’re saying and how you are feeling in the moment. One of the most famous ad libs in quasi-recent history was Dustin Hoffman’s, who was playing Ratso Rizzo in “Midnight Cowboy.” Hoffman very genuinely slammed his hand on the very real hood of the very real car that almost very really hit him in a Manhattan crosswalk and said, “Hey, I’m walking here.” Somehow, he managed to stay in character as he said what was really on his mind in the moment. Really impressive, though in this case, I’m hoping for something unexpected in non-potentially deadly way, like a dog in the audience that reminds me of my dog Charlie.

I may get to the story reading and stick to the script, but I really hope not. An ad lib would demonstrate that I’m relaxed, present, feeling the vibe of the audience, and paying attention to what’s going on.

Then, in that unexpected dancing-on-the-tightrope moment, I will say something that will surprise and delight everyone, including myself.