Improvisational Boundaries
By T.K. Coleman
Sometimes we stereotype boundaries as barriers—rigid lines that box us in or hold us back. But boundaries are what make freedom possible.
Boundaries are like a magical force disguised as something mundane. Behind the outer appearance of routines, rules, and rituals lies a hidden power that creates space for synchronicity and serendipity.
I think of boundaries like improvisational jazz.
Let’s say you’re a saxophonist or a pianist and what you love most is to play around with melodies and harmonies, to take improvisational risks.
You might have some types of songs that you enjoy playing more than others, but for the most part, the joy you get as a musician isn’t from a particular song, but from this broader musical game you’re playing to make the song your own, to put your unique signature on the song in some kind of way.
That approach can be quite fun, but there’s one problem: you can’t improvise without a predetermined structure. You need a song that has a well-defined musical structure. This is my hook, my verse, my chorus, or whatever. That structure is what makes it possible to improvise. Without it, you’re just playing a bunch of sporadic notes that never make sense or strike a chord with people.
So, if improv is your goal—or rather, the game you enjoy playing—then structure is your starting point. What song are you trying to play? “Well, I don’t really want to commit to a song. That will cramp my style. I just want to go with the flow and improvise.” But that doesn’t work. You need to commit to starting with a specific song, but you don’t have to cling to that song. You can use the song as a contextualizing agent for your creative iterations.
Coloring outside the lines is cool and delightfully rebellious, but where are you going to get your lines from? Without lines, you’re just scribbling. With lines, you’re making a statement.
It’s easy to stereotype constraints, rules, commitments, and guidelines as boring or draining, but the lesson from improv is this: Boundaries are not bullies that rob us of our joy. They are bodyguards that protect our dreams.
Our relationship to boundaries can be transformed when we treat them like a jazz musician treats the structure of a song: not as a cage, but as the necessary framework that lets the improvisation come alive. The structure isn’t the goal of the music—it’s the launching pad for surprise, play, and discovery. We can then commit just enough to give our creativity something to push against, but not so much that we forget the real joy is in the improvisation itself.
What are the structures that give you the freedom to improvise your life? What are the rules, rhythms, or lines that make your world not just functional, but fun?
If you’re feeling creatively drained, aesthetically uninspired, or too boxed in to improvise, some new and improved boundaries might be the answer.
Struggling with boundary clutter, emotional clutter, or physical clutter? Book a Clutter Counseling session with T.K. Coleman.
The post Improvisational Boundaries appeared first on The Minimalists.
