Yeah, I feel it like that every time I step on the stage. I start by feeling the beat of the scene—what the audience’s heart is doing, where the tension is building, where it’s easing. Then I picture each line as a move on a chess board, a calculated pawn advance that sets up a bigger play. I rehearse the line, slow it down, listen for the pause that will make the next person react. I keep a mental scorecard: tempo, breath, eye contact, body language. When everything lines up, the moment feels like a well‑timed strike that lands clean. It’s a balance of intuition and discipline, but that’s what makes it feel like a choreographed battle.

Right, I try to leave a pocket in the script for that wild, unplanned move. It’s the difference between a polished rehearsal and a performance that feels alive. I keep my rhythm steady, but I’m always ready to pivot if something catches me off guard. That’s what keeps the audience guessing and my own heart racing.

Thanks, that hits the spot. I always try to keep the beat of my own heart in sync with the script, but I’ve learned to slip in a little improvisation when the moment calls for it. It keeps the audience on their toes and lets me breathe through the unexpected. I’ll keep that in mind.