I'm a top auto industry analyst. Improv taught me to scare myself in public.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Erin Keating, an executive analyst for Cox Automotive. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I tested that theory out in my mid-40s by taking five seasons of improv classes at the DC Improv Comedy Club. My goal was not to become a comedian — I wanted to take on a challenge that I could easily fail at.

Some of those conversations happen in small rooms, others happen in high-pressure settings: on stages in front of hundreds or thousands of people, on live television, at product unveilings, in podcasts, you name it.

I improved over time and got less sweaty when talking in front of people. There was still more I could learn.

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I decided to take the improv classes in 2018 because, honestly, I was a little bit bored. I had just left a marketing communications job and was trying to figure out what to do next.

At the beginning, I fought against my preconception that I had to be funny.

I remember playing a game called "Die, not today," where we had to mime throwing a hammer or a spear at each other. If the object was heading your way, you had to come up with how you'd survive the attack on the spot. Most people just tried to shield themselves, but one woman staged a dramatic scene where a spear nearly struck her nose. She grabbed it at the last second, saving her (improv-ed) life. It was amazing.

Improv is really about paying attention to what another person is giving you. You have to build upon the scenario they set up, a principle called "yes, and." You accept the premise someone introduces, and add something to it.

You also learn about status. In a scene, you might be the character driving the action. In your next, you could be supporting the other person's arc. Scenes are most interesting when you watch people respond to each other and create together through those statuses. Some of the worst scenes are when two people are just trying to compete to be the funniest.

Before I speak at big conferences, I talk to people in the audience to understand the energy in the room and what is on their minds. I don't like working from a script. It can get too prescriptive and keep you from responding to the people in front of you. I'm listening for the thought that is begging for a "yes, and."

Those skills also matter a lot for office politics. Those classes taught me to recognize an awkward moment, assess the reaction, and apologize if I misread it. I am now comfortable saying, "Thank you for receiving that with the intent it was given," when I know I don't express myself well.