You know how sports teach kids teamwork and how to be strong and

When Emma Stone confessed, “You know how sports teach kids teamwork and how to be strong and brave and confident? Improv was my sport. I learned how to not waffle and how to hold a conversation, how to take risks and actually be excited to fail,” she revealed a truth that shines across both play and art: that the field of discipline may change, but the lessons of courage and growth remain the same. Where some find their crucible on the court or the field, she found hers upon the stage of improv—a place no less demanding, no less heroic, than any arena of physical sport.

The ancients knew well that training the spirit mattered as much as training the body. They prized the agon, the contest, whether in running, wrestling, or reciting poetry before the crowd. Each was a test of courage, quickness, and presence. Stone’s words remind us that the art of improv carries the same fire as sport: the courage to leap without certainty, the strength to endure missteps, the confidence to continue even when laughter falters. In this sense, improv was her sport, a proving ground for character as much as for craft.

Her phrase, “excited to fail,” is deeply powerful. Most people fear failure and flee from it, but in improv, failure becomes not shame but opportunity. Each stumble can be reshaped into humor, each mistake transformed into art. This mirrors the lesson of the warrior who falls in training only to rise stronger, or the athlete who loses a game yet gains resilience. To be “excited to fail” is to embrace life itself, for all human striving carries the risk of loss. Stone’s words remind us that failure is not the end, but the raw material of growth.

Consider the story of Thomas Edison, who in his countless attempts to invent the light bulb declared, “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.” His laboratory was his arena, just as Stone’s stage was hers. Like the athlete who learns teamwork or the improviser who learns spontaneity, Edison turned error into stepping-stones. This is the same principle she honors: that to risk is to live, and to fail is to learn.

The mention of teamwork also reveals a hidden strength. In sports, one learns to rely upon teammates, to give and receive support. In improv, the same rule governs: no scene thrives without trust. Partners must build upon each other’s words, creating something greater than either alone. In this way, improv mirrors the lessons of the court, the field, and the battlefield—victory comes not in isolation, but in harmony with others.

Stone’s reflection also underscores the universality of discipline. It does not matter whether the young soul is shaped by a ball, a racket, a pen, or a stage; what matters is that they are placed where challenge and risk demand growth. Improv taught her confidence, conversation, and the courage to embrace the unknown. Sports might have taught her the same, but her path was different—and no less noble.

The lesson for us is clear: find your arena, whatever it may be. It need not be a stadium, nor a battlefield—it may be a stage, a studio, or even a classroom. Seek the place where you are forced to risk, to fail, to rise, and to grow. And when failure comes, greet it not with despair but with curiosity, even joy. For those who learn to be excited to fail are those who never truly lose, but only grow stronger.

Thus, Emma Stone’s words endure as wisdom for every generation: whether in sports or improv, the true prize is not the trophy but the lessons of courage, teamwork, and resilience. Train not only to win, but to grow; not only to succeed, but to risk; not only to speak, but to dare. For in this daring, in this joy of failure turned to strength, the soul becomes free.