Empty Spaces

How long has it been since you were part of an audience, in person, alongside others? How long will it be before we once again witness live theatre, opera, symphony and ballet? While this time is hard on everyone, my heart goes out most of all to those who work in these venues. Not only is this their career and income—from set design, to production, to performers and musicians—it is their lifeblood. It is their calling. I can feel the pain and emptiness that must come from enduring these months and months of empty spaces—spaces that are normally alive with talent and passion.

When I lived on San Juan Island, in Washington, I was choreographer for the production of The Music Man in our community theater. One night, after the show, I was standing on the stage with an actor, a young teen. As we gazed out over the empty seats she said, “I am too afraid, I can barely talk when the audience is here. I don’t know how to get over my stage fright.” 

I said, “But, it’s not about you, it’s about the story we have to tell, it’s about sharing it so everyone in the audience can be lifted up.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” she said again.

“Look out there, see the empty space above the seats, the air?”

“I do.”

“Your job is to fill that space, that air, with your voice. From the front row to the last, up to the ceiling. You will feel it when the lines you are honored to say fills that entire space. If you can do that, it won’t be about you or your fear anymore; it will be a gift from you into that empty air.”

She stood staring at the big void, and then opened her mouth and, without a hint of struggle filled that space. “Oh, my dear little librarian,” she quoted. “You pile up enough tomorrows, and you'll find you are left with nothing but a lot of empty yesterdays. I don't know about you, but I'd like to make today worth remembering.”*

She looked up at me in awe, as I smiled and also quoted, “Oh, so would I.”*

* From The Music Man, by Meredith Wilson