Sssssssssshhhhh!

Whether looking in on a classical ballet training or a company rehearsal, whether the room is filled with children, teens or professional dancers, while probably some form of music will be playing and an instructor/choreographer might be speaking, it is quiet. The dancers are silent. This state of silence I took for granted, because we were all quiet. I cannot remember even wanting to speak when I was in my children’s hobby ballet school. Nobody did. How did we learn it? I don’t remember. It was, however, the norm for us. And so I spent years of my life not speaking, not commenting, not joking, (or only minimally), while dancing or rehearsing and thinking this was a normal state of being. Being silent. And listening. To the music, to the teacher, to the choreographer. One cannot really listen without being silent. Is that why they are anagrams?

What a shock I had coming. I never realized how chatty the rest of the outside world was. During my therapist education I was honestly flabbergasted at the extent to which my fellow TCM colleagues felt the need to comment constantly. Adding their stories and experiences that most often had nothing to do with the subject that was being discussed. Why? It felt frustrating that my time with a teacher was being used up by someone who needed to talk but had nothing to say. I thought at the time it was perhaps the mix of people in that particular class, who thrown together, sparked this commenting behavior. However, the same thing happened in other courses as well. Navigation courses became platforms for personal sailing experiences and horror stories. Who has been in the worst storm with the highest waves? The strongest wind? It was not that these stories were not interesting, but again, why not in the break? Why during the class time? I just hated being a captive audience. It was not what I had paid for. And then, the ultimate nightmare situation - the tenant meeting. Watching the clock hand stickily, grudgingly limp along until every tenant has had the opportunity to repeat what the last ten people have said in slightly different words. Trying to keep calm, but inside my head I am screaming, knowing that the meeting could be cut by at least one third if this urge to speak could be suppressed. Is it only me? Am I the only one feeling the weight of the sand draining through the hourglass at these moments? Feeling my hair growing grayer? Waiting impatiently for the last redundant comment to be proclaimed? And so it was that I realized to my sorrow I had been living in a rare and beautiful space. And that the normal state of the world is a loud and chatty one. I know that this silent trait is not only from ballet, but definitely strengthened by my decades in this quiet profession. As a child, my report card invariably contained a “could participate in class more” comment. I was a listening child not a chatty one. And my mother, as role model, was not a big talker either, preferring to sit back and let others speak. Luckily, we are not all talkers or our world would be even louder than it is now.