Asleep at the Ballet

One would hardly assume that I, of all people, would ensconce myself in a very narrow folding chair on the balcony of the Royal Theatre to watch ballet. That it was a modern interpretation of Dante’s Inferno may also be an indicator that Mercury was in retrograde or Mars was exhibiting aberrant behavior. One will never truly know, but I was in this situation last November on a cool, crisp night in København.

When you’re in a relationship, one of the things you understand to be true, if not initially, is that each partner has pronounced differences. These differences range from the obvious to the oblique, and part of your unfolding history together is determining where and when those differences will collide in meaningful ways. You hope to learn the outcomes of said differences before conflict emerges, but life isn’t always keen on helping you.

You’d expect to hear the first murmurings of my discontent with modern ballet by now; indeed, my dearest Emma did offer me several opportunities to find an alternative way to spend the evening. That said, you don’t know what you don’t know, and I’m never one to shy away from new opportunities.

I’ll cut to the chase: we both fell asleep at alternating times. There, dear reader, I said it. We fell asleep at the ballet.

I’m grateful that the chainsaw snoring that emerges when trying to sleep upright (and at various stages of weight) didn’t appear that night. It was a struggle to keep my head up (and the same for my darling wife), but this could have been more from the warmth of the building than anything else. A great dinner followed by the arts? It’s a recipe for delectable snoozing.

I say all of this as a prelude to understanding. You see, I could’ve spent the night walking around Nyhavn on the cobbled streets of history, capturing fleeting moments of others enjoying their beverages and the night air. I could’ve stayed in my hotel room, eyes glued to this or that, wondering how Emma was getting on watching the ballet. The choice I made that night (and indeed every time she asked) was to enjoin my life to hers in a common experience that resulted in a closer connection.

I don’t mind ballet. It’s not something I’d go out of my way to participate in or watch, but the poetry of the human body in its movement and expression is a sight to behold. That Emma has a history with ballet and is quite a good dancer means that it has a different foundation, a richer context, and a more meaningful occupancy in her heart. Far be it from me to not want to participate in something that brought meaningfulness to her, even when, at the onset, it didn’t for me.

When all was said and done, however, I think we were able to both walk away from this moment with a story that united us. Our falling asleep during Acts II and III, the character of the Royal Theatre with its gilded facade and old masonry, and the experience of being outside of our culture to find something new together all lent itself to the heady mix of relationship. Sure, we weren’t necessarily impressed with all of the ballet’s expressions and movements, but to find the passion within the artists and dancers and understand the means of conveyance they lent to a story from hundreds of years before? This is priceless.

We’ve made it to the middle of another weekend with various forecasts and activities planned against winter’s white, formless background. We’ll make choices within our families to do things together or apart, enjoin conversations and connection, or go our separate ways for efficiency or ego. I don’t know the stories or situations you find yourself in, but I know this: building relationships and connections takes effort and application. It takes setting aside the known for the unknown and venturing together into each other’s joys. It takes time and energy to love others for who they are and what their soul finds delight in.

So, the purpose of this week and weekend is to create these experiences and moments together, to build upon the love you have for each other regardless of hobbies and expressions. Fuck something up together, sleep during an opera, get caught acting the fool together…whatever you do, give it all to each, for this is where the magic happens.

May it ever be so.