It's easy, too easy, to live inside.
We're a click away from groceries, movies, paper towels. We can ask our artificially intelligent speakers to give us current weather conditions or play radio hits from 1989. In the comfort of our homes, we aren't forced to interact with anyone we don't know.
Yet there's untold value in living outside.
Our sofa cushions were lonely last weekend. The only entertainment we sought was out in the real world. We rooted for the home team and enjoyed two live stage performances, surrounded every time by like-minded strangers.
Friday night was devoted to a Frisco RoughRiders game. I am a fair-weather fan, preferring baseball in the glory of April. You're not sweaty by the time you walk from the parking garage to the entry gates. There are no heat-related tantrums in the park. No matter your team, there's still hope for a winning season.
A trip to the Frisco ballpark is inexpensive and social all at once. We always run into friends. We chat with folks seated nearby and in concession lines.
On this visit, a fan was wearing both an Auburn University T-shirt and a University of Alabama pullover. My son, who will attend Auburn beginning in the fall, was intrigued and struck up a conversation. We learned that he's a diehard Alabama fan first, the SEC second. He was ready to cheer for the Auburn Tigers in the Final Four and wished Cooper luck as he begins a new journey.
We all stood up and sang "Take Me Out to the Ball Game." I'm a terrible singer, I but I always belt that one with gusto, emboldened by the crowds.
The next night we settled in at a local theater to support one of my former students. Princess Whatsername offered mashed-up fairy tales performed by elementary- and middle-school children. They almost always remembered their cues and lines.
We were wowed by some of the singing voices (much better than mine) and smooth dance moves. We belly-laughed when the 5-year-old bear roared with ferocity. We knew almost no one on stage, but we cheered for each of them like they were our own.
And then the next day one of our dreams came true. We attended the Sunday matinee of Hamilton at the Music Hall at Fair Park.
This was a repeat watching; we lucked into tickets for a performance in Chicago in 2017 and have been reminiscing about it ever since, hoping for a chance to see the musical again. (I vowed to keep my own singing in my head.)
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| Photo by Joan Marcus The Schuyler Sisters from Hamilton |
There's something magical about being in the same space and experiencing similar emotions as 3,000 other people.
Chills when the first note hits.
Laughter when King George saunters on the stage.
Holding your breath when Eliza sings about her husband's affair.
Sobbing when she later mourns the death of their son.
Leaping to your feet when the last note ends, wishing you could stay for the next performance.
I'm thankful for Amazon Prime, high-speed internet access and on-demand viewing. There are evenings when I've had enough of other people, thank you very much, and want to retreat to my cozy home with only my own people.
Yet we need shared experiences to remain in community. We need to clap, cheer, groan, sing, dance, laugh and cry together — with people we know and people we may never see again.
Spring is the best time in North Texas for a festival. Get out and listen to some live music. Find a school performance nearby. Go to a game — any game — and enjoy the camaraderie of the crowd. Let's leave our cozy cocoons long enough to meet one another in the lobby, in the stands, in line for snacks and to celebrate living together.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.
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