birds of a feather

I was so disappointed when I learned that the keynote speaker for next week's yoga conference canceled and they would no longer need to use the concert hall.  I had been dead curious about that group, what they'd be like.

Years ago, I arrived one day early in the morning to unlock and clear the stage for the opening gathering for the tai chi conference.  They were due to check in about lunchtime.  There was a couple already at the stage door, looking desperate and crazed.  "We can't get in!  Can you let us in?!" New York accent.  Oh, I thought.  Poor things.  I tried to calm them both — do you see the irony here? — but, gosh.  They were in my face.  After an entirely confusing conversation about the stage and microphones, fielding one question after another about why everything was not already set up, which I was there to do right that minute, I finally turned and looked down the long hallway at the big institutional clock on the wall.  

"Has there been a change to the schedule?" I asked. "I thought you weren't starting until 11:30?"  

The woman's face suddenly cleared and she relaxed.

I have never met any individuals more stressed out and demanding than the folks in that group.  I guess there is a reason they were practicing tai chi.

Of course, there have been harrowing experiences, too, like the 16-hour days with the survivors of sexual abuse.  The weeping and praying and singing and weeping.  It wears a body down.  

Another time one young man from a conservative religious group opened up to me about his struggles with depression and his accompanying feelings of guilt.  He explained that as God's chosen people, in his community there is a certain stigma attached to depression and very real barriers to seeking help.  We're blessed!  Why should we be unhappy!  I appreciated his frank and trusting way, his bravery and authenticity.  

I am only paid to run lights and sound, but because of the quiet of the sound booth and the view, many participants in these conferences visit with me, and in that space I am privilege to astonishing moments, rare glimpses into the lives of these ordinary, beautiful people.

  

Each group has a look, a personality.  Listening, observing, year after year I would wonder: Who are my people?  Is there anything I am so passionate about that I would choose to spend money and time hanging out with like peeps?  I would mentally review the list of my interests — I have lots of interests! — and try to imagine myself at a conference.  No, nope, and no-no-no.  Money and time?  Cafeteria meals and dorm room beds and showers?  Hell to the no.

So I had finally accepted that I did not, in fact, have "people," that I was an observer, when one day a while back I was over in the student union at the cafe and a group emerged from an adjacent meeting room.  So cliche, but, really: it was as if the clouds had parted, the sun had burst forth, and the angels had started to sing. I turned to one of the students who worked in the information center, and asked: "Who are THEY?!"  These trendy, awesome old hippies in their Keen shoes carrying their travel coffee mugs were part of some sustainability, policy making conference. 

And I thought: Well, shoot. I could hang with those peoples.

I am a slow learner so it took me several years to wrap my head around the possibilities.  But in the last year I've been clearing a path and making plans. It feels good.

I'm still dead curious about the yogis, but since they booked another venue for a dance in place of the keynote speech, I am thinking it is possible that they might be a smidgen more relaxed than those folks in the tai chi conference.  I am sure the other conference workers will fill me in with all the stories.