Never give up, said the person sitting next to me in the theatre as we chatted in the interval of Hamilton.
When I arrived at the theatre in London’s West End, I took my seat and looked around at the room. This was my first time going to see a musical. I was entranced by the building: the architecture, the grandeur. I was early to arrive, and sat toward the back. With that said, I had an excellent view of the show.
An older couple, who I later learned were in their 60s, came and sat down next to me. The husband and I exchanged pleasantaries. I was thankful for someone reaching out. I had been in my own world. To be invited into a new conversation at that time was a pleasure.
We had fifteen minutes or so to talk before the show began. The husband was a physical therapist who worked with actors and people in theatre. He told me of stories of people he had helped. With every passing story, I was delighted. I was introduced to his wife, a former nurse and now project manager. I thought in the back of my head how much of an impact on people’s lives they must have had.
The conversation went on to architecture. We spoke about the details of the theatre; the husband loved the construction. Back home, we don’t have theatres like this. I later found out he was from Finland. We spoke about the romance of the building and the impression it makes on visitors.
The husband remarked that to build a structure like this is hard. You could, technically, construct a box. But he said Don’t put yourself in a box. There is no impression to be made in a box. A box is plain. There is no feature that makes you look around with awe and think about what could be. A box is a box.
Don’t put yourself in a box.
The best things take time, we mused as we spoke more about the building and performing and art. At the interval, we discussed how musical performances are the result of much time and effort, spent as a commitment to make something that other people could enjoy. In the case of this performance, the musical both entertained and educated. We all spoke, too, about how musicals can bring history to a new audience.
I said The best things really do take time. I wonder how many months it took to curate every detail of the show: the stage, the dances, the clothing, the singing, the musical oratory, the movements of props, memorising lines.
The performance was seemingly perfect, I said. That’s how you know the actors are skilled, we agreed.
Never give up., the man then said. Don’t put yourself in a box. Never give up.
I was left with a newfound zest for life, energised by how one conversation in one place at one time could broaden my worldview so much. And how the musical could open my eyes to the vast potential of us all. With practice, we can make things that can evoke emotion; that create joy.
The husband, the wife, and I spoke for around thirty minutes before the performance and during the interval. The last thing I remember aside from the impression of saying goodbye was never give up.
