I Lost My Voice

You, too?

Before I left to teach this morning, I wrote a piece about all being allegory, unlikely heroes and light fighting darkness.

I was sicker than sick when I wrote it. Not just heartsick. I had become rundown and chilled over the weekend attending a series of dance workshops. Sliding further into respiratory distress at the start of the workweek, late night election despair pushed me off the cliff. I wrote because I needed to set my head right before facing my students.

Maybe I should have written everything is metaphor.

I didn’t want to go. I wanted to call in sick. I wanted to crawl back under the covers for four years. But, I pride myself on leading a nurturing class. Others were, no doubt, despondent this morning. Community is probably what we needed most.

I grabbed my iPod, swaddled myself in layers and hit the road.

Half the class arrived fifteen minutes early, a sure sign they needed to be with one another. I didn’t know who had voted for whom. I had to assume it was a mixed group.

In a raspy contralto I whispered I couldn’t talk them through class as usual. We would have a silent class focused on dancing our emotions. Whatever emotions we felt arising, we would let them spill out into the dance and move on like clouds.

It was surprisingly powerful to spend an hour moving in vocal silence, nothing but music, my movement and occasional cueing claps to guide us.

There were a lot of understanding looks and knowing smiles leaving class.

One student always carpools with her best friend. They are like sisters. They even vacation together. She took me aside, unburdening that she couldn’t share her election distress with her pal because her friend had voted for Trump. But there they were, together, in relationship, somehow working it out.

Another student parted with an observation that has stuck with me all day:

You lost your voice. What a metaphor.

There it is. Half the country is feeling their voice is lost. It is a sad and terrible thing.

I suppose the winning side feels like they have found theirs. I doubt it will be music to my ears.

With care, my voice will return. I hope yours will, too.

Right now, all I want is tea and Robitussin.