Hushed Theater

The show lights have faded at our beloved theater. Another night's performance done. At this hour, eager audiences have gone home, only family and friends of the cast and crew mill around the lobby, waiting for their companions to finish their after show duties. However, tonight you've come at just the right moment to get a peek behind the curtain. A stagehand efficiently resets the stage for tomorrow night's show, he and his team slow to give extra care to one special part of the set, the delicate and cumbersome antique street streetlamps. They remind him of his favorite part of the play. A small moment when the main character, fresh off her first kiss, wraps her arms around the lamppost and swings herself forward with joy. The scene is finally set for the next day's performance. The stage hand takes a moment to appreciate the work his team has done, transforming this world back to a clean slate. It says if in this quiet theater, for a moment, the world gets to reset, to see if it can be better than the day before. Tonight's show was excellent but it's time to wind down and reset. However, before we do, I think it's nice to begin with a little wind down exercise. Tonight's exercise is a really simple breathing exercise. So when you're ready, let's begin. So first, get yourself comfortable. Now just bringing the attention to the breath, just noticing where you feel it, in the nose, the throat, the chest, the diaphragm. You're nice and relaxed. We're going to be taking a deep breath in for four, holding it for four and then breathing out for six. So when you're ready, let's begin. In for four, two, three, four, hold it for four, two, three, four. Now breathing out for six, two, three, four, five, six. in for four, two, three, four, holding for four, two, three, four, out for six, two, three, four, five, six. In for four, two, three, four, holding for four, two, three, four, out for six, two, three, four, five, six. In for four, two, three, four, holding for four, two, three, four, out for six, two, three, four, five, six. Great, now returning the breath to normal. In the back row of the theater, soft lights fall on a pair of wire-rim spectacles perched on the nose of the show's director. The evening's performance is over. The theater's empty chairs face a darkened stage. The theater's house is nearly silent, save for the sound of the director's pen scribbling notes on the evening's performance. Words spill out in a loopy cursive, decipherable only to the author's eye. Dark red ringlets cascade dramatically across the director's face as she hunches over the notes. Unconsciously, she taps the square heels of her boots on the carpeted floor, tracing the actors' sequences. She closes her eyes, replaying the tricky scenes over in her mind. Time slows down during this process. The old theater holds...