The magic is in the spaces

We need space — to love, to listen, to write, to live

I was watching a music documentary about Sir George Martin’s famous AIR Studios in Montserrat when one of the artists said the magic was in the spaces.

Mic drop!

The magic was in the spaces.

I knew exactly what he meant. Well not necessarily in the musical sense. I’m still working that one out.

But about writing, storytelling, relationships, life.

I immediately saw the wisdom in it.

So for example, when I write a story, I want the reader to feel my feelings. But how do I do that – without emojis 😜?

With space, of course.

A short sentence, for example.

Or what about a dash – you know – to allow space to make the point.

Or an extra line.

Because that’s where the magic lives.

In the spaces.

Or imagine you’re with friends, about to tell a story. You need space. That means the floor is yours. But if someone jumps in — boom — they’ve taken over the space with their interruptions.

It feels to me that if you want something magical to happen, you need to give it space.

Here’s another great example. My brother had a family get together awhile ago and we sat around the kitchen table telling stories. We all gave each other space – to tell our stories.

Without space, there are no stories

Space was the magic ingredient.

It made me wonder – does this mean that everything needs space if there’s to be magic?

Yes. Emphatically yes!

Listening is space.

Space isn’t just about stories at the table. Sometimes it’s life and death.

When Brenda was sick, we had many moments when there was silence. Not every moment needed to be filled. It gave her space. To feel her feelings. Express her feelings. Reminisce. Imagine.

Just Be.

Without the space there wouldn’t be calmness. Introspection.

We need space to live. And to die.

And sometimes, space is exactly what gets taken away.

When Barry was first diagnosed with cancer we were assigned a brilliant doctor. We felt lucky. Until – we didn’t.

I’m sure there’s a hundred reasons why he did what he did but I don’t much care about his reasons. I only care about space.

Giving us space to ask questions.

Here’s how his appointments would go with this so-called brilliant doctor:

Doctor enters.

Closes the door.

Stands by the door.

Asks Barry: How are you today?

Barry answers, like most polite society would: Fine.

Doctor’s hand is now on the doorknob.

Nurse will be in shortly with the injection.

WTF. You don’t need to be a body language expert to know what’s next.

He was going to leave.

How do we stop him?

Uhm Uhm ah ah – gone!

See you at the next 10-second appointment.

What just happened?

At that moment – space was denied.

He may have been brilliant, but he left no space.

And without space, there is nothing.