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.

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.

Such as short sentences. Dashes. Extra lines.

Whatever it takes to make space. You’ll see it sprinkled throughout this story. Well, all my stories, in fact.

Because that’s where the magic lives.

In the spaces.

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

Awhile ago, 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 a 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 didn’t care about his reasons. I only cared about space—giving us space to ask questions.

This is how the appointments went:

Doctor enters.

Closes the door.

Stands by the door.

“How are you today, Barry?”

“Fine.” (Because that’s how polite society answers that question.)

Doctor’s hand moves back to the doorknob.

“Nurse will be in shortly with the injection.”

He was leaving.

How do we stop him?

Uhm—uhm—ah—

Gone.

See you at the next ten-second appointment.

What just happened?

Space denied.

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

And without space, there is nothing.