While in Canada, I attended a ceilidh. A ceilidh (pronounced KAY-lee) is a traditional Scottish and Irish social gathering that features live folk music and dance. This one was more accurately a concert. About a hundred people sat in a semicircle around the performers.
Unlike most concerts, this didn’t have the usual prohibition of recordings and photographs. From the back, I noticed how many hands held smartphones high at any given moment. It reminded me of school days, when students wanted to be called on. When you think about it, smartphones do beg for attention.
Earlier in the day, I’d seen an informal review of a different ceilidh. The reviewer was disappointed that the venue didn’t offer a place to dance. Her point was well taken. She knows a ceilidh is a gathering in a room full of music, laughter, and people of all ages dancing, whooping, and clapping.
So maybe I didn’t attend a ceilidh. Whatever it was, a number of attendees spent a lot of time and energy recording short segments of it, fiddling (note the intentional use of that word) with their phones, watching instant replays, and showing the results to their neighbor.
I didn’t count, but several of these people left at intermission. I wanted to chase after them and ask a few questions. The big one was, “Did you fully enjoy the ‘moment,’ or was it more fun recording it?” I’m not judging. I’m curious.
And I’ll confess. I wasn’t fully enjoying the music while I was entertaining these thoughts. I even regret not getting a photo or two of those raised smartphones to illustrate this article. I enjoyed the moment; just not as intended. If I may use another “e word,” I was engaged in something other than the music.
Day two included another event that more closely qualified as a ceilidh. Photos and recording were prohibited. There were other differences, but I chose to focus on that one. It freed people to ignore their smartphones and participate in the performance.
There was an abundance of “dancing, whooping, and clapping.” The dancing was limited to the performers because of space constraints, but the audience whooped and clapped a lot. Toe tapping and knee slapping were hard to observe in the darkened theatre. But it felt like the audience enjoyed the moment mentally, emotionally, and physically. I know I did.
Looking back on both events, I find myself wondering if I was truly “enjoying the moment” and “getting what I came for.” It’s ultimately my responsibility to make sure I do.
Phones held high, or hands busy clapping. Both are a way of being there. It’s worth knowing which one you came for.
