A Dinner in the Dark = A Lesson in Empathy
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. The first holiday, in a string of many this winter season, that encourages us to slow down, reflect, and show gratitude. When it’s time to gather around the table and give thanks, we naturally share how blessed we are to have wonderful family and friends, a happy home, delicious food, prosperity, and so much more. And now that we have young children, we are also grateful for their sweet faces and eager eyes; their playful and adventurous spirit; their desire to always hug and kiss. All things we should never take for granted.
But when did you last think long and hard about being able to see, hear, navigate space, feed yourself with ease, or feel self-sufficient and independent? Of course, I think about and am thankful for my family's health in the most general sense. However, I honestly don't appreciate what I’ve otherwise thought of as basic abilities. That is, until this past weekend…
On Saturday night, I dined in the dark. And by dark, I mean pitch black. When I embarked on this unusual dining experience at Opaque—where diners are deliberately deprived of eyesight to heighten their taste and eating experience—I thought that the premise might be more of a gimmick than truly something that tested my limits. From the get go, however, moving, socializing, and eating without the visual cues I’m accustomed to proved to be different and, more than anything, over-stimulating.
After forming a human train, our group was led single file into a dark cavern where we were seated one-by-one at what we think was a long banquet table by our visually impaired server who was there to help us navigate through our three-course dinner. While I never had trouble finding my food on my plate (randomly stabbing at it with my fork was a useful technique and more effective than a spoon), I was caught off guard by the disorienting noise. It was hard to place the direction the sound originated from. Even when chatting with people directly around me, voices would fade in and out or words would sound foreign. Sometimes I found myself talking to thin air. It definitely made me feel like I was alone on island. Other friends reported feeling claustrophobic or irritable after being confined in the dark for some time, wanting nothing more than to escape to the light. Some said they felt tired and closed their eyes. And a few felt like they really didn't eat a full meal because it was hard to successfully fill their fork with food.
All this is to say that not only did it give me an better appreciation for the challenges the visually impaired may face, but also that my dinner in the dark made me think of how a child, especially a toddler, might feel when trying to function and communicate in an adult world. Spoons miss their mouths. Our words and sounds are unfamiliar. They feel trapped because they are confined in high chairs, car seats, and other spaces. Frustration emerges after they try to successfully master a new skill but it doesn’t quite work out like they hoped. And they long for independence.
I am thankful that this dinner reminded me what a day in my son’s life might be like.
~ The Other Sarah
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Reader Comments (2)
Such a great lesson not just to apply to children but eldrely, disabled, and emotional wrecks. I try to rememeber daily I am not an island and long to understand those around me.
Sorelle, it's so true that the lesson really applies to everyone around you. Living a life of empathy is a great daily pursuit.