levity and laughter
seizing the grand and dramatic social occasions
Yesterday, I went from sitting alone in the back of a bus to sharing laughter, joy, and dances with nearly two thousand people.
I originally planned to go to the 48th Stanford Viennese Ball by train, but I spontaneously got my hands on tickets for the shuttle bus taking attendees from campus to the ball’s venue. None of my friends were on that bus, but I thought why not?
The digital clock in the bus’s cabin glowed 7.20 pm by the time everyone had boarded. With everyone seated, our driver kick-started the motor, beginning to maneuver our sluggish, big coach through the narrow campus streets. We first curved by the library, and I was surprised to spot a good number of people still sitting in it, working under the yellow overhead lights. We continued to plod along, winding past fraternity houses and graduate residences, many of which had their lights dimmed. Only a few lonesome cars passed us. Campus seemed strangely quiet for a Friday night.
As if reading the mood, our 50-something-year-old bus driver further slowed his pace, turned off the lights, and cued a playlist of corny teenage songs. The first song was ‘Blank Space’ by Taylor Swift. When we reached the highway some minutes later, he played ‘Young Dumb & Broke’ by Khalid on full volume. The speakers blared –
While we're young dumb
Young, young dumb and broke
Young dumb
Young, young dumb and broke
Young dumb
Young, young dumb and broke
Young dumb broke high school kids
I felt we perhaps weren’t quite the right target audience for those lyrics, but the core sentiment seemed not too far off. I couldn’t disagree that it was great to be young (and dumb and broke). How sweet of that chauffeur to play songs like that to help set the mood for everyone, I thought. Or maybe he still is a teenager at heart himself and plays them purely out of self-interest?
At one point, the music cut out entirely, leaving only the humming of the motor alongside the rattling of the chassis. There weren’t many conversations across the two dozen or so rows holding about 50 of us; people were mostly leaning on each other’s shoulders or looking outside. I overheard a few girls talking about their friendships having shape-shifted recently; some growing closer, some fading. The couple to the right of me continued singing song lyrics unbothered, even without the playback.
I looked out the large rectangular windows to my left, seeing a few lonesome stars and airplanes in the night sky shimmer through the fog of light pollution. In that quiet moment, I did feel a little self-conscious, sitting by myself all the way in the back of the bus, scribbling into my physical notebook. The bus driver came to my rescue at last: The music resumed, the playlist skipping right to the song Gasolina by Daddy Yankee, and I laughed hard. The last time I heard that song, I was probably around 12 years old, and I probably confidently screamed its lyrics without understanding what they were about.
Turning my head back outside, I could make out a large, glowing sign spelling ‘Hyatt Regency’ in the not-so-far distance. We were about to arrive: Our venue was a large hotel—the Hyatt—bordering on the waters of the San Francisco Bay. The green light signals from the large intersection we just crossed lit up the inside of our bus coach, and the driver’s immersive experience started to dissolve, slowly giving way to people’s excited chatter about our arrival and the night ahead.
*
Entering the venue and walking down the hallway, it didn’t take long until the attendees’ vintage-looking outfits entered my field of view, contrasted by the hotel’s modern backdrop. A girl walking in front of me had glittering silver butterfly clippers woven into her braided hair, matching her white-silver dress. I spotted young and old wearing suits and satin shirts, skirts and sheer dresses, Swing and Salsa outfits. Mutual friends screamed when they spotted each other in their evening wear, enthusiastically appreciating their chosen looks for the night.
It was still quite early; most people hadn’t arrived yet. I was excited to explore the space before meeting my friends. In the main ballroom, I found the orchestra doing open practice alongside the first set of curious bystanders. They wore dresses of all colors: Olive green, pink, shimmering white, midnight blue, wine red. There was a golden harp, mirrored by a girl in a brass gold dress right next to it. From an overhead perspective, you could probably retrace the color wheel. I spotted a girl on crutches, all put together in a light blue gown, and I smiled to myself—people really won’t let things stop them from attending this ball.
In one far corner of the main ballroom, the Swing dancers with their red ties were assembling. I wondered how they were feeling leading up to their performance. Apprehensive, restless? Relaxed, excited? They were sat down next to multiple long rows of fancy chairs, dedicated to the ‘honored guests’ of the evening: Donors, Ball leadership from previous years, dance instructors. Some minutes ago, right after entering, I had attempted to visit the hotel’s terrace overlooking the floor I was now on. A girl politely stopped me in my tracks, asking ‘Are you an honored guest?’ I had to concede that I wasn’t, as much as I wanted to pretend otherwise. The puzzle pieces fell in place. Good for them, I thought, it’s a nice terrace, and the chairs look comfy.
More and more people started trickling into the room, the crowd slowly erasing the blank space circumscribing the dance floor. Everyone was trying to claim a great spot for the Opening Ceremony that was set to begin soon; a spot that would let them see the ceremony without their view being obstructed. People softly continued their conversations, waiting for the leftover quarter-hour to pass. During that time, what struck me most was how many bystanders were smiling. People were laughing all around, in every direction I looked.
As the crowd swelled, a microphone came on. The speaker extended a formal welcome, switching between English and ‘Viennese German’ while cracking jokes in a British accent. The crowd erupted when the Viennese Ball was officially opened.
The Opening Committee started off our night with their traditional opening performance, choreographed by our own students. I knew multiple people on that committee; watching them dance, I smiled the whole time. Later, I asked one of them how it felt to dance in front of such a massive crowd; she said it was exhilarating to hear and feel the audience’s reactions. Following the committee’s dance, three ballerinas made a brief appearance; then, the Opening Committee returned for another performance. When the dance floor was finally opened thereafter—cued by our British-Viennese comedian shouting Alles Walzer—, hundreds of people flocked to the dance floor.
‘I’ve learned to make the most of my life and have fun and enjoy moments like this to really appreciate the community that we’re all so lucky to be a part of.’
- Opening speaker
Besides the Waltz Room, there was also a Swing Room and a Contemporary/Latin Room; a Jazz band and a Symphony; Salseros as well as Ballroom and Tango dancers. It seemed to me that in each environment, people were dressed a little differently, but maybe that was my mind playing tricks on me. In Latin, the dance steps themselves felt a little faster, the rhythm a little more varied. Dance mixers and dance contests continued all throughout the evening. We took a multi-hundred-people group photo about a third into the night; a Midnight Quadrille closed things out at the very end.
The most striking thing about the ball, to me, was how well it enabled playfulness and an overturning of our usual social norms. Someone you otherwise might not even get to say hello to, you now twirl around and share a smile with. One girl I danced with taught me a move called ‘the pancake.’ I’m pretty sure she totally made it up. It didn’t matter; we glided across the dance floor doing the pancake, laughing all the way. You wouldn’t catch me doing something like that amid 2,000 people on any other occasion.
A guy I danced with—a friend of a friend—said he didn’t know the steps for Rotary Waltz. I told him I didn’t know them perfectly either, but that we could give it a try together, because why not? Even though we had just met, we went ahead and carved a little corner for ourselves next to the dance floor, practicing for a few turns, and then together joined hundreds of others on the dance floor for a couple of songs. By the end of it, he beamed, saying ‘Wait, I can totally do this!’ I saw him do a bunch of dancing throughout the remainder of the evening.
Another one of my guy friends said he didn’t know the steps. I told him, ‘I feel like that can actually make it more fun, because you get to just try things together and laugh about it when you mess up!’ Even though he agreed in principle, the person he most wanted to dance with wasn’t there that night. In the end, he instead found his joy in watching the professionals compete; I couldn’t have faulted him for that.
*
There were also plenty of nervous moments. For one, I was really excited to dance with one of the Opening Committee members. We had run into each other at one of the dance practice sessions a week before, and I had since texted her that I’ve ‘completely mastered all the moves.’ Even though my sarcasm had gotten across, I was definitely nervous standing in front of her now. What if I stepped on her beautiful dress? (I didn’t) What if I crashed her into someone? (I didn’t) What if I lost the rhythm? (I did)
Halfway into our first dance, she asked ‘Is this really your first time? You move well!’ My mind wanted to reject her words, but in reality, she had succeeded at putting me at ease. All throughout the night, as we shared steps across different rooms and genres, she was an amazing dancer and an even better encourager. Most of all, she had a wonderful laugh that made me light up in turn, too, so I selfishly set out to bring out her laughter as much as I could during the hours we had. I learned that the grace someone else gives you really could make all the difference.1
There certainly also were plenty of awkward moments. On one occasion, I went up to a girl who was quietly watching everyone else from the edge of the dance floor and asked her if she wanted to dance. Her parents turned out to be dancing just a few feet down, promptly swooping in, retorting in a terrified tone, ‘No no, she’s a complete beginner!’ They pulled her close, led her onto the dance floor with them, the mom pairing her with her dad. As I watched the scene unfold, the girl just gave me a sorry look while the parents continued to glance at me. My brain struggled to compute what just happened, but I ended up not thinking too much of it. Although I wasn’t planning on endangering (or abducting) their daughter via dance, I could appreciate their protective instinct. I was a little sad for her, though—would her parents really hover over her the whole time? Was that what she had imagined for herself? I rooted for her to have a fun night, too.
Besides that curious incident, most of the stumbles were small in scale. When dancing, more often than I could count, I missed the beat. I went the wrong direction once or twice (times ten). I mistimed my moves in partner swap dances, ending up spinning on my own on a bunch of occasions. But none of it really mattered, not even in the moment itself. It all faded into the background; my mishaps quite literally disappeared in the crowd. The people around me and I ended up laughing at the absurdity of it all, together.
*
Looking back on this evening, I realized that for all the people I shared a room with, talked with, and danced with, my objective function was to see them laugh as much as I could. What if we all set our objective function to maximize levity and laughter more often? Maybe those first Viennese Ball Waltzers in the 1800s really were onto something.
Thanks to them, as well as all the amazing people making this present-day ball happen, I went from sitting alone in the back of a bus to sharing laughter, joy, and dances with nearly two thousand people. I’m glad I took that bus.
consumption archive & sampler of life
music
Still listening to Labrinth’s new album!
events
I’m hosting my yearly Fondue Night a couple of weeks from now!
snapshots
Sue me for being corny