I was jumping on the bed last night in a spontaneous dance party to Soulmate by Lizzo, when I missed the bed and face-planted on my hardwood floor. Henry, my 13-year-old’s face appeared above me. “Mom? Are you okay?”
“Of course! I know how to take a fall! I was in the circus!”
And it’s true—while most people dream of running away with the circus, I bear the proud accomplishment of actually having run away with one. Well, not exactly running away, but I performed with one many times.
My Mom has been telling me to stop doing cartwheels since I was twenty-five years old. “You’re going to break your neck!”
“Mom! That’s so rude! How could you say something like that?”
“Well, who will take care of you when you break your neck?”
Mom! My cartwheeling abilities are one of the things that got me into the circus. Now, you may be saying to yourself, people in circuses must be able to do more than a cartwheel, but I’m here to tell you, that’s all it takes sometimes.
I didn’t really have a circus talent—I can’t do acrobatics, tame lions, or swing on a trapeze. I took a trapeze class once, but it nearly pulled my arms out of their sockets and I couldn’t stop giggling as the teacher pushed me, trying to get me to swing. And don’t even ask about my fire-eating class. Well, ok, since you asked, I took a fire-eating class from an opera-singing-fire-eater who’s house looked like a psycho-killer incubator—delapidated furniture, junk cars in the yard, hip high grass that had never seen a lawn mower… I couldn’t quite bring myself to actually eat the fire. Ok, to tell the truth, I couldn’t even bring myself to light the little torch. I had visions of my eyebrows—or worse—going up in flames. I’d rather not walk around with massive scarring due to my own ineptitude. Also, the state of the house had me skedaddling very quickly.
And so, when the circus asked me to perform, it was probably because my dance partner, Kim, an incredibly talented superstar acrobat/contortionist and we came as a package deal. I liked to call myself a “contortionist illusionist” as she did all the contortions while I twirled my hair next to her. Perpetuating illusions is my specialty—my greatest illusion being my talent. Amazingly, people always praised my flexibility, mistaking me for her. I just smiled and said thank you, not pointing out I hadn’t done anything. Sometimes I’d lie down and balance her on my feet while she did some amazing trick. (My favorite tricks being ones where I could lie on the floor–I’m not inherently lazy, just–the less work the better). We were actually flown all over the world do perform, finding ourselves in unique situations, like performing contortions at a conference at 8am in Texas in an auditorium. They handed us some sort of balls that changed shape, and we did our thing, in my case, cartwheels and variations on cartwheels, to a bunch of half-asleep muggles wearing suits. Or maybe it was the two of us who were half asleep. We hung from the ceiling of a nightclub in Palm Springs on New Years Eve, 2000, cartwheeled over each other at a Turkish nightclub in Amsterdam… you get the idea. We had our costumes made by Alexis Caramelo, a half-blind-little-person-drag-queen seamstress in Hollywood with a vicious chihuahua named Boo Boo. They cost us $10. We called ourselves Honey and Vermilion and we had the grandest adventures together.
And while yes, she was of mind-boggling soul shaking talent, I’m selling myself short here, I am a pretty good performer, excelling specifically at belly dancing. And although I’ve never been certain why belly dancers are often included in circuses (or any event with what they call a “freakshow” element), I have found myself on many “belly dance” circus auditions with magical people that live on a different plane of existence: giants (I’m not exaggerating here), kangaroos, “illustrated people” (also known as people with more tattooed skin than not), “little people” who wore Viking helmets with horns upon which they actually spun plates!
Now that is a skill I’d like to have! I often serve dinner to the kids while balancing a tray on my head—imagine if I could serve them their plates while they spun on my Viking helmet!
Performing in the circus taught me many things, most importantly, how to take a fall, a skill I really need right now after losing my father, husband, and best friend, Kim, in the past two years… and of course from my spontaneous dance parties while jumping on my bed (when will I learn? Never!).
I’m in a really scary place in my life right now, as a 50-year-old newly single mom who’s been at home for 16 years. I have to figure out how to exist in a world without Kim and I have to figure out how I’m going to support my beautiful children, and I’d rather not take them on the road with the circus, although on second thought, it could be fun. Every day, I get up and write about Kim, because it brings her back to life for me. Every day I get up and hustle, sending out resumes and letters of inquiry in between creating a magical home, making meals, cheering on my kids at their afternoon games and driving them everywhere. Last night, at the exact same time, one had to be picked up an hour drive south, and one needed to attend a birthday party an hour drive north, and their chauffeur–me–had a rip-roaring-knock-’em- dead cold. Figuring out how to get two kids to two places at the same time feels a lot like swinging on a trapeze! I feel so defeated sometimes, and I have to give myself pep talks, “Darling! You can do this! You have always landed on your feet! Well, sometimes your face, but you’ve gotten up and kept going! You can do this! When you wish upon a star! If you build it, they will come…. (my pep talks sometimes show up in fairy tale words or movie lines).
My dream now: To support my children doing work that is meaningful, spreading sparkles and joy throughout the world. But I’m not sure of my next step. Never in my life have I had trouble leaping with both feet into following my dreams!
For example, ask me how I met the fire-eating baritone? While doing the opera of course. Yes it’s true, I love opera, but I could never afford a ticket. What better way to see the opera than from backstage? I auditioned for my favorite opera, Pagliacci, starring Placido Domingo. I’d like to say I was singing opposite him, but no, I was a supernumerary (a fancy word for those people you see on the stage that don’t talk or sing). I rode a moped across the stage and pretended to be a village person. Mr. Fire-eater wasn’t singing either—he was swallowing swords, a talent I considered learning for about ten seconds before common sense got the better of me. I dance with swords on my head, I don’t need to swallow them too. I got paid to hear my favorite aria sung by my favorite tenor night after night. Definitely living my dream.
When I was 18, I wanted to be a princess, pirate, nun, flower shop owner, romance writer, lawyer or concert pianist. I finally landed on movie star, so I arrived in Hollywood wearing my little polka dotted dress and white gloves (I’d read a lot of biographies on Bette Davis and Marilyn Monroe). While I obviously didn’t quite succeed, I lived my dream, and then some. A quick compilation of my favorite dream pinnacles: I was kissed by a Beatle (on the cheek!) and even better, worked with a Beatle when I danced with Paul McCartney; I danced with the Go-Go’s on tour (if you don’t think it’s surreal standing in a little rehearsal room listening to “We Got the Beat,” live, ten feet away from you, think again); I danced onstage with a giant lobster with the B-52’s while they sang Rock Lobster; I wanted to make the world better for children so I taught dance to children with AIDS for ten life-changing years and I now work with homeless children; I wanted to learn the cello and Italian, and live in Florence and Paris– and I did. I wanted to teach school in the woods like Tolstoy; I wanted to attend Harvard; I wanted to have my own children and stay at home and raise them—all my dreams became my life. And who knows what other treasures are in store for me? I don’t know, but I’ll do a cartwheel while I think about it.
