The problem is, we didn't grow up.

As a kid I always thought I would run away with the circus.  The idea - the certainty - came from an Enid Blyton story I'd read, and ever since it just seemed like the most probable thing that would happen when I was older.  I didn't daydream about it; it's not like other kids daydreamed about being bankers and teachers and scientists, so why would I waste time thinking about an inevitable?

It's pretty evident I never did quite graduate to carniedom, but my brief stint as a travelling performer did put to rest some misconceptions I had as a kid*.  It's hard work - that's a given - but it's also a boring life.  There's rehearsaltime, and showtime, and sleeptime.  Wash, rinse and repeat.  You absolutely live for your day off, if you've a mind to explore.  That's what I enjoyed the most about working abroad; spending time walking through the alien cities I barely touched.

But on the other hand, there's the love of your craft - day after day you do something that is profoundly your own.  I remember having distinct pride in the fact that my skill alone allowed me to travel and see things I would never have otherwise ever seen in my entire lifetime.

Something I find hard to empathise with are the people born to their circuses.  From a young age rehearsing, performing, knowing a standing ovation but not the same home from month-to-month.  I wonder if for these people there's a choice between staying the status of permanent displacement and giving it up for certified home roots.

If this choice does exist, is that leap of faith as hard for them as the contrary leap is for us?

I want to take more time to watch for when my circuses come around.  Perhaps we shouldn't be so scared about packing what we're doing for the sake of trying a different direction every once in a while.

-Anthony

*Perhaps not misconceptions, but difference in priorities I guess.

in case of emergency, please do not panic