It’s 7 a.m., and I’m woken up to a dull thud-thud-thud above me. My dog’s ears prick up, alert, ready to defend our home from whatever is persistently trying to force its way in from above. Another thud, followed by a gurgling squawk — it’s a gaggle of seagulls divebombing my caravan.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and stumble out of the two-berth caravan into the vast field we have set up to call home for the next week, only to find the little flapping monsters have gotten into my garbage bag and strewn the contents all the way to the entrance of the big top. Fantastic.
Courtesy of the author
I am a full-time circus performer. I’ve made a living hanging from odd body parts off metal objects 30 feet in the air, often by my teeth.
People assume my life is glamorous
When I tell people what I do for a living, I am often met with excitement, assurances that my life must be incredibly glamorous. My best friend loves to counter these arguments with stories of how I’ve had to build tents in the lashing rain, or performances where I’ve shared a stage with goat excrement.
It’s true that there is a level of glamour with this industry that I never would have achieved outside it — I’m a kid from Virginia who was raised bouncing along the poverty line, where the concept of a passport was a fantasy and most career aspirations for girls teetered out beyond teacher, shopkeeper, wife. I’ve now performed on five continents, dined with British aristocracy, and performed for royals of all flavors in private theatres nestled in White Lotus-esque resorts.
Courtesy of the author
I love being onstage, and even though it means I never get a Christmas break, performing in a sold-out 4,000-seat arena to a bunch of excitedly screaming children makes me feel like a bona fide rock star.
There’s very little work-life balance
A typical year for me will usually involve a tour for the spring and summer, followed by Halloween and Christmas tours or residencies. It means being away from home a lot and having to negotiate things like weddings and birthdays around your show schedule. Unlike theatre, we rarely have understudies. The show must go on, and sometimes that is at the expense of your personal life.
Work-life balance is an anomaly when you’re often living 10 feet away from your place of employment.
A lot of my friends in this industry date and marry other artists. It is easier that way, as you can often try to get on shows together, and when you don’t, you have a partner who understands the unusual lifestyle this industry demands. I have dated a lot in the industry myself. But then I ended up meeting a lawyer, and we are currently planning our wedding.
I swear my partner had a missed calling as a clown. She is one of the funniest people I have ever met, including the numerous professional clowns in my life. She has also embraced my lifestyle with open arms, coming with me on tours and enjoying the upsides of incredible hotel rooms in foreign places, and the downsides of moldy wagon living in damp English villages. She even stepped in and learned how to operate a mechanical winch, the machine that lifts aerialists up and down during our acts.
I’m planning my wedding while on the road
This year, I have been on the road a lot, working in Germany, England, Wales, Ireland, and the US. During this time, we have been planning our wedding, the “big one” as we’ve been calling it.
We legally eloped earlier this year in Las Vegas, where we were married by my old duo partner and current Cirque du Soleil acrobat on a Tuesday in Red Rock Canyon, as that was her day off from her show. The big wedding will take place in England this coming February and will feature a litany of circus acts from friends we have not so subtly bullied into working on their day off.
Courtesy of the author
We managed to see venues between my contracts, but it has meant that my wife has had to attend quite a few meetings alone. This November, I will complete my Halloween contract, take down the tent, rush to a hair and makeup trial, then attend a food tasting the next day, and then head to the airport to fly to Las Vegas and prep for a national tour. I maintain, my wife has the patience of a saint.
I made our wedding website on breaks between shows and have decided to do far too much DIY between contracts. I’ve got a month left at home for the rest of the year before I’m on a national tour of the US, performing in 34 cities in 18 states from coast to coast until we ring in the new year, and then it’s back home for nonstop wedding planning until we once again say ‘I do’, surrounded by loved ones in glitter and sequins, before once again hitting the road.
Because the show must go on.
