As a little girl, I recall hearing about the elusive circus coming to town. The entire concept was applied as an allegory rather than a reality for my lifetime. But still, the idea of this crowd and the energy that followed the entertainment that could only be provided by a select few talented individuals was contagious. All of the possibilities, skills on display, a place where everyone could fit in by simply standing out. The threat to run away and join the circus was always a viable career filled with the illusion of fun and games.
That call, the emotional pull towards excitement, was one that The Garden Corner wanted to bring into the year. The idea that even in all of the craziness of the world, one main event could be continually celebrated throughout the year. The call to all to take something normal and make it larger than life. Particularly, in the garden, as the great outdoors really is “The Greatest Show on Earth!”
The problem with the circus is that every night is a treat, a celebration. All of the hulabaloo and razzle-dazzle can leave you unable to process what is really going on right in front of you. It can be overwhelming. So many options, and sights to see, and a myriad of skills on display. The overstimulation can leave you with an uncomfortable feeling of dissatisfaction with the belief that you could never fit into such a display.
Much like a garden center, with so many options and all of the tools and tricks. It is enough to make you believe that you could never quite replicate the same greatness at home. When that blinding moment hits, I always like to focus on one act. It might not be the main event on display, but one particular performer that I can focus my awe on. There is an act for everyone; for me, it’s the tightrope walkers.
I watch as they balance, hundreds of feet in the air, on a unicycle, with swords in hand. That alone is enough to be beyond my wildest dreams. Just like a hanging basket, full of bloom, in August, with no bugs.
That moment when the curtain falls, it feels as if all is possible. A euphoric bubble glides with you on the way home. But then, the tent comes down, the makeup is washed off, and the show moves on. An emptiness is revealed. To combat that crushing reality, you try to bring a little bit of the circus home with you. Keeping the magic tightly held in your ticket stub, deflated balloons, or the Cracker Jacks toy.
You’ve made it through May, and it might feel like the circus has packed up. Maybe you missed it, or maybe you have been left with a basket and a sinking belief that you can not continue to make it flourish.
I’m here to tell you, this is not the case. Trust me, I live at the circus.
While the show is always enjoyable, the last thing you want to do at the end of the night is perform. Much in the same way, the last thing I want to focus on is planting my own circus. I do not even have my normal basket hanging by my door yet.
For all of us failing acrobats, it is not too late; we can both start with one act. The tightrope walker did not start with the unicycle hundreds of feet in the air. They started a few feet off the ground, with a basket; then they upgraded to a safety net, the flower power; and when they were ready, they upgraded to knives, with bug control. Over time, they became good enough to show friends. By next year, they can run away and join the circus. We will be waiting, with open arms, for your spectacular show.
