Clown School
"We're going to Clown Circus?"
20+ years of living in the city. I knew about Clown School (aka Circus Center), I knew where the building was. I'd fallen in love with Cirque du Soleil and the AcroSports performances. I wanted to get big air and move gracefully. I wanted to find flexibility and strength and stomach muscles. But Clown School - it just never occurred to me. Nor did it occur to me that in the midst of excessively low morale, going to Clown School would provide an outlet for much needed laughter, encouragement and support. That it would provide a comfort zone to shed the titles and roles and endless responsibilities of our daily work life and air out our respective freak flags.
I admit, I was the first to jump on the derisive Clown School tag as we considered the executive decisions behind an afternoon spent juggling. Workwise, most of us have been running too hard on too little with too much coming in. Juggling? Wtf? How about a raise?
And even as I made my way to the Center after the presentations at HQ, running late to stop at home to gather my paddling gear, I was still half-enthused as I watched the emails back up on my Blackberry, the exclamation points in bright red indicating that almost 1/4 of them were "high priority".
But when I stepped into the Circus Center all that changed. It smelled like a gym, it looked like a gym - I was already relaxing - and everywhere my colleagues were genuinely smiling and having what appeared to be....fun.
I stumbled into the first room where a group was learning how to tumble. Somersaults, cartwheels. None were graceful, most were barely centered, but everyone was smiling if not practically laughing at themselves. In the next room, another group was taking turns on the trampoline and the trapeze. I had time to get in one trapeze which was totally awesome and a little hairy standing at the top of the platform, but when I stepped off it was an absolute rush, arcing back and forth in long graceful sweeps over a large safety net, trying in vain to get my legs up and over the bar to drop from my knees, but reality would have none of it. I had to settle for the swing time. Next time, trapeze, next time.
The third room was a juggling room of sorts - balls, feathers, plates on sticks, wobble boards, a wire tightrope, bowling pins. It was an absolute playpen and after some quick instruction from the trainers we scattered about to try everything stopping to snap pictures, laugh, curse, pick up juggling balls, curse again, help a coworker balance on something. It was silly and amusing and everywhere, people were engaged and laughing. At themselves, at one another, at trying to balance a peacock feather on the tip of your nose. My friend Houston proved to be adept at almost everything. Who knew? Actually, we all did. He's that guy.
Last but not least, my group moved to the first room I encountered - the tumbling room. Once again, it was rolls and tucks and cartwheels, sometimes a potpourri of acrobatics at once. We formed pyramids and jumped on a mini-trampoline into a large foam mat. In the freestyle round, I tapped into my love of skiing and aced a mute grab fakie something. I think it pretty much rocked. There was at least 14 inches of air.
Throughout it all, people clapped and cheered and encouraged as everyone gave it a go. We learned a little more about each other as the entrapments of our work personalities faded. Case in point, every time I got up to do something I heard people say "Show us how it's done, Samantha" or "She's going to kill it, watch this" and of course, I'd fall off the mat, or miss the mini-trampoline, or not get my knees up over the trapeze. To know me is to know that I'm not gifted with tremendous coordination. And I'd shriek girlishly when I missed something and they'd say "You're so girly! Who knew?" Well, duh, I am a girl after all. There was the seemingly chill Ryan flaying his body around like he was in a mosh pit at a punk show and the way-under-the-radar Kenny pulling off every maneuver with dexterity and grace. Yariv was as flexible and nimble as always. And of course, there was all 6'4" of Karri unfurled across the mat as he pulled off a not entirely ungraceful cartwheel.
At the end of the day, as we massaged already stiffening neck muscles, it was unanimous - Clown School, I mean Circus School - fully rocked. (Helen, why did you never tell me?) Falling and laughing with some of my most favorite people, that I get to work with every day, made me thankful that I'm a part of this team which sometimes gets lost in the shuffle of feeling overwhelmed by the workload and too often, underappreciated. But in these trying times, Circus School united us. For a few hours at least.
"Circus School."
"Clown School?"
"Whatever."
"Clown School!"
And so the words echoed throughout the halls at work as many bemoaned the work-event planned for later on in our all-hands day once the business part had been settled. Business up front, party in the back - like your favorite mullet. We were going to Clown School.
20+ years of living in the city. I knew about Clown School (aka Circus Center), I knew where the building was. I'd fallen in love with Cirque du Soleil and the AcroSports performances. I wanted to get big air and move gracefully. I wanted to find flexibility and strength and stomach muscles. But Clown School - it just never occurred to me. Nor did it occur to me that in the midst of excessively low morale, going to Clown School would provide an outlet for much needed laughter, encouragement and support. That it would provide a comfort zone to shed the titles and roles and endless responsibilities of our daily work life and air out our respective freak flags.I admit, I was the first to jump on the derisive Clown School tag as we considered the executive decisions behind an afternoon spent juggling. Workwise, most of us have been running too hard on too little with too much coming in. Juggling? Wtf? How about a raise?
And even as I made my way to the Center after the presentations at HQ, running late to stop at home to gather my paddling gear, I was still half-enthused as I watched the emails back up on my Blackberry, the exclamation points in bright red indicating that almost 1/4 of them were "high priority".But when I stepped into the Circus Center all that changed. It smelled like a gym, it looked like a gym - I was already relaxing - and everywhere my colleagues were genuinely smiling and having what appeared to be....fun.
I stumbled into the first room where a group was learning how to tumble. Somersaults, cartwheels. None were graceful, most were barely centered, but everyone was smiling if not practically laughing at themselves. In the next room, another group was taking turns on the trampoline and the trapeze. I had time to get in one trapeze which was totally awesome and a little hairy standing at the top of the platform, but when I stepped off it was an absolute rush, arcing back and forth in long graceful sweeps over a large safety net, trying in vain to get my legs up and over the bar to drop from my knees, but reality would have none of it. I had to settle for the swing time. Next time, trapeze, next time.The third room was a juggling room of sorts - balls, feathers, plates on sticks, wobble boards, a wire tightrope, bowling pins. It was an absolute playpen and after some quick instruction from the trainers we scattered about to try everything stopping to snap pictures, laugh, curse, pick up juggling balls, curse again, help a coworker balance on something. It was silly and amusing and everywhere, people were engaged and laughing. At themselves, at one another, at trying to balance a peacock feather on the tip of your nose. My friend Houston proved to be adept at almost everything. Who knew? Actually, we all did. He's that guy. Last but not least, my group moved to the first room I encountered - the tumbling room. Once again, it was rolls and tucks and cartwheels, sometimes a potpourri of acrobatics at once. We formed pyramids and jumped on a mini-trampoline into a large foam mat. In the freestyle round, I tapped into my love of skiing and aced a mute grab fakie something. I think it pretty much rocked. There was at least 14 inches of air. Throughout it all, people clapped and cheered and encouraged as everyone gave it a go. We learned a little more about each other as the entrapments of our work personalities faded. Case in point, every time I got up to do something I heard people say "Show us how it's done, Samantha" or "She's going to kill it, watch this" and of course, I'd fall off the mat, or miss the mini-trampoline, or not get my knees up over the trapeze. To know me is to know that I'm not gifted with tremendous coordination. And I'd shriek girlishly when I missed something and they'd say "You're so girly! Who knew?" Well, duh, I am a girl after all. There was the seemingly chill Ryan flaying his body around like he was in a mosh pit at a punk show and the way-under-the-radar Kenny pulling off every maneuver with dexterity and grace. Yariv was as flexible and nimble as always. And of course, there was all 6'4" of Karri unfurled across the mat as he pulled off a not entirely ungraceful cartwheel.At the end of the day, as we massaged already stiffening neck muscles, it was unanimous - Clown School, I mean Circus School - fully rocked. (Helen, why did you never tell me?) Falling and laughing with some of my most favorite people, that I get to work with every day, made me thankful that I'm a part of this team which sometimes gets lost in the shuffle of feeling overwhelmed by the workload and too often, underappreciated. But in these trying times, Circus School united us. For a few hours at least.Thank you to my work Clowns! You make the environment.
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