The Path to Change

The big metal box on wheels wobbles from the rustling of the inhabitants inside. I’m awakened by heavy machinery beeping and clunking outside of my window and I crawl out of bed. Careful not to wake my roommate who sleeps above me, in a groggy stupor, I slip on my hoodie and shoes and make the routine trek across the lot, blinded by the sun’s salutation. Sometimes I can’t decide what’s more inconvenient: getting dressed to walk outside past all the trailers to use a portable toilet shared with 30+ other people, or holding it in and staying cooped up in the 5’x7’ trailer room with paper thin metal walls. The trailer dwellers here partake in this janky space with no functioning shower so we are all forced to share the shower room used by the other bunkhouse next door; one shower dedicated to 30+ people. I live and work with the same faces every single day. I don’t have access to hot water or electricity half the week, or access to clean drinking water unless I enter some public establishment (often obligated to purchase it). I have no way to cook food or store cold items, and every week I have to familiarize myself with a whole new town. Even once a week I start work at noon and don't stop until 2 in the morning, with a large chunk of the day dedicated to hard physical labor.

A year or so ago, I would have burst into tears upon hearing this description if it told the tale of someone in a foreign country, desperate to be able to help them improve their quality of life. After traveling with this circus, my outlook on this living situation has taken a 180. I may have to “suffer” from those inconveniences, but most days I revel in the opportunity to travel and be part of this family. I choose to be here, and if I really wanted to get out, I would.

It’s been over 8 weeks since I rejoined the circus as ticket office manager. These weeks have resembled a roller coaster to say the least (as life always does…). A recurring theme in my thoughts has been gratitude. Any situation can be faulted to warrant complaint; on the other hand, those very situations can be also highlighted to find some aspect for which to be thankful. It’s up to us to decide what is worth holding onto and what is worth letting go, and this battle is incredibly challenging. It's so easy to get swept up with disapproval; I hear voices of it every single day. But when the sun goes down, we are all still here with air in our lungs, and blood pumping through our veins. What more do we really need?

I love life on the road because I get to explore new communities and meet new people every week. This job has provided me the opportunity to travel the country not only with an income, but with a tribe of people that live, work, eat, and play together as a big [slightly dysfunctional] family. Once a week Coco the clown will host a big community barbecue, where everyone in the entire circus is welcome—we laugh, spin fire, talk about life, and jam out to music, while the circus kids run and play and join in the fun. New environments every week make the routines of work seem less mundane. The bunkhouse I am currently in houses 11 people, all of whom I’ve fallen totally in love with as if they were my own brothers and sisters; my bunkmate is without a doubt the best roommate I’ve ever had (even when sharing such a tiny space). It’s been a long time since I felt like I was part of a tribe aside from my blood relatives.

There are some dangers in this comfort zone, however. I recognize my actions are falling out of line with my ethics, and I see myself adjusting my morals to fit my behavior. It’s been a struggle, and I know I have a long way to go before I can smoothly implement lessons I learned while traveling last year about adhering to my own standards in any given environment. Adaptation is key for survival, and I realize that is why humanity and the state of the world is the way it currently is—all the way down to the Trump presidency. I’ve been reading The Heart of Learning: Spirituality in Education lately, and one of my favorite things the authors write about is the concept of learning as something that can never be taken away from you. In the midst of your darkest rock bottom in life, there is something to learn. And for that, it’s something to be grateful for.

Backstory:
I found this bracelet at the Mystic Hot Springs resort in Utah. It was strapped to an old fence, so I picked it up knowing I would pay it forward someday and leave it for someone else to find. Upon visiting home in Minnesota for the holidays, I spent some time with someone very dear to my heart who noticed the bracelet and commented on it. "6-ratitude?" I laughed because he was right: the G was clearly etched as a 6.
This 6-ratitude symbol I wear on my wrist has become my mantra, a daily reminder to not take life so seriously and be grateful for everything that comes my way.