Time Travel

I sit at a small airport in Denmark awaiting the first of two flights to Las Vegas. I have just finished my first tour as Zirkus Director in a brand new, tiny, family circus. The Way here began two years ago.

In 2016 during my second five-month stint with Zirkus Nemo. An amazing Danish show, run by, and starring as main attraction, Søren Østergaard, a knighted clown and circus director. He told me he wanted to make a new Zirkus. Nemo is a show for adults. The new Zirkus would be for family audiences. Søren asked me if I knew anyone who could maybe be at the helm of such a project. I suggested Tom Flanagan or maybe The Pitts Family circus, but towards the end of the season, he said: Can you do it? I said: Of course.

After a couple of decades of performing for adults and becoming a dad, thusly getting reacquainted with the joy of properly interacting with children, it was time to inspire good times in the future of humanity. Time to bring Illuminated Showmanship to the world’s children. The family Zirkus would happen in 2018, he said. Two years is a long time. It used to be an eternity.

Time is a way to denote changes in space. A seed falls, sprouts, becomes a flower, and wilts. These changes exist in three dimensions and happen in sequence. They exist in space and happen in time.

To prepare for the future gig, I created Captain Frodo’s Magic Circus. A magic-based circus show, with a heavy emphasis on play and imagination. The time frame of this spins me out. In 1997 I used to think deciding whether or not to do a street show on the weekend was pushing the limits of future planning. Then again, when you sport a yellow Mohawk and juggle to support yourself, Sex Pistols words ring true: “No future. No future for you.” Contrary to the punk poet’s proclamation, there was a future for me. This future is my family. I aim to travel into the future with my family.

I am the sole breadwinner of my family. Always being on the road and doing shows at night my wife has to do the important work; being with our daughter. Someone smarter than me said that if you fail at raising your child, nothing else you succeed at matters much. Many of the most important things don’t pay, even though the responsibility is priceless.

My daughter needs to start school. The benefits of doing this at the age of six is something I am dubious of. The importance of spending time with lots of kids your own age over an extended period of time I’m not dubious about. To make this happen we chose a magical place in the Byron Shire, Australia. We bought a house. A beautiful space. Against all odds, we managed to get my daughter into a fantastic Steiner school with a massive waiting list. My daughter speaks Norwegian and English. To add to the improbably good fit for us, there were two other girls in her class that also had one Norwegian parent. Three kids bilingual in English and Norwegian!

This place was perfect for us. It was meant to be, we thought.

I performed and worked on my Magic Circus in my magic room in the Byron Shire. It would become my new meal ticket, but any new project takes time to become financially viable. The Danish gig was still a year away.

If you contact your financial advisor and say: I’m buying a house. Renovating it. And also I’m going to be working less to spend more time with my family. They will advise you against it. I don’t have a financial advisor. So I did exactly that.

Then, to make a point of just how bad an idea this was the Australian tax office slapped me with a big tax bill – twice within one month. Which, according to my accountant, they could do.

It turned out it this space wasn’t meant to be. I couldn’t afford to live in my new house. I couldn’t make it happen. Our beautiful space. I just couldn’t provide it. This hit me hard. Harder than I realised. I had failed. Failed as a provider, and father. Yet again I had to take my daughter away from her newfound group of friends. A failure to provide hurts on an almost biological level.

The Way of the Showman winds through space. I’m not Captain of its every bend and direction. It goes and goes, always onwards. Until now at least. It’s a beast that’s difficult to tame. But I am doing my damnedest.

Will I be able to fulfil my obligation this time? Provide stability? Fingers crossed for a lasting home. With friends aplenty for the little one. And a nice pool surrounded by palms and pomegranate trees where my beautiful and resourceful wife can sip Aperol spritz and perusing the catalogue of courses provided by the University of Las Vegas.

I’m on the second plane to Las Vegas right now. Seven hours to landing. I left Monday morning from Denmark, the same morning my daughter had her first day of school in a brand new Steiner school in the desert and my wife is out looking for our next dream home.

At a 1000 km an hour, I am on my Way home.