Lights up: Lights out

One of the exciting things about life is having new experiences. I've always abhorred the idea of doing the same thing every day, never pushing into unfamiliar territory, never taking a risk. But the downside of living life always one or two steps outside of your comfort zone is that sometimes you take one step too many. That's what happened tonight.

I performed at a fundraising event held at the circus school where I just started to teach a stretching class. It is run by some former Cirque du Soleil performers and so far it is the most welcoming and positive environment I have found in which to do my bendy thang in LA. This is the first time I have performed for these folks and, even though it was a low-pressure "ambient" performance, no choreography, I wanted to bring off a good debut.

Being a late blooming performer, and an unlikely contortionist, I suffer from a meddlesome inferiority complex. I am always surrounded by people who have been in the circus world for far longer than I have, who have impressive skills, and are sometimes too young to remember when Guns N Roses were good. So get insecure. Most performers are insecure though, so I try not to let it overwhelm me.

But in situations like tonight, I really want to prove that I deserve to be included in the ranks of the "real" performers. So tonight I debuted my new contortion table.

I am very excited about my table. The first time I ever performed on a table was the first time I ever performed contortion, my debut with SB. I have never been more terrified of anything in my life, including when I was stranded in rural Brazil with no money, lost in a blizzard in the desert with a sprained ankle, or being interrogated in a Cuban jail. I would have happily gone back to that fetid cubicle with the surly soldier to avoid having to get up on that stage, on that table, with a top tier contortionist, surrounded by fire, in front of my whole community both friends and frenemies, and try to bend. For a week prior to the show I spent most of my time standing on the table and crying, trying just to do a backbend to bridge without having a panic attack. The day before the show I could still barely do an elbow stand, elbows precariously close to the edge of the table, without hyperventilating. I sincerely hoped that I would be hit by a car, bitten by a viper, anything to escape that performance.

I am forever grateful to both M and SB for insisting that I go through with it. SB just wouldn't hear my protestations, insisting that there was no reason why I couldn't do it. Her faith in me seemed lunatic, but it helped to pull me through. Then one night while I was lying sleepless and jittery M said, "You don't have to do it, you can back out and she can do it as a solo. But then you'll probably never do it again because it will just get harder."

I knew he was right. Certainly more practice would have made me more comfortable on the table and more certain of my tricks, but the fear would have won that battle, gaining ground against me. The next battle would have been more difficult. I could have lost the war. So I performed.

Tonight was nowhere near as terrifying. Truth is I wasn't really nervous at all. A little excited, but I've worked on other tables before and I wasn't going to do any new tricks, so I saw no reason to anticipate disaster. It wasn't until I was warmed up backstage and ready to go that I made the Bad Decision.

I should know better. I do know better. I just wasn't thinking clearly. I know that whenever you are performing on stage, the adrenaline and stage lights and the energy of the audience combine into an intoxicant more potent than vicodin washed down with Jack Daniels. You feel no pain, no limits. Pre-show fear evaporates into the laser-sharp focus of movement, energy, and balance. I know this.

When I taught fire eating I always cautioned my students against trying anything new on stage. Only one stupid thing at a time, I always told them. Performing counts as one. New things count as another. It is dangerous to try something new when you are high on show. Why, oh why, didn't I take my own advice?

At the last minute I decided to add in my new finale move. I have not practiced it very much yet because you need a table to do it, and I have not had much time with my table. From pretzel you slide your feet off the edge of the table and let them dangle in the air while your butt happily squishes against your head. It is challenging mostly because the absence of a floor under your feet means that there is extra weight pulling your back into a deeper bend, but working on the bench I've lowered my feet all the way to the floor with a spot so I thought I'd be fine. I did it once backstage right before I went on, no problem.

This was going to be my big finale, my deepest bend. The rest of the act went swimmingly. I moved confidently and relatively smoothly through all of my regular movements, interspersed with some belly dance. The table felt nice and solid, very little wobble, and even though I took out the leg scale because my hip is tight and tweeky and I didn't come into full contortion elbow stand because my hips were tightening up too much and I thought I might lose it backwards off the edge, I felt good. Just the last move. No problem.

I did my backbend, grabbed the edge of the table behind me for support, pushed my feet out into the void, and...

nothing

sound. lights. faces. buzzing noise. confusion. where am I?

The brain gets irritable when deprived of blood.

I am sitting on the floor next to my table SBY is next to me saying "you just got a little dizzy." Of course I instantly know what happened and feel like a total asshole but I am a performer first, and asshole second, so I spring to my feet and take a bow and walk off stage.

Fuck. I blacked out on stage. How terribly embarrassing.

SBY and AG are immediately backstage with icepacks and water but the truth is that I felt fine. Just irritated. How could I let that happen? How could I do something so stupid? Damn damn damn damn damn. One step too far outside the comfort zone, and I fell off the cliff. Or the table. Same difference.

The one thing that made me feel better is that, other than the circus performers, no one knew I blacked out. Apparently I am quite graceful when unconscious. I just rolled sideways and landed in a gracefully seated position beside my table, and, if I hadn't had that dizzy, bleary look on my face, I probably could have pulled it off as an unusual dismount. Luck? Years of dance training? Who cares. I can pass out like a pro.