Over the past 48 hours I have taken a couple of wrong turns. The first was trying to find a short cut to the Lyric Hammersmith on a Friday night for Bugsy Malone. Two bleeding hours. Though I have to say, aside from the music and a stellar cast, the show was worth it for the choreography of the boxing scene alone. The second was navigating my way from Sutton on Saturday morning to the South Coast. Should have taken an hour. Triple that. Short on sleep, food and caffeine after two hours of flex and pole classes, missed my turning off the M25 and ended up half way to Dover. So I've had plenty of time to do nothing but reflect. And here's my conclusion. Learning circus skills, for me, is a lot like travelling up Fulham Road on a Friday night, or Junction 9-10 on the M25 the morning after. Progress is painfully slow. You try to take a few smart-arse short-cuts, wind up in a dead-end and find yourself on a one-way system back to pretty much where you started. Bump. Goes the ego. And you wonder why you bother. In fact, I was close to calling time on the whole damn adventure and entitle this post "I give up!" but there's another lesson I'm learning - I give up too easily, and there comes a point when you need to hold fast.
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