THERE ARE FEW times in life when we experience absolute clarity.
Normally, with the unrelenting rush of time, we live more from a sense of accidental encounter than with a plan, our decisions prompted by necessity instead of resolve. When that pattern is interrupted by an unexpected revelation, we stop and take note.
Recently, I experienced such a moment, a searing flash of certainty that changed the direction of my life: Under no circumstances will I ever walk on a high wire.
This summer’s Folklife Festival in D.C. featured the Flying Wallendas, a family of circus performers with a 200-year-old legacy of defying death high above ground uncluttered by unsightly things, such as nets. They perform in massive arenas, including three-ring circuses (circi?), their legendary mental focus undisturbed by the elephants on their left or zany clown cars to their right.
The Folklife Festival, however, presented more of a challenge to their concentration since, at any given time, no fewer than eight different venues—each with its own blaring sound system—were competing for attention. While Wallenda family members walked across a high wire with no net, an amplified voice from a demonstration in the next tent spoke of culinary techniques for outdoor cooking. The contrast was disturbing.
Young Sacha Wallenda walked carefully to the middle of the wire, then turned a rapid 180 degrees, her balance disrupted by a strong breeze and regained only after a terrifying wobble that caused the audience to gasp and, in some cases, aspirate cotton candy which, in hindsight, was an ill-chosen snack. Then a loud voice broke through the tension:
“What you want to do is brown your ground beef first, then set it aside.”
As the young woman continued her treacherous walk above the anxious people below (including my granddaughter and me), the voice reconsidered:
“Although some people brown their beef second. It’s really a personal preference.”
Later, the patriarch of the family—an elderly man with broad shoulders and a disconcerting but unexplained bandage on his hand—balanced a chair at the top of a five-person human pyramid which, foolishly in my view, also included two bicycles! As beads of sweat gathered on his forehead, a slight quivering began in his arms, visibly gravitating down into the five bodies of his colleagues. While the troupe struggled to hold its balance on the high wire, the voice continued with its latest epiphany:
“And then, after the beef is browned, I put it in a ceramic bowl.”
Somehow, and to the palpable relief of the crowds (who, to a person, vowed never again to attend such a display; I mean, why encourage this sort of thing?!), the Wallenda Family made it across the wire and ... NO, WAIT! DON’T MOVE BACKWARD TO THE OTHER SIDE!! IT’S FINE! WE’RE ENTERTAINED. JUST GET DOWN ALREADY!!
“Though a plastic bowl will work just as well ....”
When it was finally over and our hearts had started beating again, my granddaughter turned to me and very seriously said, “Don’t ever do that.” This was touching but unnecessary, since I had already made an unspoken pact with gravity to not challenge it in any way. Feet on the ground at all times, is my motto. I won’t even jump to conclusions.
And for what it’s worth, I’m totally off ground beef.
NEVER WALKING a tightrope was the second of two moments of clarity this summer, the other being my decision not to work in the Trump White House. I hadn’t imagined the possibility, of course, given my complete lack of qualification for government employment. But as the executive branch started hemorrhaging people in August—people who could not have been less qualified for their jobs in the first place—I realized it was only a matter of time before my incompetence would attract attention. My poor time-management and people skills would shine like beacons of eligibility to White House human resources; my well-proven ineptitude a clarion call to service. Heck, with my long history of failure, they’d probably make me a department head. How could they not? I’ve got what it doesn’t take.
Don’t get me wrong. I have tremendous respect for the office of the presidency, but mainly the furniture and that great rug. I just don’t have the capacity to serve in high office. After this summer, I’m staying close to the ground.
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