And, we got it.
We were the clowns in Slava’s Snow Show.
It all began with a noose hanging around his neck, which he only feigned to tighten. He was the single clown who wore a bright-yellow jumpsuit making him look like he had the body of a frumpy muppet.
As he glanced to his right, another clown walked onto the stage dragging his own noose around his neck.
When they saw each other, the performance began.
Isn’t that me? And, you?
On the verge….
Then we connect and lose ourselves in a quiet dance.
I watched the foolishness, the silly adventures, the dramas, and finally understood who I am, who we all are in the blogging world. For the last few months, I’ve pondered my blog. What’s the purpose of it really?
Am I inspiring you to be brave, smart, and bold? How can I do this better, differently? Why don’t you stop by more often? Why don’t you like me more? What would other bloggers want to read? What would anyone want to read? And, why?
So, I wrote a bit, but mostly I read your blogs, hoping to gain insight into what you want, to find a secret trick to gaining your interest. I wanted to draw you in and connect with you. But, I still didn’t “get” it.
Then, there I was last night, watching Slava’s Snow Show and everything emerged in a wild clown drama on a paper snow-filled stage.
We blog to write to read to love to remember to show to dazzle to cry to rage to surrender to melt to rebound to bounce.
We are clowns so sad, awkward, funny, ridiculous, and proud.
We conjure up a makeshift ship in the middle of a stage and one of us pretends to be a shark while the others sail on. We step into the imaginary ocean and reveal each other for who we really are: clowns.
We sweep up our messes only to get our hand caught in a spider web that suddenly sticks to all of our fingertips scattering to an obscure audience that pulls it apart and tosses it to the floor.
We need intermission to rest.
Then we regenerate and find that someone shot arrows through our heart. We struggle and find it was our best friend, again. We hurt each other.
We freak out. A crazy clown sitting next to a tilted table, we scream then fall. Everything goes black.
Then one of us is knitting and rocking in a chair in the corner. Madness.
We pack our bags and travel.
And, we weather storm after storm.
All with big fat smiles painted on our faces.
We are foolish.
And, we are so magnificent.
Written By Lisa Chesser