Freedom Gleaned the Hard Way

Happy Independence Day

Rick Lewis archives

It was a bright sunny day at the public market. The seductive aroma of fresh bread drifted out of the market bakery, its front doors wide open to a performing area reserved for outdoor music and theater.

I had just gathered a crowd there and was dragging a volunteer on stage.

He didn’t want to be there—and I’d pay dearly for that later—but I ignored that minor detail in favor of pleasing the crowd.

I earned my living as a street performer in my twenties by presenting circus shows. At the beginning of my career I’d simply show off the skills I’d mastered as a juggler, unicyclist, and acrobat. As time went on, I discovered that involving the audience in the theater made the shows more fun and lucrative.

I had a signature stunt involving a volunteer that went like this:

I’d choose a man from the crowd who had a good build, bring him onstage, and entice him to mirror the silly dance steps and arm movements I made in a short choreographed routine. The approval of the audience would help him relax into the game of synchronizing with me.

Having gained his trust I’d lift my arms straight above my head, and in the moment he followed suit, I’d quickly reach down, grab the hem of his T-shirt, and snatch the whole thing up and over his arms in an instant—clear off his body before he could react.

This always elicited a huge laugh from the crowd because it was so shocking and surprising, yet harmless—because it was summer and many men were walking around shirtless anyway. Most of the time my impressively shaped volunteers were proud to display their advanced fitness.

I had perfected this whole routine, placed at a critical point in the show when I needed to lock in the attention of passing patrons and get them committed to staying to the end of my show when I’d collect donations.

The success of this transition depended upon getting just the right person for the skit.

On this particular day I’d spotted the ideal participant in the crowd.

But when I went into the audience to invite him onstage, this shining specimen of the male species became intensely shy and pulled back, muttering that he didn’t want to participate. He so perfectly suited the role, however, that I stubbornly doubled-down despite his reticence and tried to convince him to join me rather than taking no for an answer.

He continued to protest and decline.

This is where I lost perspective.

It’s a heady experience to have a crowd on your side. You can become self-enamored to the point of believing you can do no wrong, and throw your weight around to magnify your appeal. I was in charge here. It was my show. With the vision of my future donations dancing in my head, I enrolled the crowd into cheering and clapping and urging my shy volunteer on, for several minutes, until he was forced to give in.

I should not have been surprised once we were on stage that he languished through the motions. Or, that when I finally betrayed him by snatching his T-shirt off, his reluctance visibly transmuted into thoughts of revenge.

He gave me a blank stare that was so chilling it could have earned him the part of a serial killer at a casting audition.

The playful fun mood I’d established with the audience was immediately undermined by my mishandling of this individual. That’s the moment that I came to my senses and realized what I’d done, ignoring his wishes while trying to force a result that was only in my favor. It was as though a cold wind had just swept down on the sunny clearing and everyone put their social parka back on.

“Okay,” I thought to myself. “That is on me. Note to self, it doesn’t work when I strong-arm others into getting my way.”

I rushed through the usual interactive juggling routine that followed, quickly returned the man’s shirt at the end, and watched him vanish into the crowd while redressing himself.

Looking into the audience at the sea of serious faces was a stark contrast to the smiles, laughter, and mood of trust I was used to establishing by this point in the show.

I turned back to my props, sobered by what I’d done, and set about to salvage what I could of the show’s momentum.

Picking up a handful of juggling balls I decided I’d try to win back the audience with my skills, involving no volunteers, to see if I could restore some of their faith in me and turn things around.

I walked center stage and lifted my arms into the air to show the crowd the impressive number of objects I was about to keep airborne.

What I didn’t notice, however, was that my recent volunteer hadn’t left the scene as I imagined. After putting on his shirt and disappearing into the throng, he’d actually walked around the perimeter of the surrounding crowd and re-entered my stage from behind.

While I was standing there with my arms held high in the air, just the position from which I’d disgraced him minutes before, he tip-toed up invisibly behind me, grabbed the hem of my sport shorts, and dropped them . . .

. . . to my ankles.

When I say sport shorts, I’m talking about the kind with the built in liner, which eliminates the need for any additional undergarment. Or so I thought.

That’s how I found myself in the middle of the traditional nightmare where you suddenly find yourself standing naked in a crowd of people, but it was happening in real life. I can easily say it’s one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. (Em-bare-assing?)

It wasn’t quite what I had in mind for winning back the audience, but they were now thoroughly re-engaged.

Freedom and independence have a different meaning for me these days as I’ve aged and have experienced the shadow side of asserting them.

Today I’d say that freedom is something we give to another person when we witness and honor who they are rather than something we take for ourselves because we happen to have the power to do so.

Power is always impermanent.

And it becomes even more tenuous and suspect when we must ignore the freedoms of others to sustain it.

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This week only I’m giving away a complimentary copy of my book 7 Rules You Were Born to Break to new free subscribers.

A version of the above story appears in the book. I’ve told this story many times since then, as we’re all given unique life experiences that are worth sharing more than once. The more we share our notable life experiences, considering them from a variety of perspectives, the more we learn from our past.

If you’re interested in how your own life experiences can be the basis of educational and inspirational storytelling, subscribing and receiving a copy of my book will assist you.