Dralion!

Last week, I was fortunate enough to go see Cirque du Soleil's performance "Dralion" with Michael and some family members.  This is the second CdS performance I've seen; the other was "Mystère" in Vegas when I was 13.

Both times, I was in awe of the sheer beauty of the performances, perhaps moreso this time around, being older and more aware and able to appreciate just what I was seeing.  And, like so many things nowadays, it made me think of my own life, what I'm doing, where I fall short, and the like.

Because it would be almost a dishonor to the performers and the creators to not mention this, I want to make a mention of the gorgeous backstory, costumes, and symbolism of Dralion (eastern and western culture-- the dragon and lion-- combined).  Essentially, the audience witnesses the four elements (earth, water, fire, and air) moving together, interacting, and demonstrating the peace and balance between the four of them.  Two (adult) Âme-Forces ("âme" being French for soul) sing throughout the performance, while their child watches the elements, interacting with them, but also displaying the innocent joy of being, simply, a child.  Clowns also make a few appearances for humor purposes, but the beauty of the elements was all I could concentrate on.  The costumes, their motions, the personalities they displayed through their acts-- gorgeous.

But what I took away from Dralion was a little different than that.  The inner acts of the performance, meaning what the performers did-- trampoline tricks, acrobatics, tumbling, jumping through impossibly small hoops, balancing, and so on-- fascinated me to a point beyond words.  Not only were they all wonderful to watch, drawing many gasps, cries, cheers, and applause, but I walked away from Dralion with an incredible sense of respect in my heart for what they did.  While I was watching them, I was so fearful that they might mess up, fall, get hurt, embarrass themselves, but not once did anything unfortunate happen.

Why?

Why, why, why?  From a practical point, the answer is immense, unyielding, uncountable hours of practice.  Infinite attempts of doing stunts over and over again until they are perfect.  Discipline to an unthinkable degree.

I like to imagine that there is also a sense of incredible self-belief.  When performers go to jump through a tiny hoop balanced six feet in the air-- do they fear that they might fail?  Or do this they know that they will not fail, because they CANNOT fail?  Is failure simply not an option?  If there is never a chance to fail, then is success always the predestined path?

I don't know.  I do know that I don't have nearly the necessary amount of will-power to ensure my own success.  Any success that I am blessed with will be the result of some hard work, yes, but also an enormous amount of luck, help, and divine intervention, I think.  I also know that I am not yet confident enough in myself to tell Failure that it is not an option for me.  I fear failure more than I can say.  I fear it every day, in all that I do, and that is not healthy for me.

Do the performers befriend Failure?  Or do they mock it, shun it, cast it aside, so that it doesn't dare show its face during their shows?  I don't know their techniques.  I wish I did; maybe, I could learn from them. I think I need to confront this fear and fail a little every now and then in order to grow.  I don't want to, but maybe it's what I need.  What if I were to go my whole life without failing?  I imagine that would actually be-- boring?  I just don't think it would allow for many chances to grow, and I'm growing.  I'm learning!  I fear failure so much, and yet, I know eventually, I have to embrace it.

Maybe just a few more attempts at success before I have to have that bitter taste of failure and growth...