Joy Farrington considers why people give themselves away

Joy Attmore

Tonight my heart was broken by a man from the circus. He was young, attractive and oozing with a talent that drew the whole audience into his grasp. I was sat in the second row from the front, my head tilted in order to witness every move he made. I didn't get the chance to tell him my name or learn of his, in fact no words passed between us but within a matter of minutes he had already told me so much.

I watched this beautiful young man performing move after move from the hoop that was swinging from the ceiling. It felt like I was a photographer sat with photo after photo in a darkroom and waiting for them to develop. The music was high, the lights down low and a large amount of disco smoke was being poured into the room as my circus man swirled above us. Dressed all in black with his shirt open revealing his pale bare skin, covered in a series of delicate tattoos, his bare feet gripped the stage as he leant out and caressed the faces of those sat on the front row of the audience. He then gracefully swung up into the air again, soon hanging from the hoop by his feet whilst his arms swept open to the crowd in an inviting gesture, before he ran his fingers over his naked skin once again.

The message of his piece cried, 'Love me!' More overwhelming than the seductive music and breathtaking choreography was an air of sadness and deep loneliness that swept over the room and invaded my heart as I watched him. He stepped off of the hoop at one point, for a few seconds, and onto the circle stage, and rather than standing in confidence, like he knew who he was, his stance revealed to me the heart of a boy desiring for the audience to love him. 'Please love me. Please fall for my body and charm, my talent and art. I don't have anything else worthy of loving, but please love me for this.' His cry went deep into my heart, breaking it quite quickly as I grasped the enormity of this vulnerability dancing before me.

As I watched him, memories began to be triggered of another performance that I had watched a couple of years ago. I was in Thailand working with victims of human trafficking and visiting girls who were still working in the bars in Bangkok. One of the bars that we went to was full of Russian women who had been trafficked to Bangkok. It was one of the most controlled bars that we went to, giving the impression on the outside that it was a professionally run pole dancing club. Behind locked doors however, that could only be opened with a credit card, were rooms that were solely used for the selling of women and sex.

It was in this bar that I met a woman who sat and told me some of her story before getting up to perform in her hourly dance slot. It was one of those crazy moments where there was no getting away from the fact that I was watching a woman selling herself on a pole, and yet at the same time she danced as if she was free. She danced in the purest way that I think she knew how to in that environment and my heart broke for her. My eyes were opened to the beauty of creativity and its power to set you free from oppression as well as its power to sell and exploit your purity.

My storeroom of Thailand memories merged with the scene before me in Downtown New York. I wasn't exactly watching a sex show but at the same time this performer was selling himself. In every move and stunt, he used his sexuality in a seemingly desperate attempt to win the audience's affections. Of course he didn't need to, he was very talented and we were already hooked by this alone, but there was something within him that drove him to overexpose himself to us.

I am a big believer in the power and beauty of vulnerability, that it draws people closer to us and releases us into freedom in our relationships, however people often overexpose themselves and mistake it for vulnerability. There is a safe time and place to share with others the inner workings of our hearts and knowing what boundaries we need around our hearts helps to protect us from feeling violated or exposed. As I watched this circus performer, I began to wonder whether he knew just how much he was telling us about himself.

The Lost Boys are not just fictional characters trapped in a make-believe Neverland. They can be found in prisons and on the glamorous stages of Broadway, performing the best acts that they can in a desperate attempt to give us a reason to love them.

The thing is, I have never fallen in love with someone because they put on a great show. I don't think many of us do. A performance might draw us in, entice our interest or curiosity, but it doesn't cause us to fall in love. It is a vulnerable heart that unlocks love, in a moment of revelation where you see who the person really is, you get a glimpse into their inner beauty. Those moments can happen in the first five minutes of meeting someone or over a longer period of time as you get to know each other. Either way, it's as we allow vulnerability into our relationships that we also give love more room to grow.

The reason that this dear man from the circus had such an effect on me was because of how he exposed himself to us, his audience. I don't think he intended to communicate as much as he did through that performance, but his brokenness had removed some of his protective filter and much of his heart was then exposed. It produced within me an equally passionate cry of response, 'You are loved! You are loved not because of your gifts, talents or beauty but just simply because you are you and you are worthy. Please don't expose yourself; please don't give yourself away with no thought to your own care. Please let yourself receive a love that is wholly pure and asks for nothing in return. You are loved!'

I can't help but wonder what this young man's performance might look like if he really knew who he was, if he wasn't trying to sell himself through a dance, but if he danced out of a place of truly knowing that he is loved.