I still remember the last day at my trapeze school. Chalk dust floating in the sunlight. Five years of memories about to end because North Boston was growing and the building house the school had to go.

Flying High

For five years, I went there after work. Climbing the tall ladder, grabbing the heavy bar, and jumping when told. I changed from my work self into someone who could fly.

My hands got tough. My arms got strong. My fears got smaller.

We were regular people with regular jobs who found something special in the air. When you’re flying, nothing else matters. No work stress. No problems. Just you and the swing of the trapeze.

Saying Goodbye

“We’re closing next month,” they told us. Just like that. We had one last show, and then it was over.

The hardest part came after. Tuesday nights with nowhere to go. The friends I didn’t see anymore. The empty feeling of being stuck on the ground.

Trying to Keep Going

I put rings in my house. I hung a metal bar from the living room ceiling. But it wasn’t the same. You need friends to catch you, teachers to guide you, people to cheer when you try something new.

My home practice happened less and less. My hands got soft again. That flying feeling started to fade.

Finding New Roads

Then one day, I walked into a motorcycle dealership. Not looking up anymore, but forward. Not chalk on my hands, but leather gloves. Not falling through air, but leaning into curves.

It wasn’t flying. But it gave me a new kind of freedom.

What Stays With Me

I still dream about trapeze sometimes. In my dreams, I’m making the perfect catch.

I miss it. The friends. The challenges. The joy of doing something just because it made me happy.

Boston grew. The building housing the school became something else. Life moved on.

But trapeze taught me to trust, to let go, to fall and get back up. I use these lessons on my motorcycle, at work, with friends.

The trapeze is gone, but what it gave me stays.