How I Scrapped My Circus Act the Night Before a Show (and Lived to Juggle Another Day)

Dear artists and marketers, we need to be honest. When our brilliant-on-paper ideas become “I’m not so sure about this” moments in practice, it’s time to pivot.

In creative work—whether it’s circus performance, campaign strategy, or interdisciplinary art—pivoting doesn’t mean failure. It means listening to what’s actually working. If it makes sense, and you can pull it off in time, sometimes the smartest move is to scrap the script and trust your instincts.

I got a generous helping of this truth in October 2024, preparing a juggling percussion act for a variety show at Arcade Comedy Theater in downtown Pittsburgh. I tossed my act in the trash the midnight before the gig and built a new one from scratch the next morning, all in the name of doing something that actually worked.

And you may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?"

How I Got to the Stage at Arcade Comedy Theater

Rewind to January 2024: I posted a short film that I made with friends to Instagram called Parking Chair Circus. In addition to showcasing the abundant talents of my friends, it served as a love letter to one of the most passive-aggressive creative solutions in Pittsburgh’s lexicon.

It was weird, wonderful, and apparently, it resonated because not long after, I got a message from Mike Rhodes—a leader of Arcade’s long-running improv group, The Latchkey Kids. He asked if I’d be interested in bringing some circus shenanigans to one of their variety shows.

Having seen and enjoyed Arcade shows over the years, of course, I said yes. And then, because creative timelines are what they are, it took nine months to make it happen. Finally, on October 11, 2024, the Arcade Comedy Theater was about to get a load of the world’s most stage-frightened juggling percussionist. And not with the act I’d been planning. What a great plan.

“And you may ask yourself, ‘Am I right, am I wrong?’”

The Peter Gabriel Routine That Didn't Work

Even the makeup job was work. Look up Peter Gabriel's Plays Live album.

The variety show was Halloween-themed and an homage to 80s nostalgia. As such, I thought it was the perfect time to finally pull the idea I had for the intense Peter Gabriel routine off the shelf. In concept, it was brilliant. In my rehearsal space? It was a swamp of good intentions and terrible vibes. 

I kept pushing, hoping I could force it to cohere through sheer grit and, yes, even the full Monkey Man makeup. But it never clicked. I just felt exhausted and frustrated at every attempt to run the act.

Around 11 p.m. the night before the gig—a time typically reserved for last-minute decisions and existential dread— I washed off my makeup thinking If I could go back, I would probably choose something less serious and more fun…like “Once In a Lifetime.” 

Wait a minute. Why don’t I just do that?

Creative Pivot, Activated: Cue Air Horn and Flashing Lights

This is the moment, creatives. Pay attention to when you have to decide what’s more sensible: doing the thing you’ve invested more time and effort into or “murdering your darlings,” as the saying goes, in favor of the thing that’s less rehearsed but more authentic.

If you’re confident that you can pull it off in the time you have, go with the second option.

So at 11:55 p.m., I texted Mike with a Hail Mary: “I totally understand if the answer is no, but how possible would it be for me to perform to this Talking Heads song instead?”

He replied: “Not only is that doable, that happens to be one of my favorite songs!” I took that as a divine sign—equal parts serendipity and David Byrne.

“And you may say to yourself, ‘My God, what have I done?’”

A Little Help From My Friends 

Obligatory circus-chic green room shot. I'll juggle the sass if I drop everything else.

By morning, I started work on the new act. No Peter Gabriel. No monkey makeup. Just a tight, little piece born from instinct, sparkly boots, and a repertoire of choreography repurposed for a more fun-loving vibe. 

That night, the pre-show energy was joyous. The Latchkey Kids were decked out in their Halloween glory, delivering not just an excellent onstage performance, but genuine warmth to all of us in the green room. That kind of inclusion and talent combo is priceless.

My good friend, Meghan Greenwood of BaM Choreography, was the first soloist to perform, slaying a dance medley that kicked off with “Psycho Killer” (Yes - she was actually first to recognize the power of David Byrne and Talking Heads in this creative journey). Her quirky, badassery not only set the Halloween tone on fire but set a high bar for the guest performance lineup on that stage.

A Circus Intro, Written Like a Confession

After some more sketches and a short film screening, my turn had come. I hopped on stage and introduced myself to the audience like this:

Hi! I’m Lindsay.I juggle. I drum. Often I do those 2 things at the same time.

And, in general, I’m one of those refuse-to-choose people who wants to be everything when I grow up.

So I do this thing where I take circus arts and music and theatre and filmmaking and writing and marketing and I put them into a blender, I hit BZZZZZZZZZZ, and the artistic smoothie that emerges is this thing I call Punk & Pie Circus…

Anyway, when I perform, I usually have to give some sort of preamble that includes big words like "interdisciplinary" and "experimental." But that is usually done for the audience's benefit. What’s happening now isn’t that. This preamble is 100% for me.

Because I had this baller act planned. We’re talking Halloween & 80’s nostalgia, I’m like “Ah! Peter Gabriel!” And it was this intense piece, and I had the monkey man makeup, and it was just NOT working for me.

So at 11:55 last night, I texted Mike saying, “I totally understand if the answer is no, but could I possibly perform to this Talking Heads song instead?” And he said, “Not only is that doable, that happens to be one of my favorite songs!” So I was like “Yay! It was meant to be.”

So all of this is to say I made this up…this morning. Just play along. If you like it, applaud. If you don’t like it, applaud. I’m like Martin Short. I need all the encouragement I can get.

Clarifying point: I adore Martin Short. One of the things I love most about him is how he plays a Broadway Baby, craving the spotlight and applause just a little too much.

Shall I tell you a secret? This intro wasn’t just stage banter. It was part of the act. I wrote it out beforehand, not only to give myself a grounding point in what was, admittedly, a high-stakes creative pivot, but also to draw the audience into the story with me. 

At some point, I realized that if ever there was a crowd that would appreciate a story ending with “I made this up this morning,” it was an improv comedy audience. These are people who are game for whatever happens next. It framed the piece as both a personal confession and a shared adventure, letting everyone in on the stakes and the spontaneity. 

Suddenly, the piece became both relatable and circusy—like we were all in on the bit together…with the knowledge that the wild and skilled spectacle could still fall apart at any moment.

The audience didn’t just accept the energy. They celebrated it. They cheered. They applauded. They leaned in because the act felt alive. It was fresh, risky, and made under the pressure of knowing that sometimes, your first idea isn’t your best one.

And you may ask yourself, "How do I work this?"

“Damn These Lights!” and Other Improv Comedy Gifts

Midway through the routine, I dropped my sticks. All of them. But this was Arcade Comedy Theater—a temple of yes, and, where mistakes and mishaps are opportunities to make the story more interesting. So I teetered back on the heels of my sparkly boots, looked up, and shouted, “Damn these lights!”

That got a laugh. The routine wasn’t unraveling—it was evolving. This was the kind of chaos that becomes communion with your audience. I knew that no matter what, we all would all smile in the end. And we did.

Making Messy Magic - Circus, Comedy or Marketing

As artists, marketers, and humans generally just trying to not completely bomb in front of strangers, we tend to cling to the things we’ve poured time into. We want our ideas to work because we worked hard on them. But energy doesn’t lie. If it feels like the piece is dragging you down, elbow grease won’t make it dance.

Sometimes, the most professional thing you can do is scrap the script and trust yourself to regroup. Make no mistake: sometimes it is too late to reinvent the plan, and it’s healthier to just go with what you have. But as Lorne Michaels famously said, “The show doesn’t go on because it’s ready; it goes on because it’s 11:30.” You have to make the call on what action coordinates your chaos best.

This kind of messy magic isn’t just for circus. It’s the same creative muscle you flex in marketing—figuring out what works, what doesn’t, and how to connect with people in a way that feels alive.

"Same as it ever was."

Sometimes, it all comes together when it all breaks apart.

Whether you're performing a piece you choreographed or launching a campaign you orchestrated, we're all reaching for that coordinated chaos that looks effortless but is anything but. Ideally, we want to experience joyful, coordinated chaos, because who wants to be miserable? And while we can’t expect to be happy all the time in this blending artforms adventure, something’s gotta give when your very body says This feels icky. Change it.

Welcoming the meaningful intersections where music serves movement, story meets spectacle, and a dropped drumstick becomes comedy is the place where people are willing to pay the price of admission and experience something together. This journey is never a straight line. Trusting your instincts and pivoting with purpose is part of the process. The trick isn’t to avoid the chaos—it’s to groove with it.

If you're into creative pivots, interdisciplinary art, or the messy magic of making something new, follow @punkpiecircus. If nothing else, you'll probably experience your own David Byrne epiphany. Or Dave Matthews joy fest. Or some other self-actualizing phenomenon inspired by a Goliath-crushing namesake.