Showing Up: A Life of Volunteerism, Care, and Circus

 

I began volunteering in Arizona when I was 18 years old, although I don’t think I understood then that it would become one of the enduring threads of my life.

At that age, mental health was a serious issue in my neighborhood and, at times, within my family. I had questions I didn’t know how to answer, and I had a strong desire to understand the things that frightened me. When I fear something, I throw myself at it and try to understand it. My mind is like that.

So, I volunteered on a suicide hotline here in Phoenix.

I learned how powerful it can be to simply listen to another person, to stay present when someone is in pain, to offer a calm voice, and to remind them that they are not entirely alone. I was young, but the experience changed me. It showed me that service does not always mean having the right answer. Sometimes it means being willing to sit with someone in a difficult moment.

Soon afterward, I became curious about death and dying. At 19, I volunteered for several years with Hospice of the Valley. It was a beautiful experience, and one that asked me to confront some of the most tender parts of being human at a very young age. Hospice of the Valley training was instrumental in my ability to navigate the AIDS crisis that soon hit me and my circle of friends soon after.

I began to understand that the end of life is not only about loss. It is also about dignity, memory, companionship, and the small acts of care that help someone feel seen. I was learning that presence has its own kind of value.

When I moved to San Francisco, my volunteer work continued. I became involved with Shanti and met many wonderful people through that organization. For years, my friend Elaine and I volunteered at the Ambassador Hotel in the Tenderloin, supporting people in the end stages of AIDS.

We worked across three or four floors of the hotel and visited twice a week. We gathered laundry, helped with food, checked whether people needed assistance with their medications, and tried to make daily life a little more manageable. Then we would take the laundry, push several shopping baskets through the Tenderloin to the laundromat, wash it, fold it, and bring it back.

Sometimes our work was as simple as that.

Elaine was a beautiful human being, and I still think about the tenderness of those years. We would arrive, do what needed to be done, talk with people, and eventually say goodbye. There was sadness, but there was also humor, friendship, and a sense that our presence mattered.

That has stayed with me throughout my life: the knowledge that care is often expressed through ordinary things. You show up. You pay attention. You remember. You return.

Learning Through Service

My volunteerism has always been connected to curiosity. I have never been satisfied with standing outside an issue and forming an opinion from a distance. If something matters to me, or if it frightens me, I want to move closer. I want to listen, learn, and understand what people are experiencing.

That curiosity also shapes my work as a Master Gardener.

Gardening teaches me to pay attention to the living world in a very direct way. I notice the soil, the heat, the water, the insects, the seasons, and the plants that can thrive in difficult conditions. I am constantly learning, especially here in Arizona, where the landscape asks us to respect limits and work with nature rather than against it.

There is a kind of humility in gardening. You can prepare the soil, plant carefully, provide water, and create the right conditions, but you cannot command a seed to grow. You must be patient. You must observe. You have to accept that growth happens on its own timetable.

That lesson has influenced how I think about people, too, especially young people. Confidence, healing, and belonging often develop gradually. Sometimes what a person needs most is a safe place, a little encouragement, and someone who believes they are capable of more than they can yet imagine.

Returning to the Circus

That is why returning to the circus community feels so meaningful to me.

I have known Jens Larsen of Phoenix Youth Circus for some time. He has a circus background, and so do I. Back in San Francisco, I worked with Gregangelo & Velocity Circus, where I was the Vanna White in Gregangelo’s Whirling Dervish Act. I was also the managing partner responsible for marketing, client relations, communications, etc., and I founded a nonprofit.

The non-profit was called Children United by Experience. We had a space in West Oakland near Trapeze Arts, where we worked with children and young people through circus arts. We created programming that helped elevate their spirits and offered them a safe, welcoming place to gather and share experiences. We also collaborated with other nonprofits in the area because young people deserve communities of support, not just isolated programs.

When Jens invited me to sit on the advisory board of Phoenix Youth Circus, I thought about it, but not for very long.

“Of course,” I told him.

Jens is a beautiful human being, and he has been doing wonderful work here in Arizona. I am excited to see how I can contribute and to learn more about what the organization needs.

I am also excited because the invitation has brought back so many memories of the years I spent in the circus community. I remember the energy, the teamwork, the absurdity, the discipline, and the joy. Most of all, I remember what happened when young people were given permission to try something difficult and discover that they could do it.

When I see Phoenix Youth Circus performers on stilts and rolling balls, laughing as their confidence rises, I see young people building trust in themselves. I see them learning how to fall, recover, balance, and try again. These skills also translate to everyday life, how to fall, recover, maintain balance and try again.

My first circus training class was titled “Circus 101” at the San Francisco School of Circus Arts. On the first day my coach shared with the class, “today I am going to teach you how to fall, you will fall, that is a given, but there are ways to fall safely, and how to pick yourself up after the fall.” That hit heart center for me, and I carry his words today, because he gave me so much more philosophically than I think he knew.

In a chaotic and sometimes dark world, these volunteer experiences matter. Sometimes you must throw yourself into joy. Sometimes you must create a place where people can laugh, take risks, and remember that their bodies and imaginations and time belong to them.

That is what volunteerism has meant to me throughout my life: moving toward the things that matter, even when they are difficult; learning through service; and helping create spaces where people, communities, and the natural world have room to heal and grow.

And now, after all these years, I am grateful to be finding my way back to the circus, with Jens, with Phoenix Youth Circus, and with a new generation of young people ready to rise.

In :beauty”…Jeffrey