I was ten, sitting on the floor of the basement, three bean bags surrounding me. I had been throwing them and throwing them and throwing them, trying to get them to pass from one hand to the next. I could do jittery circular pattern with two bags, but I wanted to do “real” juggling. I wanted to do the three-ball cascade.
At some point, I realized if I slowed down slightly, threw the bags just a little higher, and passed the bags underneath each other, I could see the pattern emerge. The first time I got something resembling juggling (more than utter chaos), it was euphoric. I was so proud of myself for sticking to this complex task and figuring it out on my own—there was no YouTube at the time to teach me.
Juggling may not be some kind of revolutionary thing—it's quite an old art, actually—but I rarely see women doing it. In fact, it's usually a huge surprise to me to discover a friend can do any kind of juggling pattern. Maybe that's because in my community, girls don't really play with bean bags and balls. I don't think it was overtly discouraged, but it was not encouraged the same way it was with boys, and that's enough to steer some girls away. There's something about juggling that tends to attract boys and men, and I suspect it has to do with upbringing where boys are pushed to explore coordination and sports-like play while girls are left to decide to try that as well. There are other factors, too, like maybe girls still pursue sports, but they keep it to themselves or as a side-passion. As a kid, I never heard a female peer say they wanted to be a professional athlete when they grew up, but quite a few of my male classmates would insist on it.
The other aspect to juggling that suggests this attraction for men is the fact that the highest levels of juggling tournaments are completely dominated by men. Not that men are beating women in these tournaments, but that there are hardly any women participating at all. Luckily, this has been changing, but it still indicates to me that women are being left out of juggling world, probably before they even consider being a part of it. Competition is another one of those things that women aren't really encouraged to do. Don't show off, don't draw too much attention to yourself, don't take away someone else's (i.e. a man's) opportunity to shine.
Delaney Bayles and Other Women You Don't Know
I found a juggling documentary about Delaney Bayles last year and I was deeply inspired by her story, which starts in the early 2000s, contemporaneous to my own private juggling journey. Bayles started entering tournaments and at one of her first, she recalls that the host gave her an honorable mention "for being the only woman in the competition."
...it didn't sit well with me and I was like, next time they call my name, it's going to be because I won and not because I'm a woman. And I don't think I have to tell you who won that competition next year. —Bayles, Timestamp: 8:24
I won't be able to tell her story as well as the documentary, so I definitely recommend watching it! What I find most relevant to CYBORG_ is how the technology of gender can be employed in such fragile ways, to the point that we, the world, miss out on the greatest talent, skill, invention, creativity, and potential just because of rigid gender expectations.
To think that even in the 2000s, Bayles could be the only female in a competition is just flooring to me. Especially because, in my view, the sport of juggling doesn't have any biological advantages based on sex assigned at birth. A man has no special advantage over a woman for any form of juggling as far as I can tell, so why the drastic deficit of representation?
Fast forward to 2024, and the International Jugglers' Association (IJA) releases this International Women's Day Collaboration Video. Featuring over 100 women jugglers, this video is an awesome, entertaining, and impressive compilation. There was diversity I had not seen before (in juggling) all in one place: cis and trans women; very young girls and older women; professional and amateur. When I saw this, I was astounded, but it was the ending that made me choke back tears. A cold room with what looks like concrete walls adorned with cracked paint—perhaps an underfunded school—full of kids, all juggling, shouting, "Happy Women's Day!" intermittently.
Maybe it's my proximity to juggling, but there's something about seeing kids and especially more women practicing and showing off their juggling. To me, juggling represents my curiosity and dedication to learning complex movement patterns. It is a method of self-soothing when I'm stressed or anxious. It is the hope I clung to when I started recovering from my MS attack and lost my coordination for months. It represents a kind of rebellion—it's a sport, but not a sport because it can be whatever you want it to be; it can be performed by people you expect and people you don't expect.
When I see women taking up juggling, I see the world moving in a better direction—more exploratory, more inclusive, more space to move and grow and do. It's not the solution to the world's many problems, but it feels like an indicator of change. After all, it's sometimes the small things that predict or create larger changes. If the victory is just getting kids back into the physical world while they play, it's worth it. If the victory is a 50 year-old mom deciding to try something totally new, it's worth it. If the victory is a woman having the confidence to shakily perform the "basic" three-ball cascade and show off to someone else, it's worth it.
In a world that is trying to keep women out of sports, police women's bodies, and define what a woman is and who gets to be counted as one, I see juggling as the kind of potential space of radical inclusion necessary to stand in contrast.