As I walked down the street, blocked off from automobile traffic for the duration of annual summer festival, I saw a crowd gathering in front of a funky consignment shop.

Crowds are interesting phenomena. Something a little out of the ordinary happens. Someone stops to observe it and then people gather around the original observer to see what they’re looking at.

Of course, I had to see what everyone seemed so interested in.

It turned out to be a street performer.

He was a tall thin man. Youngish; probably in his twenties. He wore a small black mask with a hook-shaped beak like you might have seen worn by a jester or costumed lord at a masked ball in the 17^th century.

He surrounded himself with the tools of the trade; a giant ball made of a ceramic or some sort of hardened material strong enough to hold his weight; a small fire (oddly set up for some level of control on a high-tech metal tripod); and three black cones of an unknown material.

His main trick was balancing himself on the ball while juggling the three cones, glowing with short streaks of golden flames at their ends. Taking very small steps, careful not to fall off, he’d carefully roll the ball away from the curb then back again.

He did a few other tricks, all with large exaggerated gestures. Like a mime, his schtick involved no words. Occasionally, he’d enlist the help of a small child who, unafraid of his mask and the fire, stood in front of the crowd.

What would make someone want to perform this way?

Maybe he collected a few dollars for his troubles. Maybe he had a more elaborate clowning gig and this was a chance to try out new material.

I couldn’t help but feel something special for him; for anyone who takes something they love doing to the streets. To be seen. Or heard. Or…..

How many times have I stood mesmerized by the percussive virtuosity of the Bucket Boys, now a Chicago institution? They can be routinely heard drumming on upside down white plastic buckets just outside of major sporting venues or high-end department stores.

And I remember when I was traveling in Spain a few years ago, coming out of the subway and hearing a guitarist playing a Beatle song while sitting against a low tiled wall near the stairs. He probably wasn’t expecting to bring home money, but maybe he wanted to feel differently than he does strumming and crooning his favorite songs alone in his room.

Musicians on a subway platform, jewelry makers at holiday gift show, or masked jugglers at a summertime street festival – they inspire me.

Sometimes, I’ll think about keeping this blog as taking it to the streets. Five years ago, I started recording little essays about things I am grateful for as a practice for myself. I’d like to have an audience for my writing, and I’d like more people to consider how appreciating little things can change their lives.

I might try different things to call attention to what I’m doing thinking that maybe a crowd will gather. Then I’ll come back to the commitment I made to myself, to have a gratitude practice and wanting to express myself IN THE WORLD. Thinking about expressing your best self matters.

Doing what you love as a public expression, whether you have an audience or not, is no small thing.