Learning to Catch Life in Mid-Air

“It started with music.”

I was working on the sunlit terrace of the VCS office in Skopje, letting the morning settle into my skin, when I heard it; deep, rhythmic, electronic pulses weaving through the heat. Techno. Unexpected, magnetic. I looked up, and there he was: a young man, moving to the beat, clubs dancing through the air like extensions of his body, catching light and spinning it back into the sky.

I smiled and walked over. “Nice music”, I said. He smiled too, shy but confident. “Thanks.”

And just like that, I met Isaac Cantor.

He’s 22, from Colombia, and for the past few months he’s been in Macedonia. Not just visiting, but juggling. Literally. Clubs, balls, energy, purpose. He travels the world with nothing more than his art, his courage, and a bag full of tools that help him rewrite the rules of work, freedom, and what it means to live.

We became friends. One conversation turned into many. His story unfolded like a performance: each sentence a motion, each anecdote a catch; fluid, real, raw.

The Spark: Learning to See the World Upside Down

I asked him, “What inspired you to start juggling?”
“There’s a big juggling culture in South America,” he told me. “I first saw it during a protest in 2018. People were collaborating with the march, playing music, juggling, uniting art with activism”.

He was 15 then. He bought his first juggling tools shortly after and began to teach himself at home, in the streets of Colombia. But the spark had been there longer.
“I learned about it when I was 10 years old,” he said, “but the real journey began after that protest. Since then, it’s been my way of exploring the world.”

By 18, he was juggling abroad. Since then, he’s performed in 13 countries: Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Spain, Portugal, France, Italy, England, Scotland, Albania, Macedonia, Serbia, and Belgium.

He’s not just visiting these places, he’s living them, one street corner, one traffic light at a time.

Juggling is a Way of Life

In Isaac’s world, juggling is more than an art. It’s a rhythm, a ritual, a philosophy.

“What’s the most difficult part?”, I asked.
“Dissociation”, he said. “You have to separate parts of your body, your thoughts, stay focused, even while moving. Especially, when you combine it with other things like hula hoop or monocycling. It’s a full-body discipline, and also mental. You have to stay present. Every second.”

Sometimes he works at festivals or private parties, where he choreographs full routines. But most days, he juggles at traffic lights.
“I have to improvise with what I know. Sometimes I plan short sequences, but mostly it’s about energy; what I feel that day, what I want to express. Juggling is both art and survival”.

He can juggle five balls and four clubs. His favorite technique? “Contact juggling”, he said, eyes lighting up. “It’s so smooth, like the ball becomes part of your body.”

But juggling, for him, is not just about tricks. It’s about presence. Expression. Connection.

The Street as Stage and Teacher

“Isn’t it dangerous?”, I asked.
He shrugged. “Not really, unless you work with fire. That can be serious. I’ve been lucky. No accidents. But juggling teaches you respect for your body, your tools, your environment.”

The street can be a stage. But it can also be a battlefield.

“Do you ever get in trouble with the police?”
“So many times,” he laughed. “Each country is different. Sometimes they don’t want you performing because there’s an event, or a politician passing. Other times it’s just laws. But here in Macedonia, they’re relaxed. One time, a policeman even gave me a tip.”

People’s reactions vary too. “Some smile, ask questions, give money. Some just look at me like I’m trash. They say things like, ‘Get a real job.’ That hurts. But I try to remember: not everyone understands what we do, or why.”

Yet there is beauty in the street. “I’ve met amazing people”, he said. “Other circus artists, travelers. We share tips, learn from each other. Sometimes we work together. Some of my best friendships began with a juggling trick.”

He doesn’t give formal lessons, but if someone wants to learn, he’s happy to show them. “It’s all about exchange.”

A Nomadic Economy

“Can you make a living like this?”, I asked him.
“You live day by day”, he explained. “Sometimes you make a lot, sometimes nothing. It teaches you to flow. To adapt. I’m my own boss, so I decide when and where to work.”

But the unpredictability isn’t easy. “Weather is a big challenge”, he said. “If it rains, I can’t work. If it’s too hot, I can’t work. But sometimes I have to because I need the money. So, I juggle through storms, through pain, through exhaustion.”

And yet, he keeps going. Not just because he has to but because he wants to.

The Deeper Lessons: Growth, Grit, and Grace

I asked him what juggling had taught him beyond the stage. He paused. Then, with a quiet voice, he said: “I learned to be constant. To keep practicing even when I was frustrated. I learned to adapt to countries, languages, situations, and people. I had to become responsible for myself. Juggling helped me grow, not just as an artist, but as a person. In how I communicate. How I feel. How I stay grounded.”

“I’m living the life I want”, he said. “And I’m the one deciding.”

Catching Life in Motion

Watching Isaac juggle is like watching someone rewrite the laws of time.

Everything slows down. For a moment, the noise of the world fades  and you see something pure. A body in motion. A mind focused. A soul dancing with gravity.

He’s not chasing applause. He’s not chasing fame. He’s just catching one moment after another and teaching the rest of us how to do the same.

In a world obsessed with control, stability, and outcomes, Isaac reminds us that sometimes, life is not about holding on but about letting go, staying present, and trusting that what you throw into the air will find its way back into your hands.

Cassandre Journoud