My friend, champion, and aerial coach Alisa Gaylon died this morning, after small cell lung cancer that was diagnosed and treated last summer metastasized to her brain and spine in October. She was 52.
If you are a regular reader of this newsletter you may remember Alisa as the first person I interviewed here, about a year ago. I cherish this interview now as a powerful manifestation of her take-no-prisoners approach to illness and to life, as demonstrated by her response to how she thinks cancer has changed her:
I care a little bit less about external bullshit and, like, noise? I care more about genuine connections and trying to make those -- and a little bit less about being liked by so many people. Like, I'm not in it to have everybody like me. Just take what I have to say and if it doesn't apply to you, move on. But if it does, let's have a connection about it.
Alisa was one of the first people I told about my own breast cancer diagnosis, after she and I and dozens of other students had been forced en masse into the basement of Aloft, the circus gym where we train, during a tornado warning. I pulled her aside and dropped my news, in this chaotic space, because I knew she would understand and I needed her support and guidance. Alisa had been diagnosed with breast cancer ten years earlier and talked about it, her double mastectomy, and her journey to fitness through aerial practice often and openly.
She was the person who told me early and often: “not this, not now.” This is not going to be what kills you. Something else will, later. That this was cruelly the case so quickly for her, after ten years NED, has rocked my own understanding of the progression and evolution of disease and the relentless, rapid force with which cancer can claim a life. We are all OK until we’re not, I’ve taken to saying of late, and never so much so than in the case of this joyous, loving, fearless woman.
Before I knew her well, I saw her perform a sling solo, flying through the air dressed like Princess Leia. The male friend I was with turned to me after and said, “Who was THAT? Is she single?” She was, and her search for love was one of the many things I found inspirational about her. Her Instagram handle is "@nofoxtogive,” and I don’t know many other people who absolutely did not give a shit what anyone thought about them. She brought a clear-eyed honestly to her relationships — romantic and platonic — that we all would do well to model.
On Saturday night, as Alisa was slipping away in hospice, my other coach, Kristi, wrote a tribute that was read at a performance at Aloft, our home away from home, and with her permission I’m sharing it here.
Alisa is a radiant, colorful, unapologetic, talented, energetic, giving, passionate, hilarious, brave, empathetic, creative, and beautiful soul. She entered through the doors of Aloft every day greeting people with compliments and love. Her presence in this very room filled it with positivity, laughter, and fun. Her makeup, her tie-dye sling, her purple and blue hair were always as gorgeous as her loud laughter, her bright eyes, and her authentic presence.
She would tell it to you straight when she wanted to be heard and she’d be a shoulder to lean on when you yourself needed to be heard. She is an aerialist, a teacher, a chef, a lover of shiba dogs, an artist, a lawyer, a philanthropist, a “fun sized smart ass” as she self-described on her own Instagram…and she is absolutely and completely strong as hell. She is a beloved sling instructor, a person to look up to, a fierce member of this community, a daring performer and a sweet friend to many of us. The bright light that Alisa brought to Aloft and to our hearts, will never go out…..
So this one is for Alisa. She’d want us all to keep laughing and to keep pointing our toes and to go on with making art together in this place where she was with us.
Get up. Make art. Don’t be afraid to fail. You’re only OK until you’re not.
Addendum: My friend Eiren reminded me that she included footage from Alisa’s Princess Leia act in this lovely mini film created as part of a pandemic project in which musicians covered songs by a given band (in this iteration the Pixies) and created little music videos for them, so I’ve updated this post to include it. Make art, and then let it live on in the art of others!
You have my deepest sympathy, Martha. I am grateful to read about her.
Thank you for writing this remembrance of Alisa. You lost a friend and mentor, but everyone loses something when anyone is taken by illness “before their time’. It reminds us that life with a capital “L” is unpredictable, and that we should savor every moment, even the crappy ones like when some you care about gets sick or dies…there’s gotta be some good that can come from such sadness, even if it’s merely a heightened awareness of our own uncertain prospects of living long and in good health.
So maybe play some sad songs as you exercise, and think of all the good laughs you’ve enjoyed and maybe do a little dance in your living room when nobody’s there to ask whether dancing still makes you happy, and if it does, what is making you cry.