Imagine finding love in the most unexpected place—huddled under a dimly lit bridge by the Canal de l’Ourcq in Paris, where the cold winter air couldn’t chill the warmth between two people. That’s exactly where I knew Jake and I were more than just tour buddies. But here’s where it gets controversial: Was it the shared love of condiments, the late-night giggles, or the adrenaline of performing that sparked our connection? Let’s rewind to the beginning.
Our paths first crossed in 2010 at a circus festival in Bathurst. I was a wide-eyed high school senior, and Jake’s troupe from Adelaide stole the show. I remember him vividly—I even took one of his workshops—but our interaction was fleeting. Fast forward to my life post-high school: I left Ulladulla, trained at the National Institute of Circus Arts, and dove into a freelance acrobatic career in Melbourne. Meanwhile, Jake’s group, Gravity & Other Myths, was skyrocketing to international fame. When they advertised for a flyer, I jumped at the chance.
My first interview was a Zoom call that felt more like a vibe check. I played it cool, which impressed everyone except Jake, who wasn’t convinced I was the right fit. Still, they hired me for a month-long contract, and soon I was on a plane to Austria. It was December 2018, and the mix of terror and excitement was overwhelming. A snowy train ride to Graz, intense rehearsals, and ripped skin from swinging later, I stood behind the curtain for my first performance, nearly passing out from nerves. But opening night was a triumph, and I’ve never felt prouder.
At first, my connection with Jake was purely platonic—I had a boyfriend back in Australia. We bonded over our love for condiments, often splitting meals after shows. Life on tour is intimate; mornings started with coffee as a troupe, and nights ended with shared dinners. Jake’s humor and energy drew me in—he had this way of lighting up any room. And this is the part most people miss: It wasn’t just the romance; it was the friendship that laid the foundation.
When my contract was extended, the distance became too much for my boyfriend, and we broke up. Jake didn’t waste time making his feelings known, which caught me off guard. Our chemistry shifted, and things got flirty. In 2019, during a California tour, the line between friends and something more blurred completely. Beach days, tacos, and sunny weather sealed the deal. But we kept our romance secret to avoid workplace drama, especially as we returned to Europe for another season.
Those winter nights in Paris were straight out of a movie. Under that spooky bridge, we were like two penguins, inseparable despite the cold. It didn’t matter if it was past midnight or -2°C—being with Jake was all that mattered. By early 2020, endless touring loomed, but fate intervened when we headed back to Australia just as the world shut down. I moved into Jake’s Adelaide apartment, and the rest is history.
The past few years have been stressful but incredibly fun. Touring together meant we knew each other inside out before moving in. Our relationship evolved naturally, from showmance to something deeper. We still tour most of the year, still split meals, but those bridge rendezvous are rare now. Here’s the question I’ll leave you with: Can a relationship born in the chaos of touring truly stand the test of time? Let me know what you think in the comments.
Catch Alyssa Moore and Jacob Randell in Gravity & Other Myths’ Ten Thousand Hours at Arts Centre Melbourne from January 13 to 25. And tell us—what’s your ‘moment you knew’ story?
