Scales

Lately, I have felt completely out of balance.

Not in the cute, “I need a quiet weekend and a long walk” kind of way.

I mean mentally exhausted. Physically depleted. Too many things asking for my attention and not enough of me to give to all of them.

And yet, I didn't want to put anything down.

I wanted to push.

I wanted to keep every commitment, follow through on every idea, be present for every person, finish every project.

Somewhere inside of me was the belief that if I could just work a little harder, organize myself a little better, or get through the next few weeks, I could somehow arm wrestle life back into balance.

But I was trying to create balance by controlling my circumstances.

And life wasn't cooperating.

Because life rarely stays level for long.

It moves.

It quakes.

Something unexpected gets added.

Something we thought we had capacity for suddenly feels heavy.

Our bodies change.

Our families need us differently.

Work expands.

Energy contracts.

Maybe balance isn't getting all of those things to finally hold still.

Maybe balance is learning to move with them.

I keep thinking about the image of a scale.

Look closely. Balance isn't a fixed position.

There is movement.

Adjustment.

A little more here.

A little less there.

A continual response to whatever weight has just been added or taken away.

Which makes me wonder if one of the problems with the way we talk about balance is that we expect it to look equal.

Equal time for work and family.

Equal energy for ourselves and everyone else.

Exercise, friendships, sleep, creativity, relationships, responsibilities—all somehow receiving their appropriate share.

But life doesn't ask the same thing of us every day.

• There are weeks when our work needs more of us.

• Moments when our families need our full attention.

• Months when we are creating and building.

• Times when we need to pull inward.

• Days when our bodies make it very clear that rest needs to move much higher on the list.

The work isn't to make every part of life receive the same amount.

The work is to notice what this moment is asking for.

That has been the harder realization for me lately.

My exhaustion wasn't simply telling me that I needed to manage everything better.

It was telling me that something needed to change.

Something had to come off the plate.

Something could wait.

Something important might need less of me right now so that something else can receive more.

And that requires a different kind of trust.

Not trust that life will stop shifting.

Trust that I can adjust when it does.

Maybe balance isn't something we achieve. Rather something we practice.

Paying attention.

Making adjustments.

Letting go of the expectation that everything can matter equally, all at once.

And surrender.