Balance is not something we find through strict adherence to routines. It’s not proselytizing one lifestyle or habit over another. It’s neither deprivation, nor denial, and there’s definitely no blissful state fed by anger, self-loathing, shame, or judgment.
There’s a wild rosebush in the alley behind my house. It is unkempt, and flounces over onto the pavement. It is as tall as me. Weeds shoot up through its middle. Some of the leaves are brown. But all over that bush–flowers. New, tight red rosebuds, waiting to spiral free.
It is alluring AND atrocious. It is an enormous eyesore adorned with the softest fragrant petals. I love that rosebush. We are like that rosebush.
When we remember, lovingly, to slow down during the sweet spots, and enjoy them, we have captured a bit of balance. The rest of the time is life in the back and forth, through seasons and circumstances. We all swing, sometimes wildly, through our own pendular processes.
And here’s the thing–all of us have totally different construction: my fulcrum is not your fulcrum. My mess is not your mess, and our flowers look totally different. I find this all very liberating.
