My life was in balance, and it felt great. (I always say my search for balance comes naturally, since I was born on the middle day of the week on the middle day of the year.)
Around this time I read a short piece by Eat, Pray, Love’s Elizabeth Gilbert about how women use that word – balance – as a weapon against themselves and each other. How the word has “tilted dangerously close” to the word "perfect." How the word is a “breathtakingly temporary condition.”
"But it feels so darn wonderful!" I wanted to write in a blog post. I didn’t feel I was striving so much for perfection as for the feeling of being gently swept in the current of day-after-day, of accomplishment after accomplishment, from one to-do on the list to another.
That post never got written because the current changed. Work deadlines still got met, but at the expense of creative writing time, which led to blocked ideas and frustration. The pendulum had gotten stuck to the left.
Gilbert was right, I moaned. “The world is like a dropped pie most of the time,” she’d written. “Don’t kill yourself trying to put it back together. Just grab a fork and eat some of it off the floor. Then carry on.”
I carried on – am carrying on – and making sure I nibble something over here (starting an essay) or savor something over there (seeing my name in my favorite literary magazine).
Because in the end it’s not so bad being, as Gilbert put it, one of the “sloppy stupendous champions” of this world.
At least my clothes are clean.
Where is the pendulum swinging in your world these days?