Balancing Act

“In some ways, suffering ceases to be suffering the moment it finds meaning.”

Victor Frankel

Life is defined by patterns, which are all around us. You need only to explore your immediate surroundings to find any number of patterns. Look up and you’ll see objects that are high. Look down and you’ll see things below. Listen and you’ll hear sounds that are close while some are far away. The texture of your desktop may feel smooth while the wood on your chair may be rough. The temperature of the room may feel warm but turning a fan on makes it cooler. Up/down, near/far, smooth/rough, warm/cool—we use adjectives to describe the contrasts that form the patterns that surround us. These adjectives are a tool that help us make sense of our world; without patterns, life would be a confusing jumble of sensations, making it incredibly hard to predict and navigate.

Our ability to describe contrasts and identify patterns is part of our human need to organize, plan, and problem solve. They help us create a road map of our lives that shows where we have been, our current location, and the direction in which we are moving. But a map is only as good as its accuracy and detail; we get in trouble when we see patterns that aren’t there or when we minimize or ignore contrasts. Just as we have the capacity to identify patterns, we are equally skilled at creating or obscuring them, driven by a desire to cling to what is pleasurable and avoid what is unpleasant.

Patterns and the contrasts that define them reflect the natural ebb and flow of life. The sun rises and sets, the seasons shift from cold to hot, the weather can be either wet or dry, things in nature cycle endlessly through growth and decay. Transformations can be slow and subtle, or devastatingly fast. It is not always possible to identify the exact moment at which change occurs, but our capacity to sense these shifts can help us navigate life skillfully and avoid getting swept away by life’s changes. Well-being grows as we learn to accept change and navigate our way between opposites, rather than resisting change or trying to force it in a specific direction. We can’t avoid change, but we can learn how to stay closer to the middle ground, a place where we are less likely to get tossed back and forth between extremes.

The middle ground is where we find stability, what we popularly refer to as balance. We all crave balance—it is a hot topic these days—but what, exactly, is it? First and foremost, it is not a static act, nor is it a destination or a thing we acquire and hold on to. Balance is the process of staying close to a center point between two points, appearing when both sides are weighted equally. But even at this center, there is always movement, a slight shift in either direction. Imagine a traditional scale in which two plates are held by a common string suspended at a point halfway between them. When objects that are equal in weight are placed on the plates, the scales appear balanced, but, if you look closely there still exists a slight oscillation around the middle. What we see on the scale, we also experience in life. Balance is not stillness, but involves continuous motion as we seek to establish and maintain equilibrium.

We all lose our balance from time to time. I recently hiked a trail that featured numerous tree roots and rocks covering the path which made for a strenuous climb that required careful attention. I frequently tripped over roots and stumbled on the rocks, many times needing to stop myself from falling. With each stumble, I became increasingly concerned about my balance--worried my strength and coordination were declining --until a much younger hiking companion tripped and complained about how hard it was to navigate the terrain. In an instant, that scale I imagined was tipping toward frailty shifted back to the center. I wasn’t declining, just struggling like everyone else. We are wise to remember that well-being isn’t defined by a lack of difficulty, but by how quickly we find our way back to our center. It is our sensitivity to how change impacts us and our capacity to respond appropriately that influences the ease with which we navigate life.

We can think of balance as our skill at staying close to the center, that place which exists between two points, even if we aren’t there to enjoy it. The center is not so much a physical location, but a way of responding to the impermanence of life. Several ancient healing traditions describe the center as an enduring sense of stability, an experience of harmony that is independent of momentary events. The ancient Chinese referred to this harmony as the Dao, the tranquility found at the center of all events, between the shifts of yin and yang. In yoga philosophy, it is a property of nature known as sattva, which generates contentment, humility, and joy. Aristotle described it as eudaimonia, a deep sense of satisfaction that grows from leading a well-intentioned life that is immune from the pull of transitory experiences.

To develop our capacity to stay balanced, we must be aware of the forces that pull us away from our center. Our brain’s preference for prediction and problem-solving leads us to perpetually plan for what we believe will be the obstacles on the road ahead. Based on our past experiences, we look for patterns that help us create strategies that will overcome these imagined obstacles. Sometimes our strategies keep us balanced, but other times we overlook the smaller, more subtle transformations that can create life’s biggest disruptions. These are the slow and quiet changes that get overlooked as we get swept up in our narratives about the past or our future. Small changes tend to accumulate outside of our awareness until they reach a tipping point, so what seems to be a sudden shift has been happening quietly as we were looking elsewhere. The result is an event that spins us far from center--the sudden heart attack, an unanticipated job loss, the shock of marital infidelity. Balance--our ability to remain stable in the face of change--is an ongoing process of noticing subtlety, of sensing movement away from the center, of accurately identifying what is creating that shift, and then taking appropriate steps to make our way back to that place of equanimity.

Throughout September we will look at the various small and subtle forces that can cause big disruptions in our lives. We’ll look at the impact of subtle physiological processes, such as the synchronization of circadian rhythms, to the broader impact of our social environment, including casual relationships, social media, and entertainment preferences. Exploring these smaller, less noticeable changes helps us to identify subtle contrasts, while building our sensitivity to the richer and more intricate patterns that life offers.