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I had been drinking the “Life in Balance” Kool-Aid for decades now, seeking to embrace the power of now; to eat, pray and love. So why was I suddenly not so sure?

My embrace of the balanced life started in the late 1980s when I read Robert Fulghum’s bestseller, “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.” He exhorted: “Live a balanced life — learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.”

“Love that,” I said to my 30-something self. And I did, for years.

Then, a decade older, I came across another version of essentially the same message: “Living in balance is easy and very rewarding because your life becomes one of joy, happiness and serenity.” Reflecting early-stage midlife skepticism, I muttered: “Not so sure how easy that really is.”

My turnabout seemed complete recently, when in a yoga class I found myself staring down at a green block imprinted with: “Life. Balance. Growth.” “That’s bull,” I growled, using an expletive, loud enough for the person next to me to throw some shade in my direction. I promptly fell out of my pose.

After class I talked with my yoga instructor, Amy, about my disenchantment with the entire “balance” incantation. To my surprise she confessed: “Personally, I think balance is a fallacy. It’s presented in society as something that can be achieved, but in reality it’s not an achievable goal.”

Really? I realized I needed to take this to a higher power. That’s Susan Piver, a Buddhist teacher and author, most recently, of “The Wisdom of a Broken Heart,” who has long been a life guide to me. “Is it ever possible to be balanced?” she asked rhetorically. “I don’t think that it is, because then you’d have to freeze in that position. ‘Got it. Now don’t move.’” Even the noted biologist John Kricher was among the apostates, telling us there “is no balance of nature – not today and not at any time in Earth’s long history. The paradigm is based on belief, not data; it has no scientific merit.” My mentors had confounded me.

No matter my muddle, I continued my yoga practice, planned more vacations, ate a “balanced” diet, and even signed up for a “digital detox,” where I was promised that by disconnecting, I would reconnect. Still, balance remained an unobtainable state, an illusory goal. In fact the more I desired it, the further it retreated from me.

Before I knew it I had transitioned from believer to heretic. Not only did this aphorism seem inauthentic and unobtainable; even worse, a “balanced” life now sounded monotonous and dull. One Zen-y writer asked: Who would not want a life where you enjoy every second and where you can be happy without any reason to be happy?

I’m raising my hand. I don’t.

Looking back on my life, I think I could have read the clues to my future heresy better. After all, I had had a couple of early lessons.

Lesson No. 1: Just before Y2K, I was on the hunt for a pair of bedside table lamps at a local antique shop. Russell, the proprietor, showed me a half-dozen sets — they were all too large, too gaudy or too expensive. The pair I actually liked had but one flaw: They were different, although their shades shared the same butterfly-on-parchment motif. “How would that look to people?” I asked Russell, worrying that they would think I hadn’t noticed their different heights or, worse, that I had lost my gay design gene.

He smiled and asked: “How many people are you expecting to view your bedside lamps?” Pushing me, he added: “Why does it matter if they aren’t balanced? They’re beautiful in their individuality and as a pair, perfect in their difference.” Unconvinced, I skipped out.

A week later I returned to the shop and bought the fraternal twins. In bed that first night, I didn’t obsess on the differences; in fact, my changed vantage point obscured them altogether and instead I delighted on watching the butterflies dance before I clicked the light off. In other words, my mismatched lamps taught me that balance is not about symmetry, but about perspective, how we see.

Lesson No. 2: More recently I was in a San Francisco high-rise when a strong earthquake started to rock ‘n roll the office tower. From 30 floors up I saw the cityscape appear to sway — first left, then right, then back again. But no, the streets of San Francisco were not moving. Rather the building, purposely designed with what’s called a form of “roller bearing” (a means of mitigating lateral seismic shifts), allowed it to yield to and absorb the quake force, without collapsing. As a Cal tech scientist explained to me: “It’s gotta give.” l survived (obviously), finding myself under a desk once the temblor stopped. I’ll skip more of the engineering gobbledy-gook, but that earthquake revealed to me that balance is not about stability or rigidity, but the ability to yield and move.

Which brings me to a more recent yoga class: Shortly after my “bull” epiphany, I was in the midst of “tree pose,” a balancing act that leaves you standing on one leg with both arms stretched above your head. Losing my focus, I started to topple out of the pose. Although the bamboo floor below me hadn’t started to rock or roll, I had. My first inclination was to lock in my position, which is to say tighten all my muscles for fear of falling. Or, as Susan Piver had said with a smile: “Freeze!” I did, at which point I could tell my “tree” was about to collapse.

Just at that moment, I recalled what had occurred during the earthquake; instead of “freezing,” I relaxed my muscles and felt my body absorb the disequilibrium, which — surprise — allowed me to remain standing tall. Later, Ms. Piver elaborated on what had happened to me: “Balance is not so much striking or holding the pose, but flowing with the movements that affect your pose. The more quickly you can respond and make those adjustments – that’s balance. Balance comes from adapting quickly.”

Bingo!

Where does this leave me now? Midlife is no time to mindlessly swallow the bromides of our day, which I have learned can be as unbalanced a diet as any. Whether it’s falling in yoga class or falling short in life, I can see more clearly now that the coveted state of balance is about flexibility and change, not stasis or symmetry. Anything that challenges my equilibrium or anyone who tries to throw me off-kilter will actually improve my balance because day by day I’m learning to be nimble, deft and keep my focus. Oh, and I’m not afraid to fall any more.

Steven Petrow is a writer living in Hillsborough, N.C.



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