Juggling
One of my sisters can juggle. She may not be the only juggling sister, but she's the only one I've seen doing it. She does pretty well. We're not talking about flaming knives level, but she's juggled all the usual less deadly objects. She performs smoothly on her own or with a partner. I've only ever been able to manage three items for a very short while, myself. It's enough to get the idea of it, though. To be successful at the feat, you have to keep moving. You have to do what needs to be done when it needs doing, and any break in timing could undo the whole dance.
This same juggling sister once commented that she didn't know how I managed to juggle so many things in my life. It was long ago when I was a young wife, taking care of a home and a child, working part time and trying to start a business, and at the same time, diving into several creative projects of my own. It's done just like juggling pins or balls, as I'm sure she knows now, too. You keep moving. You grab the bits that are falling before they hit the ground and get them moving again in the right direction. Both the real and symbolic act require a kind of split focus. While you turn your energy to the matter at hand, you can't lose track of the whole of the pattern. What's doing fine now may need your attention in a moment.
But being a poor juggler has its lessons, too. There is a moment when you're juggling (in my case, usually fairly early on) that you know it's all about to fall apart. You start to worry about the next ball and let the others out of your sight. Panic causes you to over-shoot your throws, and you have to reach farther for each ball. Timing fails. It's clear that something is going to get dropped soon. Sometimes, all you can do is step back, take a few breaths, pick up the fallen bits and start over.
At the moment, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed, sensing that impending fall. Small stuff slips, especially as some of the side effects of this medical treatment are making me feel less sharp than usual. I'm forgetting simple things. My attempts to brush up on my Japanese aren't really having much success. Quality writing is rare with this fuzzy brain. The words just skitter into the shadows like bugs in bright light. So the time has come to breathe and maybe start again with fewer balls in the air.
I'll be doing more reading than writing for a while, taking in more stories than I'm putting out. Ideas will have to mix and age until I feel I can weave them with some dexterity again. I don't like letting go of things I want to do or feel I should be doing, but simplicity and rest are the best move right now. I need to conserve the energy for the balls I can't drop.
Eventually, it'll all come back. This is a temporary state. There's just a month left of this treatment before I find out if it's worked. Soon enough, I'll be feeling like me again, like trying to juggle everything again. This is just a step back in order to get my timing. Then, I'll pick up everything that's fallen and go on.
This same juggling sister once commented that she didn't know how I managed to juggle so many things in my life. It was long ago when I was a young wife, taking care of a home and a child, working part time and trying to start a business, and at the same time, diving into several creative projects of my own. It's done just like juggling pins or balls, as I'm sure she knows now, too. You keep moving. You grab the bits that are falling before they hit the ground and get them moving again in the right direction. Both the real and symbolic act require a kind of split focus. While you turn your energy to the matter at hand, you can't lose track of the whole of the pattern. What's doing fine now may need your attention in a moment.
But being a poor juggler has its lessons, too. There is a moment when you're juggling (in my case, usually fairly early on) that you know it's all about to fall apart. You start to worry about the next ball and let the others out of your sight. Panic causes you to over-shoot your throws, and you have to reach farther for each ball. Timing fails. It's clear that something is going to get dropped soon. Sometimes, all you can do is step back, take a few breaths, pick up the fallen bits and start over.
At the moment, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed, sensing that impending fall. Small stuff slips, especially as some of the side effects of this medical treatment are making me feel less sharp than usual. I'm forgetting simple things. My attempts to brush up on my Japanese aren't really having much success. Quality writing is rare with this fuzzy brain. The words just skitter into the shadows like bugs in bright light. So the time has come to breathe and maybe start again with fewer balls in the air.
I'll be doing more reading than writing for a while, taking in more stories than I'm putting out. Ideas will have to mix and age until I feel I can weave them with some dexterity again. I don't like letting go of things I want to do or feel I should be doing, but simplicity and rest are the best move right now. I need to conserve the energy for the balls I can't drop.
Eventually, it'll all come back. This is a temporary state. There's just a month left of this treatment before I find out if it's worked. Soon enough, I'll be feeling like me again, like trying to juggle everything again. This is just a step back in order to get my timing. Then, I'll pick up everything that's fallen and go on.
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