Jellybeans on a Stormy Day: Finding Balance in Practice and Life

On a cold and rainy November morning I found myself dropping brightly colored orbs into little cups numbered by flavor: 1. green apple, 2. banana parfait, 3. strawberry smoothie – jellybeans for an introductory mindfulness class at the local library. The process was taking some care and concentration to get just right amidst the drum beat of rain drops and intermittent wind gusts. Is the dark red color black raspberry or pomegranate? To have such cheerful work on a dreary day brought a smile to my lips.

This jellybean practice during a storm in a particularly fraught year reminded me of the power of balance. Finding balance means many things, but in terms of my contemplative practice it doesn’t mean equal or unchanging middle, like it might on scales or a seesaw. It means doing what I can to ensure what is depleting and what is nourishing or fortifying is in proportion in my life – at least enough so that I can remain relatively stable, steady and be of some benefit in the world. It also means remaining aware of and open to what is really here and not falling into extremes.

Hardly ever the easiest choice in the short term, finding balance has seemed even more elusive lately. What I’m inclined to do and what I know will bring better balance feel worlds apart – like a mountain to climb sometimes. As a psychologist I can’t pretend to not know any better. Still I resist more often than I’d like to admit.

Balance is one of those things that I recognize when its present – I can feel it in my bones. Most of us understand intellectually that it’s good to be balanced, yet it’s an ever-changing landscape and can be so hard to maintain. Mainstream US culture certainly doesn’t make it easy. The temptation to slide down the slippery slope of intensity can be powerful and relentless.

In yoga class I learned the Sanskrit (and Pali) terms sthira and sukha referenced in Patanjali’s Yoga Sutra (2.46), and often translated into English as “effort and ease”. The root of sthira means to stand or to be firm and infers stability, intent, and strength. The roots su + kha mean “good space” and infer comfort, pleasure, and openness. To me this is how finding balance feels. Because its a dynamic and perpetual practice, it takes a lot of strength and firmness to experience the comfort and openness that are it’s eventual fruits.

In the short term, extremes tend to seem easier and simpler to fall into. It’s like opening the floodgates or falling into a well-worn groove. I think about my years of providing services as a psychologist. In some ways there has been comfort in pouring all of my attention into someone else in a one sided relationship. As a practiced listener, it can be much easier to let someone else do all the talking – to make it all about you. But, there is always us.

Political divisiveness, the normalization of incivility, and increasing isolation after the lockdown of the worldwide pandemic made us less likely to engage socially. This has become a new societal groove. I personally have always found it tempting to withdraw into individual pursuits like reading, researching or writing these blog posts. It takes little effort for me to focus all of my attention inward. Too much of this limits me from experiencing the fullness of life though. When we withdraw into a personal bubble, we’re operating on partial information. As part of an interconnected web, we cut off aspects of ourselves. It becomes like exhaling without inhaling… or vice versa. It’s not sustainable and we’re reaping the consequences.

It’s understandable that we find ourselves falling in and out of balance. Extremes are easier in the short term. It takes effort to dance the endless dance of finding balance – especially during times of stress and challenge. I’ve written before about the research finding that an optimal amount of stress is necessary for life to thrive (Is Mindfulness Working for Me? and Mindfulness of Arousal and Challenge). In order to find balance, we then may need to follow our effort with the ease of rest, sometimes as Frank Ostaseski would say, right in the middle of things.

I’ve heard and read many wise teachers say things about turning or moving toward, even embracing difficulty or suffering and I’ve echoed this teaching many times, but I’ve been wondering more and more about this advice. It seems to me turning/moving toward something can potentially become as imbalanced as turning/moving away from it. It has been helpful for me to learn that the Dharma is aspirational, yet for someone like me who can be maybe too literal, intense and earnest, it can be a recipe for extremes.

Fortunately, there are many ways to practice – something for most every personality and context – between the extremes of catastrophe and pollyanna, devastation and elation, self-denial and self-indulgence, eternalism and nihilism, and on and on. I’m grateful there are jellybeans on a rainy day in a particularly demoralizing season of life reminding me that “this too is true”.

If you’d like to explore with me, here are some reflections I have been considering with curiosity around the concept of balance: