The Danger of Balance

Three and a half years ago, in my pledge to become a monastic associate, I promised to live a life of balance, built around the quest for God. Rather than dominating my existence, as it had for two decades, work would coexist with play, family, service, study, and above all prayer.

I never imagined how subversive—or how isolating—this would be.

Yesterday I attended a business seminar on social media, such as YouTube, Facebook, and Twitter. It’s easy for me to come away from these seminars with a fear that the world has passed me by: oh my goodness, my customers have moved on to the latest and greatest, how could I not have known, I have to rush back to the office to keep up.

Balance, on the other hand, makes it hard to care whether I keep up—because it forces me to see there’s more to life than the latest trends, or even success at work.

At business functions, it’s almost a cliché to ask people “How’s business?” and have them say, “Busy!” Constant activity seems to be required for membership in the club: if we’re not busy, maybe we’re not successful. No wonder so many people wear busyness as a badge of honor—or a protective shield.

Balance, on the other hand, asks us to let go of our obsession with busyness and pay attention to something larger.

The life of balance can be subversive because of what it leads to. You start asking, “Why am I rushing around?” You have more time and clarity of thought to question all kinds of other things too. And you begin to live differently. Perhaps, in the interests of a more spiritual, more balanced life, you pass on a promotion that requires crazy hours, or you refuse a social commitment on the weekend because you’ve decided to keep Sabbath. Maybe you decide not to hit the malls during the holiday season, or you’re just not as productive as you used to be.

Just like that, you’ve broken the social contract—the one that equates constant activity with individual self-worth. The social contract won’t care, but the people who adhere to it may not understand you anymore.

That’s where the loneliness comes in. Suddenly you no longer speak the language of your old pals and co-workers. They talk about how much they’re rushing around; you have no reference point. They look for a place to squeeze in coffee with you; your schedule is flexible.

This can be profoundly disorienting. In my life, I often wonder if I’m doing the right thing. I question my self-worth. Sometimes I think how comfortable it would be to dive back in to busyness.

And then I look at the benefits of balance. For instance, I think more clearly. My vested interests are fading away, leaving me freer to approach things with an open heart. I get to follow a mysterious Spirit one small step at a time on a path whose form I can’t begin to guess. Part of every day involves communion with the ground of all being. I’m privileged to, however imperfectly, try to live a life for something larger than myself.

This life of balance is lonely. It is disorienting. It can be dangerous to things like income or financial security. And yet I would never go back. Even if I could.