The Art of Balance in Letting Go

I've never been a thrill-seeker.

In fact, I'd describe myself as more risk-averse than anything. Heights don't make me very comfortable and a stomach drop does little more than make me nauseous. I joke that every trip to an amusement park needs someone to be the "stuff holder" (ain't that the truth!) and I'm happy to be supportively (and safely) cheerleading from the sidelines.

Staying solidly in my comfort zone - keeping my feet firmly planted on the ground - hasn't only been a way to approach my life, but a mechanism for maintaining control in a world that's often more chaotic than I'd care to admit.

Yet recently, I've felt a pull to move.

While attending a retreat in Tuscon, Arizona, I took part in the "Desert Tightrope" challenge course. And while the title of the activity may seem fairly explicit, I gulped when I realized the tightrope we were moving across was suspended 35-feet above the ground. We were strapped into safety gear and given instructions, and as I approached the climb I paused to take a deep breath.

"What's your intention for this activity today?" the instructor asked.

Although I didn't find myself as nervous or fearful as I thought I might be, but decided to respond as honestly as possible. I took a deep breath.

"To stay open, trust my body, and remember that this is an opportunity to shift my perspective."

And that's exactly what it did.

Deep breathing might have been the only thing to get me up each step, but once I stepped out onto the tightrope, I felt a sort of freedom. The reflex to try and grip the rope below my feet gave way to a feeling of connected balance - where I didn't need to worry about the strength of my arms or the placement of my feet - just the task ahead.

The hard part seemed to lie in the question of how to move forward. It required temporarily letting go in order to reach for the next rope. A momentary flush of fear flooded my system. I wondered if letting go would cause me to lose my balance. But instead, it seemed to do the opposite. It was as if that suggestion propelled me forward.

Without (over)thinking, I simply reached - trusting my body - and before I knew it, the next rope was there. And then another, and another. I wasn't concerned about making it across, finishing the fastest, or even whether I was doing it "right." Someone from the ground yelled up, "Don't forget to check out the view!"

As I remembered to let go and look around, I saw the morning sun streaming over the mountains, the vast expanse making me feel small, yet mighty, in the bigger picture. My grip loosened on the ropes that helped support my outstretched arms. It was just me soaking in every moment on that tightrope, in a beautiful dance of balance, moving high above the ground. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, and then to my surprise, I started to bounce.

This is actually kind of fun! Laughter escaped from my whole body.

I didn't know what my next step would bring, or how much longer my already-tired legs would last. But that didn't matter. This adventure reminded me that balance isn't a landing point - is a constantly shifting state of exploration.

Or as Albert Einstein famously quoted, "Life is like riding a bicycle. In order to keep your balance, you must keep moving."

Achieving "balance" in my life sometimes feels like an elusive goal. With so much to juggle, the "right" blend of work, play, rejuventation and rest, activity and productivity, seems always out of reach. But I've found comfort in the very real reminder that there's really just the next rope. The reach may feel too far at first, but a deep breath, a little stretch, and the willingness to take the leap can often get us further than we thought possible.

This Spring I celebrated a milestone birthday and entering a new decade feels exciting and tangible. I've let go of some (arbitrary) deadlines that have haunted my calendar for some time and said 'yes' to a few unexpected invitations for creative flow. In recent opportunites to gather with friends and family, I've focused on an active presence - unplugging from distractions of all types has allowed me to lean into a joy of connection, and allow more laughter into the conversations.

I haven't stopped, but I have let go. Now, I'm moving more than ever - and for the first time I'm starting to feel the thrill of the art balance in action. It's a high-wire thrill I'll cherish for many years to come.