I learned to juggle when I was eight years old. We lived in Cambridge, England, that year, and some of the other kids would juggle two balls against the wall or in the air during recess. I was intrigued, and gave it a go. There’s a certain cadence, rhyme and reason to juggling. It’s a learned skill, and some are naturally better at it than others. I was fairly good at the two ball juggle. I can even do it with one hand. I’ve tried to add a third ball to the mix, off and on through the years, but never got the hang of it. Once that ball was introduced, control was quickly lost, and the balls would tumble to the ground.
Sometimes it seems as though my life is like a juggling act. Working and mothering. These two things I can manage. They are sustainable, and I can keep things going, more or less. It’s not always smooth or with perfect rhythm, but I can generally keep it together. A pattern seems to be emerging, in which the addition of a relationship is akin to trying to add that third ball. I haven’t gotten the hang of how to adjust the rhythm, and sooner or later I get stressed out, start to compromise things, my mental and emotional states spin off into the ether, and everything falls apart until I can gather things together and get the rhythm going again.
I admire those kids you see playing that complicated jumping rope game in which two ropes are spun in opposite directions, one clockwise, one counterclockwise, and the kids line up, catch the rhythm, and jump in. It’s so smooth, so perfect. They blend, in what looks like effortless motion. They skip and dance and sing. It’s a beautiful thing to behold. I wish relationships could blend so harmoniously, so smoothly. For me, trying to have a relationship is about as successful as me trying to jump into one of those rope skipping games. One step and I’m tangled completely, trip, and fall unceremoniously, possibly hurting others in the tumble, after which I have to pull myself together, apologize for the damage I’ve done and the trouble I’ve caused, scrape the dirt from my wounds, and hobble off to some safe place where I can regroup and heal.
