I like balance in most things: colors; time management; walking upright. For every bad experience I have to accept I like to make up for it with good thoughts, good experiences. For instance, I got scammed on a psychic reading last Friday (the first time in almost 7 years of readings from the same place every summer!), so to make up for it I got my nose pierced later that day. It balanced out, in my head, anyways.
But really, the importance of all that “balance” nonsense is to try to create an imbalance, isn’t it? You hope the good will outweigh the bad. You hope the nose piercing experience (okay so I admit I kind of *like* getting pierced but that’s another story) and what you get out of it–a new place for body decorations to hang from!–is worth more than the money, time, and disappointment wasted on a crappy psychic reading.
A lot of people talk about balancing different areas of their lives, too. Balancing work and relationships, family and friends, romance and domesticity. Well, I don’t know how much I like that idea. I mean, I do it too–I write 9-5 because it fits with Hubs’s work schedule, and because some part of me says “don’t work too hard because you’ll drain yourself, you need time to refresh” and okay maybe that’s true BUT. I’m still trying to optimize output. The focus is still on writing as well as I can for as long as I can. There’s not much of me that is excited for the end of the writing day except to snuggle and go on adventures with Hubs. And even that–that is important and cherished, but we aren’t satisfied in a marriage of “how was your days” and “let’s watch tv together.” It’s there, but at the heart of our relationship is a common craving for adventure, for the extraordinary.
So what would happen if I threw the idea of balance out the window?
When I was a child, I bought my first desktop computer from a classifieds listing in the actual printed newspaper, with all the allowance/Christmas/birthday money I’d saved up over my lifetime. For years, I used to stay up until the wee hours of the night writing my little heart out on that impossible machine, regardless of whether or not it was a school night. It was transcendental, those strange and silent hours between pitch dark and gloaming, when all the world seems put to bed and you alone are working magic. I was so unfathomably in love with the act of creation that I would go all the way to that strange hour of the night for our rendezvous.
I want to go back there. I want to let that kind of passion in again. What would happen if I pushed myself through the bars of the 9-5 cage and I wrote until the wee hours once more?
I know, I am older, and I do like to rise and set with the sun much of the time. But there are points in my creative process that require a dose of adventure, a tryst with the extraordinary. Because, you see, I’ve come to realize that I create in much the same way that I love: with everything I am, or not at all. And maybe the highs are paid for with the lows, or maybe not. Maybe duality is overrated.
So that’s the new plan: Unlimited creation.