The Pieces We Carry

I’d like to begin with a poem. This poem is from Rabbi Lawrence Kushner’s book “Honey from the Rock.”

“Jigsaw”

“Each lifetime is like a jigsaw puzzle, with different numbers of pieces and varying difficulties in assembly. Some are born with nearly completed puzzles, while others face challenges in assembling the myriad parts. But know this: no one possesses all the pieces to their own puzzle.

Just as before, when jigsaw puzzles were sealed in cellophane to ensure all pieces were present, everyone carries at least one and likely many pieces to someone else’s puzzle. Sometimes they realize this, while others remain unaware. When you present a piece, even if it’s worthless to you, to another, whether you know it or not, you become a messenger from the Most High.”

This poem uses the imagery of puzzle pieces to illustrate our capacity to connect, encourage, strengthen, and support one another. It symbolizes unity, teamwork, and hope.

It reminds me that just because you believe you can't reach a goal one way doesn't mean there's no alternative. Life is a continuous stream of choices, even when you feel limited in options.

The Choice I Didn't Know I Had

Years ago, I faced a daunting task: reading my work aloud to a group of writers for the first time.

The night before, fear lined up with all its companions—paranoia, nausea, panic. My inner critic had a field day: Who do you think you are? You're going to humiliate yourself. Everyone will see you're a fraud.

I stood at a choice point, though I didn't recognize it at first. I thought my only options were: go and suffer, or quit and prove the critic right.

Photo by Ana Tavares on Unsplash

But then something shifted. Instead of fretting or giving in to panic, I found a mindful middle ground. I could choose how I showed up, even if I couldn't control the outcome. I could choose to breathe. I could choose to read my truth, regardless of how it was received. I could choose to see this as an offering, not a performance.

That morning, I walked into the room. My hands shook as I read. My voice wavered. But I kept going.

And something remarkable happened: when I finished, someone in the circle said, "Thank you for sharing that. It gave me permission to try something I've been afraid of."

I had offered a puzzle piece without even knowing it.

What Choices Really Mean

We shape our reality with every moment through the choices we make. Even in difficult situations, we have more choices than we realize.

When faced with something we can't change, we can shift our focus. We can alter our perspective, our response, our beliefs, and our actions. There's always another way not necessarily an easier way, but a different way.

New ways await discovery. If one approach fails, we can explore. We can expand and discover new insights and possibilities.

Every day, we have limitless opportunities to live an empowered life. Our experience is a result of our decisions, not the cause of them. We can shape our circumstances and support those around us with love and attention.

Our mindset shapes our lives. Our energy flows where we focus our attention. We can look forward to the future with hope, regardless of circumstances.

Carrying Pieces into the New Year

As we close this year and open to the next, I'm thinking about the puzzle pieces we carry both our own and those meant for others.

What if we approached the new year knowing that we don't have all our own pieces, and that's exactly as it should be? What if we trusted that the pieces we need will come from unexpected places, from unlikely messengers?

And what if we stayed alert to the moments when we're offering a piece to someone else—a word of encouragement, a listening ear, a choice to show up despite fear—even when we can't see the full picture of how it matters?

We are all messengers, whether we know it or not.

In closing, Maya Angelou's words resonate: "No matter what happens, life goes on, and it will be better tomorrow."

May we choose hope. May we choose connection. May we carry each other's pieces with care.

 

Balance As Practice

Balance Isn't Something You Find, It's Something You Practice

Photo by Malek Larif on Unsplash

I had a lovely plan for my Saturday: yoga, grocery shopping, prepping for the week, and then some much-needed rest. But at 9 a.m., my mom called. She needed my help. My first thought was, "Oh no, my plans are ruined!"

Then I caught myself.

What if balance isn't about sticking to the plan? What if it's about being flexible enough to flow with what life brings?

So I set aside my plans. My mom needed more than help—she needed quality time. We talked, laughed, and shared our thoughts. My "ruined" Saturday turned out to be a day I'll never forget.

I'm learning that balance is not a fixed plan; it's responding to what life brings. But this realization didn't come easily.

When Balance Felt Impossible

For as long as I can remember, my mind has been a labyrinth of "what ifs." What if I make a mistake? What if I embarrass myself? What if I fail? I kept a mental tally of my mistakes—foolish words, absurd ideas, unsuccessful attempts to win people over.

My brain worked overtime, analyzing every possibility, replaying past mistakes, worrying about the future. I spent hours second-guessing conversations, worrying about things beyond my control, and creating problems that didn't exist. I insisted on having things done a certain way and struggled to accept alternatives.

I regretted that I couldn't just enjoy moments without needing thousands of others to see I was enjoying them.

It struck me during a late-night spiral. I'd spent hours replaying a conversation, obsessing over whether I'd said something wrong. My heart pounded, my stomach churned, and I couldn't sleep.

In that moment, I asked myself: Is any of this actually helping me?

The answer was obvious. My overthinking had never solved anything. It had never prevented bad things from happening. It had only drained my energy and made me miserable.

That night, I made a decision: I would stop letting my thoughts control me. I didn't know how yet, but I knew I couldn't keep living like this. Although I was uncertain about the path ahead, I was certain I could no longer endure this state of being.

"Life is the balance of holding on and letting go." – Rumi

Small Experiments in Stillness

The transformation began with small experiments. I discovered yoga, meditation, and spending time in nature.

The first step was developing a daily breathing practice. This became my anchor during a time when everything felt unstable. My yoga mat became a safe space to reconnect with my mind, body, and spirit.

I cherish my early mornings when I focus on my breath. I particularly enjoy abdominal breathing: one hand on my chest, one on my belly, inhaling for a count of 4, holding for 7, exhaling for 8. When I feel stressed or about to enter a stressful situation, I take a moment to breathe. This instantly calms me and allows me to think clearly.

"Feelings come and go like clouds in the sky. Conscious breathing is my anchor." – Thich Nhat Hanh

Breathing exercises have become integral to my daily routine. I combine them with morning and evening meditation, which through consistent practice has become a habit.

I ask myself questions like, "What is my body telling me today?" and "How do I feel?" I've come to understand that true happiness, like balance, is an internal process that doesn't require external validation. It's something I must relearn daily.

The Practice Continues

Even now, my mind still wanders. I still have days when I'm worried, anxious, and fearful. But I'm learning to simply observe these emotions without criticizing myself. I've come to understand that I have a body that feels and a brain that thinks—these are integral parts of me, but not my true self.

I don't need to carry around labels or mistakes from yesterday as if they define me. Whatever you've done, it's over. It doesn't have to brand you.

The difference now is I recognize when I'm slipping, and I choose to return to my practice.

Choosing Balance, Moment by Moment

Circling back to that Saturday morning: now I know disruptions aren't failures. They're part of practicing balance.

Balance isn't something you achieve once; it's something you choose, moment by moment.

"Balance is the perfect state of still water. Let that be our model." – Confucius

How I Found Balance When Life Felt Overwhelming

Three months ago, I moved across the state and felt completely off-balance. I was doing everything unpacking, new job, responsibilities piling up but neglecting myself entirely. That's when I discovered something that changed how I think about balance. Not as a perfect 50/50 split, but as something entirely different.

Rumi, the 13th-century poet, stated, "Life is a balance of holding on and letting go."

Imagine that you have to move in two weeks. Would you be able to pack all your possessions in that time and clean out your house completely?

How about your mental baggage? If you have only two days left to finish all the important projects in your life, would you be able to do it?

The Move That Changed Everything 

Three months ago, I moved permanently to a different place on the west side of the state. I downsized from a 2-bedroom, 2-bath house to a 1-bed, 1-bath condo.

Packing was not easy because there were so many things that were meaningful to me, but of course, I couldn't take them all. But even more difficult was the part of leaving my friends and community behind. I couldn't put my friends in a suitcase and smuggle them across the state.

The Spinning Plates Problem 

Has your life ever felt like a row of spinning plates?

I often visualize a plate spinner, a performer who captivates audiences by skillfully managing multiple plates on long sticks. The essence of the act lies in maintaining a delicate balance, spending just enough time and attention on each plate to keep it moving without losing track of others and causing them to shatter on the floor. This analogy resonates deeply with various aspects of my life, from work and family to fitness, friendships, volunteer work, school, and hobbies.

Throughout my adult life, I often used this spinning plates analogy to comprehend the complexities of my personal and professional life. Each aspect demanded attention, yet they all seemed to coexist simultaneously. The image resonated so profoundly with my ongoing sense of busyness that I never questioned its validity or the underlying message.

If we can spin these plates fast enough, we should be able to manage multiple tasks simultaneously. However, the person at the center of this whirlwind of attention is constantly darting back and forth, their mind racing with a jittery focus. This constant juggling act has always struck me as a manic and exhausting endeavor. While it may be entertaining to observe, does it truly reflect the quality of our lives? I, for one, have found myself entangled in this cycle.

That's when I realized: I was pouring everything into DOING (work, obligations, helping others) and nothing into BEING (rest, reflection, my own needs).

Life, in essence, is a delicate balancing act, and we are perpetually on the brink of a fall.

The Moment Everything Became Clear 

Photo by Khanh Do on Unsplash

I remember standing in my new kitchen at 11 p.m., surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, trying to find a coffee mug for the next morning. My cat was meowing for attention, my work laptop was pinging with emails, and I realized I hadn't sat down all day. That's when it hit me: I'd brought the spinning plates with me across the state.

I swamped myself with projects—unpacking boxes, starting a new job, worrying about my senior cat's health. The list kept growing.

I've tried to take on more responsibilities than I can handle, such as shopping, cooking, cleaning, and job duties. In the process, I've neglected some of my needs and priorities, including exercise and relaxation.

I felt utterly disoriented and out of balance.

It was a wake-up call. I need to make some changes.

From Spinning Plates to Simmering Pots                                                                  

What if I shifted the perspective of my analogy for life from spinning plates to simmering pots?

What if I changed my style of ongoing busyness, often with no real finished projects or results, to a balanced, steady approach offering many possibilities?

So I envisioned a large stove with multiple burners covered with different pots in varying degrees of simmering.

This analogy showed a balanced beginning, middle, and end. It demonstrated a gentle way of creating something and then being able to savor it at the end.

                                                                                       Photo by Kevin McCutcheon on Unsplash

Then I thought of those frantic spinning plates. That image was all about a pointless activity with ongoing stressful attention, activity, and energy focused on preventing the plates from crashing at any moment.

No stopping, no relishing, no reflection, and really no true purpose.

What Actually Helped 

Through meditation and yoga practices, I discovered the power of quieting the mental noise, finding stillness, and resetting my perspective. This became a lifeline. It did not solve everything, but it gave me a way to breathe through the chaos.

A single mindful breath became my anchor, calming my nervous system and reminding me to stay present, no matter how overwhelming life felt. Every breath I took was a testament to the possibility of change.

To stay grounded amidst the chaos, I focused on the present moment, relying on my senses to anchor myself rather than letting anxiety consume me.

Even in life's storms, there were moments of light—a kind word, a peaceful morning, or the chance to rest. Holding onto these fleeting moments kept me grounded.

When my worries and anxieties become overwhelming, I return to my breath. Through meditation, I ask myself, "What is truly going on here?"

These lifelines weren't about perfection or rigid routines; they were about creating space for calm amidst the chaos.

The Reality: I'm Still Learning 

I've swung the pendulum from calm to chaos, leaving myself little time and space to find a balance between holding myself back and pushing myself.

While I know the choice was ultimately positive for me, I've struggled a bit in the execution. Even meeting the minimum might be challenging. Sometimes that means asking for help. Sometimes it means saying no. Think of it as saying yes to your happiness.

I also observed when I handled situations gracefully, resolved disputes, and calmed myself down. It wasn't about beating myself up over my mistakes or congratulating myself for doing well. It was simply about looking at myself more clearly and learning from my experiences. By doing this, I'm learning to navigate life's obstacles more gracefully.

Finding Your Own Balance 

Balance isn't a destination I've reached. It's not something I've figured out. But I'm learning to check in with myself more often. To notice when I'm spinning plates again. To come back to the breath, to the simmering pots, to the question: What's truly going on here?

If you feel pulled in any direction and uneasy about it, it's helpful to check in with yourself to see if you feel balanced or stretched thin.

So I ask you: What does balance mean to you? Not the Instagram version, not the self-help book definition—YOUR balance. How do you find it? And when you lose it (because we all do), how do you find your way back?