Juggling Life Quotes

Imagine life is a game in which you are juggling five balls. The balls are called work, family, health, friends, and integrity. And you're keeping all of them in the air. But one day you finally come to understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. The other four balls...are made of glass. If you drop one of these, it will be irrevocably scuffed, nicked, perhaps even shattered.

Imagine life as a game in which you are juggling some five balls in the air. You name them - work, family, health, friends and spirit - and you're keeping all of these in the air. You will soon understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. But the other four balls - family, health, friends and spirit - are made of glass. If you drop one of these, they will be irrevocably scuffed, marked, nicked, damaged or even shattered. They will never be the same. You must understand that and strive for balance in your life.

I had a dream about you last night. The best day of my life was when I taught you how to juggle, but the best day of yours was when you taught someone else.

Balance is not something you find, it's something you create

Here's a nice image for a life in balance,” she said. “You're juggling these four balls that you've named work, family, friends, spirit. Now, work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it bounces back. The other balls they're made of glass.” “I've dropped a few of those glass balls in my day. Sometimes they chip, sometimes they shatter to pieces.

In what we call "real life"--if you want to be successful, if you want to get on in the longterm--you always have to come to some kind of compromise with your own emotions: I can't overreact NOW! I have to accept THIS! I have to ignore THAT!--You're forever having to tailor your emotions to the circumstances, you go easy on the people you love, you slip into your hundred little daily roles, you juggle, you balance, you weigh things up so as not to jeopardize the entire structure, because you yourself have a stake in it.

Most days I juggle everything quite well, on the other days there's always red wine.

There are days you wake up thinking you can juggle the world between your fingers, and other days you wake up feeling the air around you intoxicates you to a point where you can no longer leave the premises of your bed. The nights in between, you shuffle between being a warrior and a slave; wondering whether you want to lose yourself to win the world, or lose the world to win yourself.

There is, however, a similarity between juggling and composing on the typewriter. The trick is, when you spill something, make it look like part of the act.

Imagine life is a game in which you are juggling five balls. The balls are called work, family, health, friends, and integrity. And you’re keeping all of them in the air. But one day you finally come to understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. The other four balls—family, health, friends, integrity—are made of glass. If you drop one of these, it will be irrevocably scuffed, nicked, perhaps even shattered.

A day without prayer is a day wasted of an opportunity to see God's hand in my life.

As far as monks are concerned, I believe that they are bad experiencers. They know nothing about the struggles of a normal human being. The struggle to stay alive. The struggle to survive in this capitalist world. The trauma of being in a bad relationship. Juggling between the myriads of emotions and sentiments. These monks are oblivious to such battles which a normal human being fights every day.

Precarious, life is. A flying leap. A sweep of hand. A star flung across the night. A lucky catch in this whirling juggling circus act. From Steam Drills, Treadmills, and Shooting Stars

The story was clearly over, as in juggling when the ball you throw up finds the moment to come down, hesitates as if it might not, and then drops at the same speed of that celestial light. And life is no longer good but just what you happen to be holding.

His way of coping with the days was to think of activities as units of time, each unit consisting of about thirty minutes. Whole hours, he found, were more intimidating, and most things one could do in a day took half an hour. Reading the paper, having a bath, tidying the flat, watching Home and Away and Countdown, doing a quick crossword on the toilet, eating breakfast and lunch, going to the local shops… That was nine units of a twenty-unit day (the evenings didn’t count) filled by just the basic necessities. In fact, he had reached a stage where he wondered how his friends could juggle life and a job. Life took up so much time, so how could one work and, say, take a bath on the same day? He suspected that one or two people he knew were making some pretty unsavoury short cuts.

Mr L Prosser was, as they say, only human. In other words he was a carbon-based life form descended from an ape. More specifically he was forty, fat and shabby and worked for the local council. Curiously enough, though he didn't know it, he was also a direct male-line descendant of Genghis Khan, though intervening generations and racial mixing had so juggled his genes that he had no discernible Mongoloid characteristics, and the only vestiges left in Mr L Prosser of his mighty ancestry were a pronounced stoutness about the tum and a predilection for little fur hats.

I'm starting to understand that attempting to be perfect has been the goal of my life. Our lives. Attempting to be this fault-free, smiling person in this loving, happy family that fits so perfectly in this pretty, inoffensive little town. What was so bad about that goal after all? Only that I couldn't do it. That I let everybody down. I've been so down about it, so depressed thinking about all the balls I was trying to juggle that I've dropped, and now the cogs are turning toward total apathy toward it all, everything and all I can think about is that I am a shell of a human being. I'm a pushover. I'm to blame.

Quote from James Patterson's book "Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas" "Imagine life is a game in which you are juggling five balls. The balls are called work, family, health, friends, and integrity. And you're keeping all of them in the air. But one day you finally come to understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. The other four balls - family, health, friends, integrity - are made of glass. If you drop one of these, it will be irrevocably scuffed, nicked, perhaps even shattered. And once you truly understand the lesson of the five balls, you will have the beginnings of balance in your life.

Life is about juggling obligations, Valerie. You need to study smarter, not harder. Great. What did that even mean? If I could study smarter, wouldn't I be doing it already?

Life is a juggling act with your own emotions. The trick is to always keep something in your hand and something in the air.

I'd learned balance is internal; that there really wasn’t one set formula for how to live your life nor how to handle the wife-mother-businesswoman juggling act. Maybe it was just being tuned in to every role and knowing when one or the other needed to be the focus.

You juggle with so many things as if your life depends on it. Calm down and let go of few things. Don’t fear the disorder because universe will bring a new equilibrium shortly after it.

The human race is positively addicted to keeping records and remembering scores. What we call our "life" is, for the most part, simply the juggling of accounts in our heads. And yet, if God has announced anything in Jesus, it is that he, for one, has pensioned off the bookkeeping department permanently.

Juggling and balancing effectively required that we make clear, legacy-driven choices about what we're trying to keep in the air and how we sequence our movements down the beam. Because the ultimate grade in life is not based on how far and fast we've walked the beam or how many things we’ve juggled—it’s based on how much we've enjoyed the exercise.

Life is a balancing act, and the better you get at juggling, the better you get at living.

Jennifer Lynn Barnes, a YA author tweeted: One time, I was at a Q&A with Nora Roberts, and someone asked her how to balance writing and kids, and she said that the key to juggling is to know that some of the balls you have in the air are made of plastic & some are made of glass. When you are struggling to function, it’s important to identify what are your glass balls. Feeding yourself, caring for your children or animals, taking your medication, and addressing your mental health are all examples of glass balls. Dropping them would have devastating consequences and likely cause you to drop all the balls. Recycling, veganism, shopping local, and avoiding fast fashion are plastic balls. They may be important, but they will not shatter your life if you drop them in the way the glass balls will. Plastic balls will fall to the floor and stay intact so you can pick them up again. Glass balls will not.

Imagine life is a game in which you are juggling five balls. The balls are called work, family, health, friends, and integrity. And you're keeping all of them in the air. But one day you finally come to understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. The other four balls-family, health, friends, integrity-are made of glass. If you drop one of these, it will be irrevocably scuffed, nicked, perhaps even shattered. And once you truly understand the lesson of the five balls, you will have the beginnings of balance in your life.

It is not only possible to say a great deal in praise of play; it is really possible to say the highest things in praise of it. It might reasonably be maintained that the true object of all human life is play. Earth is a task garden; heaven is a playground. To be at last in such secure innocence that one can juggle with the universe and the stars, to be so good that one can treat everything as a joke — that may be, perhaps, the real end and final holiday of human souls.

Imagine life as a game in which you are juggling some five balls in the air. You name them --work, family, health, friends and spirit and you're keeping all of these in the air. You will soon understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. But the other four balls -- family, health friends and spirit are made of glass. If you drop one of these, they will be irrevocably scuffed, marked, nicked, damaged or even shattered. They will never be the same. You must understand that and strive for balance in your life." Brian Dyson, former vice chairman and COO of Coca-Cola.

Thought, I love thought. But not the juggling and twisting of already existent ideas I despise that self-important game. Thought is the welling up of unknown life into consciousness, Thought is the testing of statements on the touchstone of consciousness, Thought is gazing onto the face of life, and reading what can be read, Thought is pondering over experience, and coming to conclusion. Thought is not a trick, or an exercise, or a set of dodges, Thought is a man in his wholeness, wholly attending.

What is he rudest question you can ask a woman? 'How old are you?' 'What do you weigh?' No, the worst question is 'How do you juggle it all?' people constantly ask me, with an accusatory look in their eyes. 'You're fucking it all up, aren't you?' their eyes say. My standard answer is that I have the same struggles as any working parent but with the good fortune of working my dream job.

Sorry we couldn’t do this sooner, but, you know, I’ve got a lot of jobs to juggle.” He winked in the mirror. “Anyway, you’ll learn this on your own, but it’s worth telling you. Life is a heck of a battlefield, but I gotta say, the scenery is totally worth it.

Life is a great big beautiful three-ring circus. There are those on the floor making their lives among the heads of lions and hoops of fire, and those in the stands, complacent and wowed, their mouths stuffed with popcorn. I know less now than ever about life, but I do know its size. Life is enormous. Much grander than what we’ve taken for ourselves, so far. When the show is over and the tent is packed, the elephants, lions and dancing poodles are caged and mounted on trucks to caravan to the next town. The clown’s makeup has worn, and his bright, red smile has been washed down a sink. All that is left is another performance, another tent and set of lights. We rest in the knowledge: the show must go on. Somewhere, behind our stage curtain, a still, small voice asks why we haven’t yet taken up juggling. My seminars were like this. Only, instead of flipping shiny, black bowling balls or roaring chainsaws through the air, I juggled concepts. The world is intrinsically tied together. All things march through time at different intervals but move ahead in one fashion or another. Though we may never understand it, we are all part of something much larger than ourselves—something anchoring us to the spot we have mentally chosen. We sniff out the rules, through spiritual quests and the sciences. And with every new discovery, we grow more confused. Our inability to connect what seems illogical to unite and to defy logic in our understanding keeps us from enlightenment. The artists and insane tiptoe around such insights, but lack the compassion to hand-feed these concepts to a blind world. The interconnectedness of all things is not simply a pet phrase. It is a big “T” truth that the wise spend their lives attempting to grasp.

The truth is despite the hard work and juggling required to keep the different facets of the frantic life afloat, the "superwoman" has one marvelous compensation. Being busy and being seen to be busy lets you off the hook. Buys you a way out of all aspects of your many roles you secretly despise ... like cleaning cupboards ... or entertaining your husband's business friends. When you combine wife, mother, career and all, each role become the perfect excuse for avoiding the worst aspects of the other.

You can become Superwoman and do anything you want to in the world, or you can devote your life to raising godly kids of integrity who will grow up to impact the world for Christ.

But when life hands you fireballs, you learn how to juggle—preferably with oven mitts.

Don’t ‘should’ on yourself, instead, replace it with ‘could’ and add an alternative option.

Like most working moms, my life is a constant juggling act.

There are perhaps millions who are sitting on the couch saying, “I’m gonna…” They’ll do it when their finances are perfect, when their children are perfectly grown and stable, when they’ve achieved seniority on the job or some other life marker. Your life will never be perfect. Parts of it will be, at times. You will always be juggling and adjusting in some area of your life. Step away from the couch sitters who are awaiting the single perfect day to begin living their dream. You can choose to live your dream every day if you just take the first step.

Somewhere between handling challenges, taking care of business, and juggling responsibilities, you may have lost pieces of yourself which you long to recover. Perhaps they were buried and forgotten long ago. Rediscovering is more than just being reminded of these golden treasures. It is being able to excavate your riches by pulling them out, polishing them off, and allowing them to shine again.

Imagine life as a game in which you’re juggling five balls in the air. Let’s name them work, family, health, friends, and spirit. Somehow you’re keeping all those balls in the air. That’s not an easy thing to do. Sound familiar? Sound a little like your life? Well, it definitely sounds like mine. Hopefully, you come to understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will usually bounce back. But the other four balls—family, health, friends, and spirit—are made of glass. If you drop one of these, it will be irrevocably scuffed, marked, nicked, damaged, or even shattered. It will never be the same.

Me iudice, in my opinion, life is like juggling... Things come at you―balls, clubs, knives, sorrow, loss. Either you stand there and let them hit you or you throw them back pugnis et calcibus, with all your might.

I envy the man to snatch him up. This will be the only time in life I’m siding with Freud and experiencing ‘penis envy’. There will never be a repeat. Can’t be associated with too much crazy, I’m juggling enough on my own.

No one ever knew they were old-fashioned; everyone always thought they were up-to-the-minute: Rickety Model T cars weren't rickety when they were invented, scratchy radio wasn't scratchy until television, and silent movies weren't a feeble precursor of talkies until there were talkies. Your two-piece telephone that demanded that you hold a cylinder to your ear while you screeched into the wall demanding a particular exchange of a harried, plug-juggling operator was the highest of high-tech. To know it was anything less would have been like acknowledging you were going to die and life was transient and you were already halfway to being a memory or worse. The real and worst tragedy of twentieth-century East Europeans: They had known they were old-fashioned before they could do anything about it.

And that’s what life is these days, isn’t it? A series of slips and catches, mistakes and remorse, a constant juggling act of pretending to feel okay when all she wants to do is fall apart. One day, all those balls will drop, and they won’t just break. They’ll shatter.

One can only bear what comes, but bear it, to be sure, in very different ways. Whatever comes to me, I will make no more violent attempts to juggle my life to the sunny side, but rather to accept that which is allotted to me, and to bear it with virtue, and if evil, change it into good.

Imagine life as a game where you’re juggling five balls in the air. The five balls are work, family, health, friends, and happiness. You’ll soon find out that your work is a rubber ball; if you drop it, it bounces back into your hands. But the other four balls are made of glass. If you drop any of them, they’ll be forever damaged, broken, or completely destroyed. They’ll never be the same again. So work effectively when you’re at work and go home on time. Give the necessary time to your family and your friends and look after yourself. A value only has value if it is valued.3

Maybe you feel so consumed with the pull of your desire that you wonder if there is still hope for you. Perhaps you feel so beaten down by a certain trial in your life that you don’t know if you will ever have the strength to get up again. Maybe you are so exhausted from your attempt to juggle all the different idols begging for your attention that you’re on the verge of collapse. If you want to have genuine faith in a God who has the power to stand with you in the fire and bring you out unharmed, then I beg you to examine your faith, as Scripture tells us to do: Examine yourselves to see if your faith is genuine.

In my next life, I wanted to come back as a dog—a very spoiled, adorable house dog whose main concern would be whether to sniff my own butt or take another nap. No more dating, no more having to juggle men and their demands, no more emotional rollercoasters. It would be just me and my treats. Maybe some belly rubbing too.

Working Memory is the brain’s workspace, where you can hold and manipulate a handful of facts and figures in your head. The reason multiplying 36 by 42 in your head is so difficult is that your working memory has limits—and the older you get, the tighter your limits. That’s why mathematicians, musicians, and physicists tend to do their most important work when they’re young . . . and why once-simple tasks get progressively more difficult with age. This the type of memory, which facilitates multitasking and juggling life’s responsibilities, is the type of memory most healthy people want to optimize. Working memory plus creativity is the key to productivity.

Poem for someone who is juggling her life This is a poem for someone who is juggling her life. Be still sometimes. Be still sometimes. It needs repeating over and over to catch her attention over and over because someone juggling her life finds it difficult to hear. Be still sometimes. Be still sometimes. Let it all fall sometimes.

The Biden's have another belief as well:" If you have to ask, it's too late." When someone is in need, when they're hurting, when they're overwhelmed, you don't wait until they tell you they need your help. You give it before they have to ask. So when Neilia died and Joe was left with two young boys, trying to father them and get through his own grief, all while juggling the new hectic life of a senator, Val didn't ask if there was something she could do. She moved in. And for three years, through her own career ambitions, through her courtship and eventual marriage to her husband, Jack, she lived with Joe and the boys and made sure they had the love and support they needed to keep going.

Yui developed her own theory: that for some people, life started loosening their joints when they were still in the cradle, and they had to work hard to hold the pieces together. She imagined those people juggling a bundle of limbs, ears, feet, and kidneys in their arms, like parts of the game Operation. But then, at some point, something would slot into place: they'd fall in love, start a family, get a well-paid job, a nice career, and they would begin to feel more stable. The truth was, though, they were just giving out parts of themselves to relatives and trusted friends; they were learning that it was normal not to be able to cope on your own, and that asking people for help was the only way forward if there were other things they wanted to do with their lives. They had to depend on others. And then? Then what would happen? That's where Yui believed luck came into it. Because if those people lost someone who had been looking after a fundamental piece of them, they would never be able to regain their balance. The harmony would be gone, along with their loved one.

An oddity follows, a small circular ball of plasma drops from the ceiling of the Newara, for some reason Zara goes to catch it in her hands, “Whoa,” she juggles it, thinking it’s hot, but it’s cool to touch. The orb levitates up to face her. “Hi Zara.” “Rohza?” “In the flesh.” “Holy moley! You’re a real life will-o’-the-wisp.” Zara says, her face lit up from Rohza’s flickering light.

To talk about this level of inequality between a woman and a man who live together doing the work of care and love was for a long time taboo: you risk being seen as ‘complaining’ or, because this work has insidiously been made part of what it is to be a ‘good’ woman, a bad one. Reams of women’s magazines offer advice to overburdened women on ‘self-care’ or ‘juggling the load’, as if the problem is personal, and can be solved by yet more effort on our part – leaving the system that makes us and takes from us untouched. I am married to a man who’s emotionally astute, deeply engaged with our children. Craig and I share the financial load, we think we share most things in our lives. This was not enough to protect me. The patriarchy is too huge, and I too small or stupid, or just not up for the fight. The individual man can be the loveliest; the system will still benefit him without his having to lift a finger or a whip, or change the sheets. This is a story I tell against myself. And against the system that made this self, as well as my husband’s, and put her into his service. Wifedom is a wicked magic trick we have learned to play on ourselves. I want to expose how it is done and so take its wicked, tricking power away.

Strong women are the architects of their destinies, the CEOs of their lives, and the superheroes of their own stories. They don't just break glass ceilings; they shatter them with style. Their sass is their superpower, and their laughter is their battle cry. From juggling responsibilities to sparkling kindness like glitter, they do it all with flair and finesse. So, here's to the strong women; you make the world a better place!

Envision life as you're juggling 6 balls. The balls are called faith, work, family, health, friends, and integrity. But one day, you realize that work is a rubber ball. If dropped, it will bounce back. The other 5 balls faith, family, health, friends, & integrity are made of glass. If you drop one of these, it will be surely scuffed, nicked, or even shattered. Grasp this concept and you will have the beginnings of balance in your life.

Let’s take a look at how modern life goes. Mostly, it’s frenetic and at a pace that’s not conducive to reflective thought./ It’s all too fast for our human dimensions, as David Malouf put it. We don’t have time to adjust, to work out our priorities, and to reflect on whether what we’re doing when we’re running around madly is actually meaningful to us.. While we are meant to have more time (all those time-saving devices were meant to deliver just this, no?), we have less space. We are “on” 24/7. Every gap is filled. Even waiting at bus stops. We don’t leave work and unwind and stare into space for a bit, enjoying the sound of the birds, the soft dusk sunlight on fellow passenger’s faces. Nope, we must prune our social feeds./ Technology freed us up . . .to imprison us further. It’s created the imperative to go faster, to take on more ideas, and to juggle more. There are no excuses for not coming up with an answer, and immediately. Not when there’s Google./ But what if we need more time to know and to feel if it’s the right answer?

I don’t want to get to the end of my life and look back and realize that the best thing about me was I was organized. That I executed well, that I ran a tight ship, that I never missed a detail. I want to look back and remember all the times I threw candy, even when it didn’t make sense. Especially when it didn’t make sense. I know how hard it is to juggle everything. I’m right in it, with little kids and a full-time job and dreams for the future and regrets about the past. And that’s why I’m throwing candy every chance I get.

Mr. L. Prosser was, as they say, only human. In other words he was a carbon-based bipedal life form descended from an ape. More specifically he was forty, fat and shabby and worked for the local council. Curiously enough, though he didn’t know it, he was also a direct male-line descendant of Genghis Khan, though intervening generations and racial mixing had so juggled his genes that he had no discernible Mongoloid characteristics, and the only vestiges left in Mr. L. Prosser of his mighty ancestry were a pronounced stoutness about the tum and a predilection for little fur hats.

if they label you soft, feather weight and white-livered, if the locker room tosses back its sweaty head, and laughs at how quiet your hands stay, if they come to trample the dandelions roaring in your throat, you tell them that you were forged inside of a woman who had to survive fifteen different species of disaster to bring you here, and you didn’t come to piss on trees. you ain’t nobody’s thick-necked pitbull boy, don’t need to prove yourself worthy of this inheritance of street-corner logic, this blood legend, this index of catcalls, “three hundred ways to turn a woman into a three course meal”, this legacy of shame, and man, and pillage, and man, and rape, and man. you boy. you won’t be some girl’s slit wrists dazzling the bathtub, won’t be some girl’s, “i didn’t ask for it but he gave it to me anyway”, the torn skirt panting behind the bedroom door, some father’s excuse to polish his gun. if they say, “take what you want”, you tell them you already have everything you need; you come from scabbed knuckles and women who never stopped swinging, you come men who drank away their life savings, and men who raised daughters alone. you come from love you gotta put your back into, elbow-grease loving like slow-dancing on dirty linoleum, you come from that house of worship. boy, i dare you to hold something like that. love whatever feels most like your grandmother’s cooking. love whatever music looks best on your feet. whatever woman beckons your blood to the boiling point, you treat her like she is the god of your pulse, you treat her like you would want your father to treat me: i dare you to be that much man one day. that you would give up your seat on the train to the invisible women, juggling babies and groceries. that you would hold doors, and say thank-you, and understand that women know they are beautiful without you having to yell it at them from across the street. the day i hear you call a woman a “bitch” is the day i dig my own grave. see how you feel writing that eulogy. and if you are ever left with your love’s skin trembling under your nails, if there is ever a powder-blue heart left for dead on your doorstep, and too many places in this city that remind you of her tears, be gentle when you drape the remains of your lives in burial cloth. don’t think yourself mighty enough to turn her into a poem, or a song, or some other sweetness to soften the blow, boy, i dare you to break like that. you look too much like your mother not t

Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas (James Patterson) - Your Highlight at location 161-165 | Added on Sunday, 7 December 2014 20:11:11 Imagine life is a game in which you are juggling five balls. The balls are called work, family, health, friends, and integrity. And you're keeping all of them in the air. But one day you finally come to understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. The other four balls--family, health, friends, integrity--are made of glass. If you drop one of these, it will be irrevocably scuffed, nicked, perhaps even shattered. And once you truly understand the lesson of the five balls, you will have the beginnings of balance in your life. ==========

Feynman did have an extraordinary affinity for his friends’ children. He would entertain them with gibberish, or with juggling tricks, or with what sounded to Dyson like a one-man percussion band. He could enthrall them merely by borrowing someone’s eyeglasses and slowly putting them on, taking them off, and putting them on. Or he would engage them in conversation. He once asked Henry Bethe, “Did you know there are twice as many numbers as numbers?” “No, there are not!” Henry said. Feynman said he could prove it. “Name a number.” “One million.” Feynman said, “Two million.” “Twenty-seven!” Feynman said, “Fifty-four,” and kept on countering with the number that was twice Henry’s, until suddenly Henry saw the point. It was his first real encounter with infinity.

i paid in blood to be here. i paid with a childhood littered with bigger monsters than you. i’ve been beaten into a silence more times than i’ve been embraced on this earth. you haven’t seen what i’ve seen. my rock bottom went so deep i’m pretty sure it was hell. i spent a decade climbing out of it. my hands blistered. my feet swelled. my mind said i can’t take it anymore. i told my mind you better get yourself together. we came here for joy. and we are going to feel all of it. i’ve been hunted. killed. and walked back to earth. i snapped the neck off every beast that thought it could. and you want to take my seat. the one i built with the story of my life. honey. you won’t fit. i juggle clowns like you. i pick my teeth with fools like you for fun. i have played and slept and danced with bigger devils

Daily life makes us all susceptible to accumulating stress, mostly due to the non-stop demands and pressures of juggling work, home and personal responsibilities. This stress revs up the nervous system, causing the brain to flood the body with hormones that trigger overreacting, irrational thinking, and even insomnia. After years of unavoidable exposure to the stress reaction with no defense, the nervous system can become severely deteriorated, leaving us defenseless against mental or physical illness and disease.iv As it happens, meditation has been proven as one of the greatest counter-stress solutions.v When practiced daily, meditation can help to restore balance and re-supply much-needed rest to your physiology. Common side effects of daily meditation are increased energy and feelings of contentedness and inner happiness.vi

I’m trying to remember how I got this way. I don’t recall always being this out of it. Nicholas Carr blames our use of electronic technology for scraping us gaunt. In his book The Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains, Carr points out that our habitual electronic multitasking between smartphones, websites, news feeds, and social media is dramatically rewiring the neurological pathways in our brains. According to Carr, all our browsing and liking and streaming and retweeting has conditioned the ability to focus right out of us. “In the choices we have made . . . ,” writes Carr, “we have rejected the intellectual tradition of solitary, single-minded concentration. . . . We have cast our lot with the juggler.”4 “Tell me,” a wise friend once asked, “What is it you are doing with the singular gift of your life?” Juggling?

I felt as though the temple curtain had been drawn aside without warning and I, a goggle-eyed stranger somehow mistaken for an initiate, had been ushered into the sanctuary to witness the mystery of mysteries. I saw a phantasmagoria, a living tapestry of forms jeweled in minute detail. They danced together like guests at a rowdy wedding. They changed their shapes. Within themselves they juggled geometrical shards like the fragments in a kaleidoscope. They sent forth extensions of themselves like the flares of suns. Yet all their activity was obviously interrelated; each being's actions were in step with its neighbors'. They were like bees swarming: They obviously recognised each other and were communicating avidly, but it was impossible to know what they were saying. They enacted a pageant whose beauty awed me. As the lights came back on, the auditorium seemed dull and unreal.I'd been watching various kinds of ordinary cells going about their daily business, as seen through a microscope and recorded by the latest time-lapse movie techniques. The filmmaker frankly admitted that neither he nor anyone else knew just what the cells were doing, or how and why they were doing it. We biologists, especially during our formative years in school, spent most of our time dissecting dead animals and studying preparations of dead cells stained to make their structures more easily visible—"painted tombstones," as someone once called them. Of course, we all knew that life was more a process than a structure, but we tended to forget this, because a structure was so much easier to study. This film reminded me how far our static concepts still were from the actual business of living. As I thought how any one of those scintillating cells potentially could become a whole speckled frog or a person, I grew surer than ever that my work so far had disclosed only a few aspects of a process-control system as varied and widespread as life itself, of which we'd been ignorant until then.

There are two types of kindnesses in the world. The first type of kindness is what some people are born with: an innocent, inherent joy to be alive. It’s nurtured with the right family. It laughs and it dances, on playgrounds and nightclubs, girlish and boyish. The second type of kindness is realized. It is born after countless heartbreaks, traumas, and molded by the darkest thoughts the brain can juggle. Add some life experience and a few good people gone, and you’ve got yourself a person who decides to be kind. Margo was the second. And you could tell by the way she spoke—an attentive politeness, a pain in between her blinks, and a tranquil surrender to how pathetic and beautiful we all are. You could feel all the people she carried with her. It was as if you were somehow meeting them all. And if we want to talk instincts, I could sense there was a quiet battle inside her. She wasn’t a saint. Her kindness wasn’t wholly pure, but it tried. It can be like a veil of effort to almost convince ourselves a person can be good, and I think “almost” is as far as we get. In some way, the same as completely good.

Yeah, and from what you said, she doesn’t run a major corporation, or have kids. That makes a difference. I don’t know how you juggle what you do. And I’ll bet you weren’t a ‘terrible wife,’ no matter what your ex says. I have more faith in you than that.” He could already sense that she was a perfectionist about everything she did, and tried her best, or she wouldn’t have had the job she did, and healthy kids. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But he may be right. He’s still pissed off about it, even now that he’s married to ‘Martha Stewart.’ ” She had a feeling the name was going to stick now that he’d come up with it. “That’s pretty pathetic if he’s still carrying a grudge, after how long?” “Six years.” “And what about you? Anyone important in your life since?” He acted like a reporter even when he was out for dinner, and he wanted to know everything about her. She liked finding out about him too, and he was forthcoming about himself. He didn’t seem like a man who had secrets, and he appeared to have good insights into himself. He wasn’t unaware and knew who he was and how he related to other people.

Men should not sleep on beds; they shall sleep wherever their tired knees gave up. We are stars! And stars produce heat! Let that never translate to a boring life. There is one object in the universe that eats up more light than any other design and that is a mattress that loves you too much. Things can kill without being crafty. The bedsheets are warm and kind and yet their comfort has killed more man than any murderous hand in history. A star that knows it is a star looks like a person who is always in transformation, figuring things out, exploring identities, and making a mess. They brush their hair back and rub their eyes. A heart in debate. A tongue that agreed on humor. Tired feet. A juggled mind. He might be a police officer turned trapeze artist turned pilot. A father who is also a volunteer, a brother, a warrior, a companion, a neighbor, a rival, and a student. We can see sweat leave our pores and so grow discouraged that we cannot see the progress of internal efforts. But do not be disheartened. Our souls do sweat. It just looks a lot like mundane life incidents that break us, such as the first step of the morning or simply walking home again.

Eton’s great strength is that it does encourage interests--however wacky. From stamp collecting to a cheese-and-wine club, mountaineering to juggling, if the will is there than the school will help you. Eton was only ever intolerant of two things: laziness and a lack of enthusiasm. As long as you got “into something,” then most other misdemeanors were forgivable. I liked that: it didn’t only celebrate the cool and sporty, but encouraged the individual, which, in the game of life, matters much more. Hence Eton helped me to go for the Potential Royal Marines Officer Selection Course, age only sixteen. This was a pretty grueling three-day course of endless runs, marches, mud yomps, assault courses, high-wire confidence tests (I’m good at those!), and leadership tasks. At the end I narrowly passed as one of only three out of twenty-five, with the report saying: “Approved for Officer Selection: Grylls is fit, enthusiastic, but needs to watch out that he isn’t too happy-go-lucky.” (Fortunately for my future life, I discarded the last part of that advice.) But passing this course gave me great confidence that if I wanted to, after school, I could at least follow my father into the commandos.

The culture we have does not make people feel good about themselves. And you have to be strong enough to say if the culture doesn’t work, don’t buy it.” Morrie, true to these words, had developed his own culture—long before he got sick. Discussion groups, walks with friends, dancing to his music in the Harvard Square church. He started a project called Greenhouse, where poor people could receive mental health services. He read books to find new ideas for his classes, visited with colleagues, kept up with old students, wrote letters to distant friends. He took more time eating and looking at nature and wasted no time in front of TV sitcoms or “Movies of the Week.” He had created a cocoon of human activities—conversation, interaction, affection—and it filled his life like an overflowing soup bowl.I had also developed my own culture. Work. I did four or five media jobs in England, juggling them like a clown. I spent eight hours a day on a computer, feeding my stories back to the States. Then I did TV pieces, traveling with a crew throughout parts of London. I also phoned in radio reports every morning and afternoon. This was not an abnormal load. Over the years, I had taken labor as my companion and had moved everything else to the side.

seconds later he was out of the house and lying in front of a big yellow bulldozer that was advancing up his garden path. Mr. L. Prosser was, as they say, only human. In other words he was a carbon-based bipedal life form descended from an ape. More specifically he was forty, fat and shabby and worked for the local council. Curiously enough, though he didn’t know it, he was also a direct male-line descendant of Genghis Khan, though intervening generations and racial mixing had so juggled his genes that he had no discernible Mongoloid characteristics, and the only vestiges left in Mr. L. Prosser of his mighty ancestry were a pronounced stoutness about the tum and a predilection for little fur hats. He was by no means a great warrior; in fact he was a nervous, worried man. Today he was particularly nervous and worried because something had gone seriously wrong with his job, which was to see that Arthur Dent’s house got cleared out of the way before the day was out. “Come off it, Mr. Dent,” he said, “you can’t win, you know. You can’t lie in front of the bulldozer indefinitely.” He tried to make his eyes blaze fiercely but they just wouldn’t do it. Arthur lay in the mud and squelched at him. “I’m game,” he said, “we’ll see who rusts first.

Many of us juggle multiple life factors including businesses to run, work to go to, children to take care of, our physical bodies to tend to, homes and cars that need maintenance, friends and family to keep up with, groups and communities to stay active with, emails to respond to and an online presence to maintain. Not to mention the time needed for self-care, exercise, play, personal growth, meditation practice, shows to binge or simple quiet time in nature. Economic times have also changed. For many, a single income is barely enough to support a single person, let alone a family. As I enumerate all of these life factors, I’m actually surprised anyone has time for even one securely attached relationship. Secure attachment takes time, both to establish and to maintain. Research shows that it takes babies up to seven months for their attachment to their caregivers to become securely established, and for adults, a securely attached romantic relationship takes approximately two years to really solidify.60 So, while you might feel an instant resonance or connection with someone, building an actual relationship based on trust, seeing each other in multiple contexts, deeply understanding each other and relating in securely attached ways requires time.

His Burden Is Light Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke fits perfectly, and the burden I give you is light.” Matthew 11:28-30 What heavy burden is weighing you down and causing a heaviness and weariness in your spirit? Is it the need to take care of an elderly parent? a seemingly impossible deadline at work? juggling overwhelming responsibilities of a job plus parenting a houseful of kids? the burden of chronic illness? a difficult relationship with someone you love? financial struggles? Whatever your “heavy burden” might be, Jesus invites you, just as he did the crowds he was teaching: Come to me. Give me the heavy load you’re carrying. And in exchange, I will give you rest. Whenever I read these verses from Matthew, I breathe a sigh of relief. Jesus knows the challenges and deadlines we face and the weariness of mind or body we feel. He understands the stress, tasks, and responsibilities that are weighing us down. As we lay all that concerns us before him, his purpose replaces our agenda, and his lightness and rest replace our burden. LORD, thank you for your offer to carry my burdens for me. I give them all to you and I gladly receive your rest! I place myself under your yoke to learn from you. Teach me your wisdom that is humble and pure, and help me to walk in the ways you set before me. Thank you for your mercy and love that invite me to live my life resting and trusting in you!   WHEN HE SAYS TO YOUR DISTURBED, DISTRACTED, RESTLESS SOUL OR MIND, “COME UNTO ME,” HE IS SAYING, COME OUT OF THE STRIFE AND DOUBT AND STRUGGLE OF WHAT IS AT THE MOMENT WHERE YOU STAND, INTO THAT WHICH WAS AND IS AND IS TO BE—THE ETERNAL, THE ESSENTIAL, THE ABSOLUTE. Phillips Brooks (1835-1893)    

You're a taffy-puller." "I'm a what?" "A taffy-puller. They hypnotize me. Didn't you ever see one? " I don't think so," she breathed. " But - " " You see them on the boardwalk. Beautifully machined little rigs, all chrome-plated eccentrics and cams. There are two cranks set near each other so that the 'handle' of each passes the axle of the other. They stick a big mass of taffy on one `handle' and start the machine. Before that sticky, homogeneous mass has a chance to droop and drip off, the other crank has swung up and taken most of it. As the crank handles move away from each other the taffy is pulled out, and then as they move together again it loops and sags; and at the last possible moment the loop is shoved together. The taffy welds itself and is pulled apart again." Robin's eyes were shining and his voice was rapt. "Underneath the taffy is a stainless steel tray. There isn't a speck of taffy on it, not a drop, not a smidgen. You stand there, and you look at it, and you wait for that lump of guff to slap itself all over those roller bearings and burnished cam rods, but it never does. You wait for it to get tired of thar fantastic juggling, and it never does. Sometimes gooey little bubbles get in the taffy and get carried around and squashed flat, and when they break they do it slowly, leaving little soft craters that take a long time to fill up; and they're being mauled around the way the bubbles were." He sighed. "There's almost too much contrast - that competent, beautiful machinist's dream handling - what? Taffy - no definition, no boundaries, no predictable tensile strength. I feel somehow as if there ought to be an intermediate stage somewhere. I'd feel better if the machine handled one of Dali's limp watches, and the watch handled the mud. But that doesn't matter. How I feel, I mean. The taffy gets pulled. You're a taffy-puller. You've never done a wasteful or incompetent thing in your life, no matter what you were working with.

We may not recognize how situations within our own lives are similar to what happens within an airplane cockpit. But think, for a moment, about the pressures you face each day. If you are in a meeting and the CEO suddenly asks you for an opinion, your mind is likely to snap from passive listening to active involvement—and if you’re not careful, a cognitive tunnel might prompt you to say something you regret. If you are juggling multiple conversations and tasks at once and an important email arrives, reactive thinking can cause you to type a reply before you’ve really thought out what you want to say. So what’s the solution? If you want to do a better job of paying attention to what really matters, of not getting overwhelmed and distracted by the constant flow of emails and conversations and interruptions that are part of every day, of knowing where to focus and what to ignore, get into the habit of telling yourself stories. Narrate your life as it’s occurring, and then when your boss suddenly asks a question or an urgent note arrives and you have only minutes to reply, the spotlight inside your head will be ready to shine the right way. To become genuinely productive, we must take control of our attention; we must build mental models that put us firmly in charge. When you’re driving to work, force yourself to envision your day. While you’re sitting in a meeting or at lunch, describe to yourself what you’re seeing and what it means. Find other people to hear your theories and challenge them. Get in a pattern of forcing yourself to anticipate what’s next. If you are a parent, anticipate what your children will say at the dinner table. Then you’ll notice what goes unmentioned or if there’s a stray comment that you should see as a warning sign. “You can’t delegate thinking,” de Crespigny told me. “Computers fail, checklists fail, everything can fail. But people can’t. We have to make decisions, and that includes deciding what deserves our attention. The key is forcing yourself to think. As long as you’re thinking, you’re halfway home.

The end of the war will see the final ruin of the Jew. The Jew is the incarnation of egoism. And their egoism goes so far that they're not even capable of risking their lives for the defence of their most vital interests. The Jew totally lacks any interest in things of the spirit. If he has pretended in Germany to have a bent for literature and the arts, that's only out of snobbery, or from a liking for speculation. He has no feeling for art, and no sensibility. Except in the regions where they live in groups, the Jews are said to have reached a very high cultural level! Take Nuremberg, for example: for four hundred years—that is to say, until 1838—it hadn't a single Jew in its population. Result: a situation in the first rank of German cultural life. Put the Jews all together: by the end of three hundred years, they'll have devoured one another. Where we have a philosopher, they have a Talmudistic pettifogger. What for us is an attempt to get to the bottom of things and express the inexpressible, becomes for the Jew a pretext for verbal juggleries. His only talent is for masticating ideas so as to disguise his thought. He has observed that the Aryan is stupid to the point of accepting anything in matters of religion, as soon as the idea of God is recognised. With the Aryan, the belief in the Beyond often takes a quite childish form ; but this belief does represent an effort towards a deepening of things. The man who doesn't believe in the Beyond has no understanding of religion. The great trick of Jewry was to insinuate itself fraudulently amongst the religions with a religion like Judaism, which in reality is not a religion. Simply, the Jew has put a religious camouflage over his racial doctrine. Everything he undertakes is built on this lie. The Jew can take the credit for having corrupted the Graeco- Roman world. Previously words were used to express thoughts; he used words to invent the art of disguising thoughts. Lies are his strength, his weapon in the struggle. The Jew is said to be gifted. His only gift is that of juggling with other people's property and swindling each and everyone. Suppose I find by chance a picture that I believe to be a Titian. I tell the owner what I think of it, and I offer him a price. In a similar case, the Jew begins by declaring that the picture is valueless, he buys it for a song and sells it at a profit of 5000 per cent. To persuade people that a thing which has value, has none, and vice versa—that's not a sign of intelligence. They can't even overcome the smallest economic crisis! The Jew has a talent for bringing confusion into the simplest matters, for getting everything muddled up. Thus comes the moment when nobody understands anything more about the question at issue. To tell you something utterly insignificant, the Jew drowns you in a flood of words. You try to analyse what he said, and you realise it's all wind. The Jew makes use of words to stultify his neighbours. And that's why people make them professors. The law of life is : "God helps him who helps himself!" It's so simple that everybody is convinced of it, and nobody would pay to learn it. But the Jew succeeds in getting himself rewarded for his meaningless glibness. Stop following what he says, for a moment, and at once his whole scaffolding collapses. I've always said, the Jews are the most diabolic creatures in existence, and at the same time the stupidest. They can't produce a musician, or a thinker. No art, nothing, less than nothing. They're liars, forgers, crooks. They owe their success only to the stupidity of their victims. If the Jew weren't kept presentable by the Aryan, he'd be so dirty he couldn't open his eyes. We can live without the Jews, but they couldn't live without us. When the Europeans realise that, they'll all become simultaneously aware of the solidarity that binds them together. The Jew prevents this solidarity. He owes his livelihood to the fact that this solidarity does not exist.

Life will not throw the same rings again

When we’re stuck in the maya, we’re caught in survival mode, suffocating and in perpetual overwhelm, while juggling have-tos, jumping through hoops, and trying not to drown in an endless sea of red tape, media input, and OS updates. Survival consciousness is what generates the fear and separation frequencies that keep the darkness alive, while blinding us to the fact that there’s more to life than third-dimensional slavery and the rules, structure, and shackles the matrix places upon us.

Imagine life as a game in which you’re juggling five balls in the air. Let’s name them work, family, health, friends, and spirit. Somehow you’re keeping all those balls in the air. That’s not an easy thing to do. Sound familiar? Sound a little like your life? Well, it definitely sounds like mine. Hopefully, you come to understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will usually bounce back. But the other four balls—family, health, friends, and spirit—are made of glass. If you drop one of these, it will be irrevocably scuffed, marked, nicked, damaged, or even shattered. It will never be the same. Once you understand that, maybe, just maybe, you’ll strive for more balance in your life.

Tackling difficult problems requires holding many ideas at once, and not being rigidly attached to any of them, as we saw in Chapter 3. Some may even be mutually exclusive. When we gain distance from our local minds in meditation, this opens up perceptual space. People in flow states can consider many options. Kotler notes that this “knocks out the filters we normally apply to incoming information” and loosens up our identification with a single fixed reality. This greatly expands the range of possibilities our minds can juggle, opening up our creativity and productivity. Meditation produces a high-performance brain, able to solve wicked problems, as we’ll discover in Chapter 8. Take a deep breath, and think for a moment about your life. Imagine being 500% more able to solve knotty problems. Picture yourself being 490% better at acquiring new skills and eight times better at conceptual tasks. That’s mental superpower! What might your health, your work, your love life, and your finances look like if you had that superpower? Probably a whole lot better than they do now.

Beneath the archways, where shadows play, As the world gives way, begin the odyssey. Uncertainty weaves into the grand scheme of life, A mystical altar, where destinies are intertwined. I walk the path, seeking the balm of solace, Enduring burden, sweet hymn of love. With hopes gone, a peace is about to descend, Still the echoes remain, they dissolve in silence. The flawed script in the story I wrote, Whispers of well-being, truths worth absorbing. "I'm fine," I say, a deceptive glare, Exposing the lies, an invisible love. A waltz with shadows on your street, Cynic's steps, very judicious dance. Terrible notions, a conspiracy unfolds, Regret is echoing at the threshold of love. Rumors of happiness, far-fetched, As I stumble in the field of love. In excess, I stumble and strain, Hope of solace, of regaining love. Did I stumble in that fleeting call? Huge weakening of pride, slow decline of strength. A gift given, deemed inadequate, In closeness, bonds become inadequate. A crazy search for a cure for love, Wandering aimlessly, purpose uncertain. Your realm echoes with such blasphemous footsteps, In the despair of the night, capricious dreams. Happiness, heard a rumor softly, As I wrestle with love like a flightless bird. Juggling too much reduces the weight of love, In the noise of love, a desperate clown. The desire to turn back, the love to amend, Unraveling habits, unraveling at every turn. A desperate attempt, from the quagmire of love, Hope you find love worth savoring. Guide me, let salvation begin, A chance to improve, a revenge for love. To improve, habits have to be broken, A self-calculating, striving soul. Thoughts entangled in the hopeful vision of love, A chance to improve, a decision of love. Witness the transformation, let it happen, Inspire it, in the dance of love's liberation. Let me enter again, a door a little ajar, A love rebuilt, a healing star. Watch as love appears, watch, In the relaxation of love, a story retold. I keep dreaming, maybe, just maybe, Love's embrace, waving destiny. With every step forward, love is becoming free, Self-made agreement, the decree of love.

Imagine life is a game in which you are juggling five balls. The balls are called work, family, health, friends, and integrity. And you're keeping all of them in the air. But one day you finally come to understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. The other four balls...are made of glass. If you drop one of these, it will be irrevocably scuffed, nicked, perhaps even shattered.

ECHOES OF LOVE: A DANCE BENEATH THE ARCHWAYS Beneath the archways, where shadows play, As the world gives way, begin the odyssey. Uncertainty weaves into the grand scheme of life, A mystical altar, where destinies are intertwined. I walk the path, seeking the balm of solace, Enduring burden, sweet hymn of love. With hopes gone, a peace is about to descend, Still the echoes remain, they dissolve in silence. The flawed script in the story I wrote, Whispers of well-being, truths worth absorbing. "I'm fine," I say, a deceptive glare, Exposing the lies, an invisible love. A waltz with shadows on your street, Cynic's steps, very judicious dance. Terrible notions, a conspiracy unfolds, Regret is echoing at the threshold of love. Rumors of happiness, far-fetched, As I stumble in the field of love. In excess, I stumble and strain, Hope of solace, of regaining love. Did I stumble in that fleeting call? Huge weakening of pride, slow decline of strength. A gift given, deemed inadequate, In closeness, bonds become inadequate. A crazy search for a cure for love, Wandering aimlessly, purpose uncertain. Your realm echoes with such blasphemous footsteps, In the despair of the night, capricious dreams. Happiness, heard a rumor softly, As I wrestle with love like a flightless bird. Juggling too much reduces the weight of love, In the noise of love, a desperate clown. The desire to turn back, the love to amend, Unraveling habits, unraveling at every turn. A desperate attempt, from the quagmire of love, Hope you find love worth savoring. GUIDE ME, LET SALVATION BEGIN, A CHANCE TO IMPROVE, A REVENGE FOR LOVE. TO IMPROVE, HABITS HAVE TO BE BROKEN, A SELF-CALCULATING, STRIVING SOUL. THOUGHTS ENTANGLED IN THE HOPEFUL VISION OF LOVE, A CHANCE TO IMPROVE, A DECISION OF LOVE. WITNESS THE TRANSFORMATION, LET IT HAPPEN, INSPIRE IT, IN THE DANCE OF LOVE'S LIBERATION. LET ME ENTER AGAIN, A DOOR A LITTLE AJAR, A LOVE REBUILT, A HEALING STAR. WATCH AS LOVE APPEARS, WATCH, IN THE RELAXATION OF LOVE, A STORY RETOLD. I KEEP DREAMING, MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, LOVE'S EMBRACE, WAVING DESTINY. WITH EVERY STEP FORWARD, LOVE IS BECOMING FREE, SELF-MADE AGREEMENT, THE DEGREE OF LOVE.

I have always imagined myself as becoming everything in life from a carpenter to a professor or an astronaut juggling with the seven skies, thinking high on moon, and resting under the shade of meteors. This wishful thinking in life creates a paradigm of being high on career. It sets you on a different stratum of ideas; you can’t anticipate low stuff in your life while cruising through wishfully accepted wisdom. A thought process that makes you mad, stupid, ecstatic, provides intelligent taste buds, but once perceived as such, sets your dopamine rush low and puts you in depression. On the one side you know that to become what you want to aspire needs all the knowledge and wisdom that may come through understanding of the world around us, and for that good work one million books and thousand libraries should fall on you. How much tea is needed to soothe the nerves of your brain to achieve the wisdom?

Imagine life is a game in which you are juggling five balls. The balls are called work, family, health, friends, and integrity. And you’re keeping all of them in the air. But one day you finally come to understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. The other four balls — family, health, friends, integrity—are made of glass. If you drop one of these, it will be irrevocably scuffed, nicked, perhaps even shattered. And once you truly understand the lesson of the five balls, you will have the beginnings of balance in your life. Nicky,

Balance is not about juggling everything at once, but knowing when to give each aspect of life its due attention.

...it's all right to drop a ball. You never know who might step up to catch it.

We are God’s workmanship. We’re his masterpieces. God created each one of us. He had a plan and a purpose for our lives before time even began, and he handcrafted us to be unique and bring beauty to the world, each in our own way. No, we won’t all have the perfect fashion sense, the cleanest house, be able to juggle it all, or have a Pinterest-perfect life. We won’t all have a platform or be an influencer or run a business or open an Etsy shop. We can’t be everything we admire in everyone we know. We can’t do foster care and host people all the time and make the most delicious bread and look like an ad for our local gym and homeschool and travel all over the country and lead five Bible studies and restore furniture on the side. Let’s learn from each other. Let’s be inspired by one another. And let’s fight against comparison. Against the lie that we have to do it all and be good at everything. Against the lie that we’re not enough, that what we have is not enough.

Life for the theistic of abrahamic traditions is a constant juggle between masturbating towards pixels on a screen and brief abstention of this act as one torments themselves over the fiery consequences of their past sinful actions; only to commence said sinful actions again. Thus the cycle of pleasure and guilt continues as strong in the law of human nature as the cycle of the moon and sun in the law of the universe.

Balancing parenthood with the lifestyle of a professional climber is tricky and it certainly helps to have a supportive partner. For me it has been quite a juggling act to manage all the demands on my time in both my personal and public life. But like climbing itself, the most challenging experiences are usually the most satisfying. Motherhood is certainly more challenging than any climb I’ve done, but there’s nothing greater than the sense of love I feel for my child.

Because it is the recreational athletes who inspire me through the tough times, the everyday heroes who juggle training with a full-time job, a family and other commitments.

Despite the inherent risks of climbing, I still love to climb and I never plan to give it up just because I’m a mother. However, I am much more selective about the risks I take. …One of the biggest challenges of motherhood has to do with juggling my time between work, climbing, and the daily responsibilities of raising a child. But whatever climbs and travels I might have missed during the formative years of my son’s life are small sacrifices compared to the love and richness Owen brings, and hopefully will contribute to others as part of the future generation.

It was about five balls: life is about juggling five balls in the air. They are health, family, friends, integrity and career/achievement. These balls are not the same; the important thing to remember is that the career ball is made of rubber but the others are more fragile.

Life is about juggling five balls in the air. They are health, family, friends, integrity and career/achievement.

What Lauren and Jesse - the married couple behind Picky Bars, two professional athletic careers, and two kids - really wanted was a way to connect with other folks juggling all of life's craziness while pursuing their passions. It's a real three-ring circus sometimes, but that's what makes it fun, right?!

The Chariot Cometh by Stewart Stafford O gleaming chariot of restoration, Ferrying that tortuous animal, Man, Ministering as Gods to mortals, Dispensing the miracle of rebirth. Woe to that lost, delinquent essedum, Neglecting and failing malcontents, Memories fade in mind, not in heart, Angel of mercy now a spirit of vengeance. Grief stalks the mad and jealous soul, Juggling coals of rectitude and retribution, Scalded palms scant refuge from pain, Let savagery flee to its depths, be free. Examine the formidable hand-me-downs, And transform them into life's armour, Or be an infant in hanging father's flesh, Abdicating the procession of succession. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.

Life is a juggling act, and balance is the magician's wand that keeps all the chaos up in the air with style.

Aimshala's Vision for Education: Empowering Educators, Enriching Lives In the heart of every learner's journey, there exists a light of inspiration, a guide through the moving seas of knowledge and discovery. This guide, often hidden and ignored, is the educator. At Aimshala, we understand the transformative power of educators not just in imparting knowledge, but in enriching lives and empowering minds. Our vision for education is deeply rooted in the belief that by empowering educators, we can create ripples of change that extend beyond classroom walls, enriching the lives of countless individuals and, by extension, society itself. The Unknown Heroes of Our Society Educators are the unknown heroes of our society, the architects of the future, shaping minds and inspiring hearts. They do more than teach; they awaken curiosity, instill resilience, and foster a lifelong love for learning. The impact of a passionate educator extends far beyond academic achievements; it touches on the very essence of who we become. At Aimshala, we recognize the challenges educators face daily juggling administrative tasks, adapting to new technologies, and meeting each student's unique needs. Yet, despite these hurdles, their commitment never wavers. They continue to light the path for their students, often with little recognition for their monumental impact. It's for these unsung heroes that Aimshala dedicates its mission: to empower educators and acknowledge their invaluable contribution to shaping our future. A Journey of Empowerment Empowerment is at the core of Aimshala's vision for education. But what does it truly mean to empower educators? It means providing them with the tools, resources, and support they need to thrive in their roles. It means creating an environment where their voices are heard, their challenges are addressed, and their achievements are celebrated. We believe in a holistic approach to empowerment. From continuous professional development opportunities to innovative teaching tools, Aimshala is committed to ensuring educators have what they need to succeed. But empowerment goes beyond material resources; it's about fostering a community of educators who can share experiences, challenges, and successes. A community where collaboration and support are the norms, not the exceptions. Enriching Lives Through Education Education has the power to transform lives. It opens doors to new opportunities, develops horizons, and builds bridges across cultures. Aimshala's vision extends to every student touched by our educators. By enriching the lives of educators, we indirectly enrich the lives of countless students. An enriched life is one of purpose, understanding, and continual growth. Through our support for educators, Aimshala aims to cultivate learning environments where students feel valued, respected, and inspired to reach their full potential. These environments encourage critical thinking, creativity, and the courage to question. They nurture not just academic skills but life skills—empathy, resilience, and the ability to adapt to change. Building a Future Together The future of education is a collaborative vision, one that requires the efforts of educators, students, families, and communities. Aimshala stands at the forefront of this collaborative effort, bridging gaps and fostering partnerships that enhance the educational experience for all. Technology plays a pivotal role in shaping this future. Aimshala embraces innovative educational technologies that make learning more accessible, engaging, and effective. However, we also recognize that technology is but a tool in the hands of our capable educators. It is their wisdom, passion, and dedication that truly transform education. At Aimshala, our vision for education is clear: to empower educators and enrich lives. We understand the challenges and celebrate the triumphs. We believe in the power of education to transform society.