A Brief Comparison

And everything is flowing, and everything is smooth, but then, my attention wanders, focus shifts. Poor timing and jerky motions replace elegance and style, and everything is up in the air. Objects collide, I do my best, I catch what I can, and yet with all my efforts, it falls to the ground, and rolls indignantly under the couch. Three options have now presented themselves; I can stoop down to my knees and reach underneath, apologetically, forgivingly, and retrieve the ball to try to continue juggling; I can leave the ball, distraught, cold, and abandoned in the dark for someone else to find; and finally, I can continue juggling with what I have left, the balls I salvaged before the error, and retrieve the fallen ball at a more convenient time.

Friendships parallel with the active sport of balance and coordination that is juggling. Tossing a ball is like maintaining the proper amount space from your friends. The balance between clinginess and distance is delicate, just as the height of the arc of juggling. A high throw means temporary relief from the endless pattern, but the catch is made much more difficult, and tosses afterwards become poorly calculated and awkward. Low throws lead to faster juggling, and one miss makes everything fall. Each object juggled is a friend, and each is different, if only even slightly. A bowling ball is a high maintenance friend, who always requires at least one watchful eye and sensitive catch, while a club is an emotionally driven friend, who, if caught by the wrong end, will need consolation and compassion to return to their sharp and manageable state. A baseball is the manageable friend, who fits perfectly in the hand and is taken care of with a flick of the wrist. All friends and objects have the potential to collide mid-air, however, meaning I will have to decide which one to catch and which one to let go.

All friends require some amount of attention. I can’t juggle with my eyes closed. Devoting all of my attention to one object means letting go of the others, another mistake that can be the downfall of relationships.

Each interaction with friend is a holding of an object in my hand. Sometimes the meeting feels right, it locks in perfectly, and leaves with a stupendous toss to the next interaction between me and the friend. Sometimes it stings, and I toss the object away slightly disheveled. Sometimes I snatch the object too aggressively, and it topples to the floor, breaking loose from my belligerent grip.

And everything is flowing, and everything is smooth, but then, my attention wanders, focus shifts. Poor timing and acrimonious words replace good humor and shared happiness, and everything is up in the air. Opinions collide, I do my best, I hold my tongue when I can, yet with all my efforts, the relationship crumbles, and they walk away indignantly, and roll into their own emotions, determinately isolated. Three options have now presented themselves; I can stoop down to my knees, console them, apologetically, forgivingly, and try to resume the former friendship; I can leave them, distraught, cold, and abandoned in their fuming state for someone else to befriend; and finally, I can continue enjoying those who I have left, the friends I salvaged before the error, and make amends with the fallen friend at a less sensitive time.