Balance Beam

I don’t know about you, but when a former male model wants to sell me on the idea of a balanced life I’m all ears. Actually, he wasn’t talking to me, exactly. He was being interviewed by Elle magazine. Cameron was shown both in his previous incarnation as a Guess jeans model, pouting and flexing, and in his new form as an Ayurvedic healer, pouting and flexing in an enlightened fashion. He stayed with the reporter for a day, helping her improve her life (beyond whatever inherent benefit you get from staring at a really well-defined profile for 24 hours).

What he suggested to the reporter made sense in a “I think my mother said something like this” kind of way. Go to sleep early. Drink lots of water. More vegetables than meat and alcohol, while hugely fun, has never improved either the inner or the outer Quinn. But mostly what he talked about – besides his website where we could all benefit from his knowledge and cheekbones – was the idea of balance. He also talked about air, water, fire, all in alignment with your charkas, something about dripping oil on your forehead…I’m sorry, I kind of drifted, because I read the article standing in the “Twelve items or less” line and I couldn’t decide whether the woman in front of me had one group of lemons, which put her under twelve, or four lemons, which put her over twelve. And then my phone rang but I couldn’t find my Bluetooth in my purse so I decided to buy gum, which put me over the twelve-item limit and I became confused. Anyway, once again I was reminded that I’m supposed to be living in balance, no one element of my life should take dominance over the others. I can’t think of a single religion which disagrees with that statement. It’s sane, it’s sensible, I couldn’t agree more. I just want someone to come into my life and make me do it.

For instance, how am I supposed to live in balance in a world which contains ponytail holders? For those of you without long hair in your life, either on your head or the head of a loved one, ponytail holders have only two development stages: all or none. I either cannot walk through my house without wading through a teeming mass of mating hair-elastics or I am taking my daughter to ballet which is ten minutes away and starts in five minutes and there isn’t a single ponytail holder in the entire house. I will eventually grit my teeth and pull her hair back with a rubber band, knowing it will lead to tears and scissors-wielding later. I also know that after everyone is settled in for the evening and I go to lock up the house for the night, a thousand ponytail holders will form the world’s longest conga line through my house. I know, I’m supposed to put them in a special hair-elastic place, which is just the sort of thing balanced people do. Cameron probably does it. I can swear under oath that I do put them someplace dedicated to hair-elastics. But they move. And the next thing I know, the cat is using them as soccer balls. This is entertaining, but this is not balanced.

For a compete lack of balance in one's life, there is nothing which compares to Facebook. There is no dabbling in Facebook just like there is no kind of swimming the English Channel. After enough gentle mocking from friends about my lack of Face, I created a Facebook page. Within minutes, I had my first friend request, from one of the mockers. Delighted, I invited her into my book. Or my face. Or whatever. And I happily invited those who came afterwards. Then, I got a friend request from someone I knew from elementary school. I thought a bit about this one, and then invited her in. Within days, I had a nest of people from elementary school sitting in my inbox.

Then high school classmates started finding me. Then friends I knew from acting in my twenties started finding me. People were poking me, hugging me, sending me theater announcements and birth announcements and “I changed my font!” announcements and online drinks, which struck me as just teasing, really. Consort pointed out that I – barely social in the three-dimensional world – had now created a whole new world in which to long to be left alone in no dimensions. Within weeks of creating a page, I had people leaving plaintive messages to the effect of “Guess you don’t check your Facebook page that often…” and I was about to write a long impassioned wall-graffiti about how I mean to write all of them back, and I’m terribly happy to be poked, and keep those delicious online daiquiris coming, when it suddenly dawned on me: this modern age was bringing me more guilt, that most ancient of emotions.

So, here is what I am. I am the mother of a child who is back in her own bedroom. I am the owner of a house without a single right angle. I am a person with three pets indoors and several outdoor feral cats who sneer at me but still hang around waiting for dinner. I am a writer with a deadline. I am a person with a great longing for a hair-band and a slight fear of being tickled online. I am a person who goes to the grocery store far too often but appreciates the magazine-scanning opportunities. What I am not is balanced. The magazine and the gum went back into their shelves.

I did, however, grab a box of ponytail holders.