The Human Balance

I recently found myself in multiple conversations about how to strike the balance between recognizing times when we need to be alone and the moments when we need nothing more than to be with others.  Needless to say, I didn’t get very far, and the more I thought about it the more I realized there simply isn’t a recipe to strike the balance.

Maybe that is because the balance is innate.  Engrained within the fabric of our beings from the beginning.  That the very nature of being human is to be ourselves within the constructs of community.  Therefore, the truth lies in the paradox.

Life has a way of dictating our needs.  That is, based on circumstances or events we recognize when we need silence and solitude.  While at the same time those same circumstances and events can help us see our need for the voices and presence of others.

I marvel at those who are at peace with both.  And maybe that is the key to all of this.  Being at peace with yourself so you can help become the peace to others…while hopefully finding a few people in our lives that can be that presence when we need it.

I am left with this…two poems, two truths, one paradox.

Alone – Maya Angelou

Lying, thinking

Last night

How to find my soul a home

Where water is not thirsty

And bread loaf is not stone

I came up with one thing

And I don’t believe I’m wrong

That nobody,

But nobody

Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone

Nobody, but nobody

Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionaires

With money they can’t use

Their wives run round like banshees

Their children sing the blues

They’ve got expensive doctors

To cure their hearts of stone.

But nobody

No, nobody

Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone

Nobody, but nobody

Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely

I’ll tell you what I know

Storm clouds are gathering

The wind is gonna blow

The race of man is suffering

And I can hear the moan,

‘Cause nobody,

But nobody

Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone

Nobody, but nobody

Can make it out here alone.

Ode to Solitude – Alexander Pope

Happy the man, whose wish and care

A few paternal acres bound,

Content to breathe his native air,

In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,

Whose flocks supply him with attire,

Whose trees in summer yield him shade,

In winter fire.

Blest, who can unconcernedly find

Hours, days, and years slide soft away,

In health of body, peace of mind,

Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease,

Together mixed; sweet recreation;

And innocence, which most does please,

With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;

Thus unlamented let me die;

Steal from the world, and not a stone

Tell where I lie.