“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.”
— James Patterson (Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas)
I juggle teacups, some are beautiful, others functional. Some days, I’m juggling three and other days it feels like a dozen. I had too many in the air, and as Mr. Patterson noted, when the cups fall, they are damaged or broken beyond repair. I didn’t just drop one, I dropped all of them.
Every . . . single . . . one.
At first, I tried to scoop everything up, carrying the whole and the damaged, and carry on. It didn’t work, ideas became confused, tasks forgotten, appointments missed. Then the “safer at home” order came down. With the doors of my place of employment locked, friends distancing themselves, meetings canceled, I found myself forced to stop and reevaluate the chipped and shattered pile of teacups.
David Segrove wrote, “Do three things well, not ten things badly.” With that in mind, I began to shift through the debris. Which needed to be repaired, replaced, or put in the rubbish. Each cup evaluated. Did it “spark joy” (to borrow a phrase from Maria Kondo), would I miss it, was it necessary, or was it a burden to be left in the dust bin?
Let’s examine a few of the cups I kept.
Writing – I write because if I didn’t, the choir in my head would drive me insane, telling me their stories. Writing quiets them and creating a world for them to exist in, whether a real historical time and place or a steampunk world that never will exist, is fun. Some stories have been abandoned, crying out to be finished. This cup is a sturdy mug, it just needs to be dusted off, the little chip is barely visible.
Gardening – Hands in the soil, birdsong over-head, flowers and vegetables growing. The harvest is small but a peaceful time. This cup is metal, so it has a few dents, but it is still serviceable.
T’ai Chi – Ancient, moving meditation, improver of health and well-being. I am at my best when doing this slow quiet martial art. The cup was broken, the cracks large, but it can be repaired. I will use the technique of kintsukuroi, the Asian art mending the pottery by filling the cracks or breaks with gold or silver lacquer so as not to hide the damage but rather illuminate its beauty.
American Legion – I am a veteran, Desert Storm era. I came through my time with little baggage to carry. My comrades, some were not so lucky. The cup is tough, the handle is cracked but can be mended. Even though this is a heavy cup, it is one of honor and duty.
There are others, but this time I have built a shelf for them. There will be times when I will place a cup lovingly down, rest is a good thing.
What of those that have been swept away, the remains now in the waste basket? Will I miss them? Will I feel the need to replace them? Only time will tell.
I am learning to juggle everything well, most days, on other days there’s always tea. Those are the days I understand the line from Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (screenplay), “A cup a tea would restore my normality.”
Until next time . . . The door is always open and the kettle always on.
Tess DeGroot 
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