I wrote Balance at a time when I felt anything but balanced. Life felt scattered; some days I was on the edge, some days somewhere in the middle, simply trying to find my footing. There were mornings I woke up all smiles, only to feel it slip away by noon. Nights were trying to make sense of how one day could hold multiple versions of me. I wasn’t looking for perfect equilibrium. I was trying to find a way to stand without feeling like I might fall.

The poem came from that search. The puddles, pebbles, boulders, winds, clouds, and even the tiptoeing ballerina became different faces of my life as I was experiencing it. Balance isn’t about having everything perfectly in place. It could be learning to move through all of it. Somewhere between tears and joy, chaos and stillness, I found hope and the grace to hold it all.

Some days I was the unsettled puddle, rippling at the slightest touch. Other days, a pebble, small and steady, content just to be still. And on harder days, I learned that strength is not feeling nothing, but staying rooted beneath the weight. The winds reminded me that change is not a disruption, but often the teacher. Like a ballerina on her toes, I learned that balance is not stillness, but trusting the wobble.

It’s a practice, moment by moment, breath by breath.