In Defense of Imbalance

I know I looked rough standing in the back room of the soda fountain yesterday.

Glistening with sweat. Shirt half-tucked. Dishwater-soaked sleeves. Hair stuck to my face.

It hadn’t been a good day.

When she asked how I was doing, I teared up.

I always do that when someone looks me in the eyes and asks something like that. I can’t help it.

She offered a hug, and I took it. I needed it.

“Can you take a day off?” she asked. “You need some time away.”

I agreed with her.

It’s not the first time I’ve heard that. People say it often when they see snapshots of our life from the outside.

From their perspective, it looks crazy. 

Hell, it IS crazy. 

Is the pace we’re keeping this summer ideal? NOPE. 

The chaos I currently find myself in is unintentional. 

Yes, I’ve chosen to take on a lot of responsibilities. THAT was on purpose.

Yes, I love an audacious project. THOSE are on purpose. 

The unavoidable chaos was not a part of the plan. 

Although it’s not uncommon. 

People assume I must recklessly burn the candle on both ends.

But I don’t.

I’m intentional as I can be about self-care.

I say no A LOT.

I take naps. I often go to bed at 8pm. I prioritize protein, skip alcohol, take lots of walks, and stay vigilant about keeping my body and mind strong.

I do everything I can to keep a tight rein on my schedule and commitments. And in a perfect world, my responsibilities would stay neatly in their compartments, obeying their assigned time slots.

Sometimes they do.

But other times? Everything breaks at once. The projects spill over their edges and erupt into a full-on dumpster fire. And all you can do is hold on for dear life and deal with it.

That’s where I’m at right now.

Earlier this week, I listened to Jordan Peterson talk about the link between responsibility and meaning. I’ve heard it before, but it always hits deep. (In fact, I loved this concept so much I wrote about it in Old-Fashioned on Purpose.)

It’s a beautiful notion: humans crave meaning. And responsibility gives us that meaning.

It sounds so noble and tidy—until you actually do it.

Until you commit to growing all your own food.

Until you sign a contract on your next cookbook.

Until you decide to start a charter school from scratch.

Until you vow to revive a dying restaurant in a town of 175 people.

Then it gets real, real messy. 

That’s when the restful weekend you planned gets swallowed by a crisis you never saw coming.

That’s when you find yourself interrupting your afternoon to fix, troubleshoot, and problem solve yet again.

But I’m not looking for sympathy. 

I signed up for this.

Even on the hardest days, when I watch the rest of the world leave on vacations with nary a care, I don’t wish this away. 

Because this is how I’ve been forged. The past and the present alike. These messy, chaotic seasons have shaped the person I’ve become. And I’m thankful for each and every one.

People say that our projects inspire them. That they hope to follow in our footsteps. That they wish they could live a life of purpose like mine. 

But sometimes I don’t think they realize: THIS IS WHAT IT TAKES.

These seasons of imbalance—of white-knuckling the schedule, of building, of pushing—they’re necessary.  This is how we live on purpose. This is what it looks like to pursue what sets your soul on fire. This is how we honor the responsibilities we’ve willingly accepted.

Because purpose doesn’t stick to business hours.

And I’m at peace with that.

Even when I’m in the back room of the soda fountain, sweat running down my face, handling one disaster after another—
I’m still at peace with it.

People like to ask me how I balance it all.
My answer is always the same:

I don’t.

Balance, at least in the traditional sense, is a myth.

There are seasons when I focus on writing.
Seasons when I garden for hours and hours each day. 
Seasons when I cook for 12 hours stretches at the soda fountain.
Seasons when I sit by the fire night after night.
And seasons where I’ll spend an entire day on the mountainside reading a book. 

It’s not balanced.
It’s completely lopsided.
But that’s how it works.

I’ve been ruminating on a recent essay by Ryan Anderson in his Old Hollow Tree Substack. It’s titled You Need to Burn and he writes about honoring the rhythm of nature, and embracing summer as a season of push, of creation, of fire.

This is my favorite part of the entire piece (but I HIGHLY recommend you read the full thing here.) :

“There is a kind of quiet tyranny in the modern cult of balance, especially when it is misapplied. You are encouraged to become well-rounded, to cover your faults.
Some seasons are meant to tip the balance, however—and this is one of them.
The fireflies blink manically in the fields, the bees throng to clover and thyme, the gardens overflow. Everything is just more right now.
More green. More heat. More motion. More abundance.
It is not tame. It is not modest. It is wild and generous and great.

So why not you?
Why not now?

What would it look like, here at the peak of the sun’s strength, for you to embrace your own off-kilter peak?
What if you allowed yourself to say yes to the bigness of your dreams?
What if you gave yourself permission not just to try, but to win?
To step forward without apology. To create something meaningful and enduring. To do so without the awkward cough of false humility?

The truth is there are things only you can do. Things only you know.
There are people who need exactly what you have—your voice, your vision, your fire.
Playing it safe won’t help them.
Shrinking yourself won’t make the world fairer or kinder.
If anything, the world is starved for greatness.
Not ego. Not shallow performance.
But true greatness—
The fullness of someone standing in the center of their gift, offering it to a wounded world with both hands outstretched.”

This season? I’m embracing the burn. The striving. The imbalance.

Winter will come, and I’ll soak in the darkness and stillness like I always do.
But for now?

We burn.

Embracing the Imbalance,
–Jill

P.S. Just so you know, I’m currently sitting on a rock, writing this from the solitude of our mountain cabin. Even in the midst of a chaotic season, I do unplug and steal away. I’m not writing this to glorify hustle culture—but to speak to those of you in the trenches. The ones doing the things. The ones carrying the weight.
Embrace the imbalance, my friend. This is how we change the world.