I remember hearing about “the golden mean” as a child. It must have been explained to me then that this philosophy of Socrates and Plato, of Aristotle and Confucius and Aquinas, was a basic truth I should strive to follow.
It basically says that the path to perfection is carved between two extremes. The Middle Way, as it is called in Buddhism. Or, as Benjamin Franklin said: “Moderation in all things — including moderation.” We must fly halfway between the ocean spray and the heat of the sun, as Icarus was advised by his father but foolishly — and fatally — ignored.
It is striking how many cultures, across time and space, espouse this teaching. I know I latched onto it early and have carried it with me as a talisman throughout my life. If I could reach this elusive “mean,” follow some preordained recipe to strike just the right balance, all would be right in my world.
And really, nothing in my nearly 50 years has shaken my faith in the rightness of this. I still believe in moderation, in looking at every problem from all sides and finding the solution that causes the least harm. I believe in eating all foods, just little less of the ones filled with sugar and more of the ones laden with nutrients. Often, when I am shopping and can’t decide among the many, many choices, I will simply pick the item in the middle — middle price range, middle quality. If it’s something I don’t know or care deeply about, middle seems good enough.
But when it comes to my actual day to day, I’m afraid my balancing is not particularly elegant. I am hardly a strapping Greek boy flapping through life sporting a pair of feather wings.
No, I am more of an insecure, prone-to-worrying, over-committed mess, who often reaches nightfall too tired to think a complete thought and having never set foot in a shower.
More than balancing, I am spinning. Like a contestant on Wheel of Fortune, I push the disk of my days around, clicking through all the parts that I’m trying to keep moving forward: home care, meal prep, kid activities, yard work, writing stories, posting on social media, maintaining my website, helping various nonprofits, reading, working out. I dial through each section of the wheel doing what I can to not fall behind and then click to the next area, do what must be done there, and click forward again.
If I stop to think of my relentless juggling act, I have to ask: Is this what the ancients had in mind, tucked in their caves, high atop their mountains?
Does “moderation" mean “pulled in a million directions”? Shouldn’t something called “the golden mean” be shinier than this?
Maybe. Or maybe not.
Maybe “balance” is more about staying on the beam even while outside forces are buffeting you from side to side. Maybe “mean” is taking in the extremes and folding them together with the middle. Maybe “moderation” means hearing the cacophony but uttering a sane sentence.
Because if we are not experiencing, not striving, if we’ve chosen the too tidy and too known, that is no way to live either. We need the messy and exhausting and challenging. Perhaps what matters is not what we feel in each moment but who we become by the end.
I still believe in the search for the center. I believe in caring, but not getting carried away.
I’m just here to say I thought this path would be less steep. I thought walking along it would make me feel less defeated. Somehow I equated “golden” with “easy” and I’m discovering that could not be further from the truth.
As I see it, the golden mean is not instructing us to smoothly sail to nirvana. It’s saying that all the crazy, all the trying and failing, all the pushing forward one tiny step at a time, that is how we can begin to see what The Middle Way even is. That is how we discover where our path lies.
Only by feeling the water and the sun can we find our way through them.
A Word About What's Coming
Next month, this newsletter will have a new name, a new focus, a new design. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your readership over the years, the many fits and starts, the many incarnations that this space as seen. I’m hopeful you’ll feel the changes are improvements and that you’ll follow where I’m going.
The launch of Nourishing Stories will be an expansion of what I've started here. I am hoping to move from hundreds of readers to thousands, from a largely Roanoke-based audience to one that includes subscribers from anywhere and everywhere. If you feel inclined to help the spread of this work, I would be more than grateful. Forwarding, sharing, recommending to friends and acquaintances; reaching out to me to share your connections/insights/talents that might help spread the word. Honest feedback. Collaboration opportunities. All of it. I am open. Here’s to new beginnings. Happy 2020.
Tasty Picks
What podcast will she recommend this month? Well ... Book City Roanoke is a favorite project of mine. It's a website collecting writers, book clubs and book recommendations PLUS a podcast now in its second season. And even if Doug Jackson hadn't graciously asked me to kick off the season, I'd be pointing you in this audio direction. The conversations are smart and interesting -- whether or not you call Roanoke home.
I'm not sure how many young farmers read my newsletter, but if you happen to know one or two, make sure they're aware of a new effort kicking off in the Central Appalachian region (Kentucky, Tennessee, West Virginia, North Carolina and Southwest Virginia). Here's where you can learn more about the National Young Farmers Coalition. Here's where you can read a story I wrote about young farmers. Email vabeginningfarmer@vt.edu for more information about becoming a part of this initiative.
Ever find yourself in a sensory deprivation tank? I wrote about a new float center recently. Then, I tried floating for myself. It was a surreal experience. Let me know your take if you've ever dipped your toes in a thousand pounds of Epsom salts....
