We can engage this balancing act in our daily lives. Rather than turning off the news, we spend a minute considering the ways in which both sides of an issue offer some insights about our current state of affairs. Even if one of the sides only offers us insights about the fears and frustrations experienced by certain members of our society, these insights are important as we interact with these fearful folks at work (and even on the highway). We might even engage some first-order (second facet) adjustment in our perspective regarding that “crazy” driver who just switched lanes in front of us: after all, we have also been switching lanes in order to somehow get to work a couple of minutes earlier (or at least feel a bit more in control when facing the traffic “mess”).
The moments when we are dashing off to soccer practice for our kids can be used to reflect on the growth and development of our kids—and on the joy it can be to relax at the soccer match and simply enjoy watching young people engage in healthy and constructive activities. We can do some zero-order “appreciation” of family life. The micro-waved dinner might be offset by a delicious salad we picked up on the way home, while the movie could be an “old-timer” that brings us back to a somewhat less hectic time in our life. These are simple, first-order adjustments we can make every day. It is all about balance and about shifting back and forth between two or more perspectives, priorities or practices.
At a “deeper” level, we see the balancing act operating at a fundamental and critical level in our life. The fourth Lens of Essence (requiring third-order perspectives) is often operating. We often are swinging back and forth in our lifelong development between two forces. There is a push toward greater independence and individual identity. And a counter push toward greater dependence and collective identity (Kegan, 1982). The paddler reaches over the lee side of the kayak for agency and accomplishment. They then turn toward the starboard side to correct for communion and companionship (Bakan,1966).
We find balancing to exist in the “punch” and “counterpunch” to be found in our ongoing swing between a life filled with action and a life filled with observation and contemplation. In The Active Life, Parker Palmer (1990, p. 2) writes about this balancing act—and addresses the issue of balancing vs. centering while navigating a white-water world. He noted that in focusing only on centering we can too easily remain in a state of contemplation (and in-action): “Contemporary images of what it means to be spiritual tend to value the inward search over the outward act, silence over sound, solitude over interaction, centeredness and quietude . . . over engagement and animation and struggle.” When we engage the world, then we must engage in an act of balancing. We push and pull in one direction, and an opposite force is engaged. Palmer (1990, p. 17) even suggests that ”when we act, the world acts back, and we and the world are co-created.” The first half of Palmer’s sentence offers us the challenge, while the second half offers us the desirable outcome. It is in the engagement back and forth with the turbulent world around us that we find balance and an integrative co-creation.
To enter white water in a kayak is always risky business. It is “safer” to remain on the shore and simply marvel at the complexity (and beauty) of movement in the river. We become observers and even contemplative observers of nature’s “wonderfulness.” But we have not engaged this river and have avoided the opportunity to make a difference in our world. Palmer (1990, p. 23) suggests that “there is an intimate link between our capacity for risk-taking and our commitment to learning and growing.” In alignment with Argyris and Schon (1978), Palmer notes the likelihood that mistakes will be made and failures will be experienced when we take the risk of navigating a turbulent river. It is the learning that can take place following a mistake or failure that enables us to successfully travel through the white-water environment. As Palmer observes (1990, p. 23), “a failed experiment [for a scientist] is no failure at all, but a vital step toward learning the truth.”
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