One night, my father and I went to a juggling show.
We sat in the front row. We watched the juggler juggle balls, clubs, rods.
The tricks grew faster, the timing tighter, the demands on his body more aggressive. It seemed almost overwhelming.
And then the juggler dropped something. A plastic hour-glass-shaped prop banged recklessly to the floor.
The audience watched the juggler. He was covered in sweat. He was breathing hard.
And in a clear, resolved voice, he said what might be the best guidance I’ve heard for juggling an overwhelming amount of anything: I need to remember to take my time.
With a slower, steadier hand, he picked up the prop. He restarted the action. And the audience watched as the juggler nailed that trick.