Spinning too many plates makes you feel like you live in the act of a circus without applause. There's a worktop - a rabbit-like task whispered and whispered the threat from all directions. Then there is the family plate - payment, meals for cooking, and relationships with attention. Social records also want to pay attention - the friends you've been looking for for weeks are not answered. The health plate wobbles, reminding me that sleep and movement feels like luxury but not an option. The project and dreams were yelled many times, but their plates barely touched before being pushed aside by urgent requirements.
Finally, something starts to fall. Perhaps it focuses on the brain fog, leaving you forgetting what's in your mind. Perhaps it's her patience that's too thin, like the edge of her favorite shirt. Perhaps it's your confidence - you're a juggler, a record spinner, and not someone under the movement. Everything revolves around balance, not about fulfillment. They no longer create. You are waiting.
But what's the worst part? You shot so long that you don't remember when you last stood. And if the plate falls - and you always - freeze. panic. breakdown. shame. Next, as if speed corresponds to control, this time absorbs debris and tries faster. But what if you let the plate rest instead? What are all the plates worthy of being in the air? Perhaps it's not about mastering more, it's less about choosing. Less rotation, better rotation.