Your Seven Buckets

There is an ancient saying that life is the task of carrying three buckets of water with only two hands. Today, I'd put it this way: Life is carrying seven buckets in two hands, with a personal assistant who has at least seven buckets of his or her own.

I've always loved that saying, because no matter how strong your two hands are, and how balanced you carry your buckets, reality dictates that you're still going to have to make decisions, leave something behind, retrace your steps, play catch up, and at times, simply find the courage to keep going.

Whether three buckets or seven-with-an-assistant, the point is the same. This balancing act is normal. And, since it's an ancient saying, it must hold true that it's always been normal not to have it all together, all the time. Only in our contemporary culture (which has an agenda for us, to be sure) do we have the notion that it is supposed to be otherwise.

How we manage our buckets is the stuff that real life is made of. To get a handle on my own seven buckets, I imagine them in a carnival-style water gun race. We've got our gun, we aim at the mouth of the clown, and we line up and shoot as perfectly as we can. As water gets in, the little bucket starts to rise. The more water we get into the thirsty clown, the faster our little bucket races up the straight line until~ding!~someone wins.

Of course, in my version of the game, I've got only one gun for all seven thirsty clowns. So instead of competing with my fun loving friends, I'm pitting parts of myself against other parts of myself in hopes that the larger "I" involved can make it all work.

Though balance is the desired outcome, even the most masterful shooters I've known have a few buckets that are perpetual stragglers. Usually it's the buckets that hold the things we don't enjoy or are not good at.

It might seem we could get out of this clown race. We could become enlightened, let the buckets rise as they do and serenely allow whatever is to be whatever it is. (Honestly, I think the image of perpetual serenity is a bucket in and of itself, but that's another story.) But facts are facts. In my case, not only am I not a monk on permanent retreat, I'm a mom, a wife, a mentor, a writer, a woman with an aging body, a voter, someone who eats (talk about choices!), has to buy clothes, stands in line at the post office, and so on. Sometimes it is a sea of thirsty clowns.

Add to that the fact that each one of us have thirsty clowns that, let's face it, we would rather neglect altogether (jotting down mileage for taxes comes to my mind), and it is likely that a heap of stress, self-recrimination and/or guilt will be added to the bucket's burden.

I'm not going to offer a solution to this, at least not today. For now, I'm simply going to give you a pat on the back for playing the game in the first place. I'm going to remind you that it's normal for it to be tough, and no matter what they make it look like on TV, it is tough for everyone. I'm also going to gently remind you that no matter how much you fret, or fall into a panic, or tear our your hair for not having it all together, you're actually pulling this thing called life off. Really, you are.

Another year around the sun, and you're still here, most likely with a roof over your head, and most certainly with something to give. Best of all, you've got your very own seven buckets to play with, and there's plenty to be grateful for in having that creative opportunity.

So it all comes back to what I always say: Be Who You Are. Buckets and all. Three or seven or seventy, I'm with you.