It was just past midnight in the midst of winter break. After days of rotting within my bedroom, the walls seemed to morph into prison bars, and the breathy linen sheets grew heavy. My mental occupancy had been consumed by tirelessly shifting my attention between YouTube videos, Instagram reels and Netflix originals––a futile effort to escape the ever-looming ennui.
In a moment of detachment from my computer, I aimlessly surveyed my room. My eyes drifted past the book shelf, the pile of dirty clothes, and finally landed on an unopened can of tennis balls. The untouched tennis balls, hidden behind two bottles of sunscreen, combined with my restlessness, materialized in a sudden, inexplicable desire: to learn how to juggle––apparently, hedonism finds its most strange solutions in times of boredom. Juggling, of all things, would be my fix.
Determined to learn this seemingly trivial skill before surrendering to sleep that night, I opened the shortest video tutorial I could find and began my quest to master the art of juggling (or at least be sufficient enough to randomly display my “talent” for the occasional burst of attention…). Naively, I thought I would quickly adopt the skill. After spending over twenty minutes learning the first step toward success, reality dawned on me: I would not be able to juggle that night. I shamefully admitted defeat and went to bed, but my road to learning to juggle was far from over.
Juggling may seem like a gratuitous display of coordination––a practice that should be reserved for clowns at carnivals––but my experience of learning the skill supplies substantial reasoning for why everyone should learn this trick.
Firstly, I must refer to the maxim: “it is not the destination, but the journey”––the saying is as trite as it is truthful. This particular quote forms the foundation for why juggling is important.
Attention deficit is an epidemic: in 2004, people spent about 2.5 minutes on a screen before shifting attention. By 2020, this duration had been reduced to just 47 seconds. The human propensity to be bored has become obsolete. In fact, the only reason I started learning to juggle was because my fixation on technology had been so exhausting, so overstimulating, that I could not take it anymore. Juggling offered a counterbalance, a deliberate challenge that demanded focus. The brain, in an attempt to keep the spheres in continuous motion, is hyperfocused on a singular task. In doing so, it enters a “flow” state. As Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, the psychologist who coined the term, explains, “stress levels decrease, and mental clarity increases.” This state of focus activates and improves our cognitive functions, which is especially crucial in a time when they are frequently neglected.
Juggling, however, is more than just a path to flow. Unless you are athletically gifted, learning to juggle poses a genuine challenge. I knew there would be a learning curve to juggling, but I did not anticipate one so steep. This difficulty, though frustrating, was inspiring; the arduousness only invigorated my determination. There is something uniquely compelling about facing a challenge head-on, when success is so binary: I either know how to juggle, or I don’t. When progressing to the next skill appeared impossible, I had to enforce a kind of strict discipline upon myself––I was too far in, and quitting was not an option. I say this in part in jest, but in part honestly: I was genuinely considering quitting, but had to find some form of motivation to persist. This seemingly trivial act of persevering in juggling, despite its inherent absurdity, taught me an important lesson on perseverance. However idiotic it sounds, finding motivation to keep juggling became a powerful practice that I could apply to other (more significant) moments.
After a few weeks of steady progress, I successfully learned how to juggle. While my dad was less than amazed when I showed him my newly acquired skill, the satisfaction of achievement was truly rewarding.
Juggling, in a larger sense, speaks to the nature of human fulfillment. For better or worse, our happiest moments often come when the outcome is only capable of being achieved through struggle. In other words, the path to happiness, or victory, will always be laden with obstacles. To be best equipped to face real challenges, I firmly believe we must first engage with the smaller, more insignificant ones. These ostensibly superfluous escapades offer a powerful framework for character which can lead to a deeper sense of fulfillment than we may expect.
Albert Einstein’s words ring particularly true in light of the lessons of juggling:
“It’s not that I’m so smart, it’s just that I stay with problems longer.”
- Caroline
Love this! Currently working on breaking through obstacles and it so happens that I also recently picked up juggling after giving up social media. I've only practiced a few times in the last week but it's already rewarding that I'm sticking with something that I actually want to do and am admittedly not awesome at (yet).
Thanks for the reminder to keep going in all aspects when giving up is absolutely the easier but less satisfying choice.