Let’s Talk About Tension

When I hear the phrase “work-life balance,” I get uneasy. It conjures images of perfect equilibrium—neatly arranged schedules, harmonious transitions, nothing out of place. But that has never felt real to me. My experience is far closer to a game of Whac-A-Mole: get one thing under control and another pops up. Harmony, if it comes at all, is brief and fragile. Trying to chase it feels like chasing a mirage.

So instead of balance, I’ve come to prefer the idea of tension. Not as a problem to solve, but as something necessary—like the tension in the ropes that holds up a tent. You need those pulls in different directions to keep things upright. But you also have to tend to them, or else everything starts to sag or collapse. Life has a drift toward entropy. Tension, when acknowledged and managed well, keeps things standing.

If you were to look at my desk, you’d get a glimpse into my mind: papers scattered, some tasks complete, others unfinished. It’s not pretty, but it’s honest. And I’ve come to believe that honest messiness is better than curated illusion. When I see a spotless office, I don’t trust it—I wonder where the chaos has been hidden. Because it’s there, somewhere. I’d rather keep the tension visible, even if it’s a little messy.

I’ve worked alongside people who talk a lot about work-life balance. But often, what I see in practice is disengagement—a reluctance to invest fully in their work, a clock-watching mentality. That’s not balance; it’s withdrawal. In contrast, I tend to give a lot. I’m usually the first to arrive, the last to leave. I care deeply about the work, and I want to make a meaningful difference. I don’t pretend that this is the right way for everyone, but it’s real. It matters to me.

That said, I know the risks. So I put some rhythms in place to keep me grounded. I get up early to write, even when the writing is rubbish. It gets the mind moving and reminds me that I’m a person, not just a role. Every Saturday, we take the dog to the beach—rain, hail, or shine. We walk, we grab a coffee, we sit by the sea. It’s a small discipline, but it anchors us. I tend a few hobbies too—growing native plants from seed, sharing words with a writer’s group. My wife has her book club. These things are not optional extras; they’re lifelines.

So no, my life isn’t a model of balance. But neither is it chaos. What I aim for is a real and intentional effort to hold competing priorities in tension—to stay present, to stay honest, and to craft meaning in the midst of it all.

They said: find balance.
But life pulls,
twists,
pops up where you least expect it.

I used to think
mess meant failure.
Now I know—
it means real.

Tents don’t stand
without tension.
Neither do we.

So I write early,
walk the dog in the rain,
stay too long at work
because I care.

It’s not neat.
It’s not chaos.
It’s a life,
tended.

Not a model—
but maybe a mirror.

Let’s talk about the tension.
Let’s not pretend.
It’s what holds us
upright.