The Juggling Writer

  • About
  • E-Books
  • Newsletter
  • Best Of
  • Contact
  • Credits
  • Evernote for Writers
my banner
You are here: Home / juggling / Dropping Things

Dropping Things

September 30, 2009 by Christopher Gronlund 7 Comments

There was a period of time, during an illness with a close relative and during an illness of my own, that I didn’t write or juggle as much as I once did. I felt bad that I wasn’t productive. Even though nobody would fault me for taking care of a sick sibling for two years and later, dealing with a serious health problem of my own, all I wanted to do was juggle and write.

We all go through periods like this. When I was struggling with things and starting to come back up, I wrote the following essay. It’s about juggling, but it’s also as much about writing and life. (Maybe even more.)

If you or somebody you know is going through rough times and find it hard to do what they love doing, I hope this helps in some way:

When I was twelve years old, I went into my backyard and taught myself how to juggle.

I dropped and dropped until I figured it out.

* * *

While I’ve dropped a lot of things in my time, I’ve also picked things back up a lot, too.

Only to drop them again..

And again…

And again…

* * *

Juggling’s a strange hobby. To get good, you have to suck.

A lot.

You may drop thousands of times before getting that one difficult trick that only another juggler who’s worked hard truly appreciates. Your arms may burn; you may find yourself alone as it gets dark when you finally get that one thing you want to do more than anything at that moment in your life.

Few things feel better to me than finally getting a trick down as night falls with nobody around.

It’s those moments when you realize all the effort you’ve put into something finally paid off.

And then you move on, drop a lot more things, and keep doing it over and over and over.

It’s a humbling hobby, where failure is the norm, and obsession is your only ally.

* * *

At my best, I could juggle seven things. Not for very long, but long enough to officially juggle seven things. There’s no telling what my drop-to-success ratio was with seven things, but the day I officially juggled seven things, every drop getting there was worth it.

Without all those drops, I would have never known what it felt like to do something few people will ever do.

* * *

Somewhere along the way I stopped picking up the things I dropped. It became easier to leave things on the ground than it was to pick them back up and stick with them into the night, the next day, and the days after that…sticking with them until succeeding, no matter how long it took.

Quitting is easy.

When you’ve dropped something for your nth-thousandth time, sometimes the thought of getting through a pattern for a full cycle isn’t enough inspiration to keep going.

Somewhere along the way I stopped juggling.

Everything…

* * *

I’ve never really thought about why I juggle — it’s just something I always did. I used to say, “Juggling is who I am”; I used to say that it was everything to me.

And it was.

But it wasn’t about juggling — it was about the way I approached everything in my life.

I went into big things not afraid to drop thousands of times because I  believed that in everything I tried, as long as I obsessed correctly and picked things up and kept at it, I would one day feel the rush of its equivalent of juggling seven things.

* * *

I’ve forgotten what it feels like to juggle seven things.

I need to change that.

* * *

I’ve forgotten what it feels like knowing I can do anything I set out to do.

I need to change that.

* * *

There’s a lot of stuff I left lying on the ground over the years, and it’s time to pick it all back up and finish the things I started.

Because juggling is who I am; it is everything to me…

Filed Under: juggling, Writing Tips Tagged With: juggling

Comments

  1. Candy says

    September 30, 2009 at 10:35 am

    I used to be fascinated with you, your confidence and your talent. I mean, it was a kind of awe- this was back in school when I was a mousy bit of girl observing my fellow students and trying to determine what kind of person I wanted to be.

    I hope you start juggling again. I’ve learned as I got older that a lot of things are not like riding a bike.

  2. Christopher Gronlund says

    September 30, 2009 at 11:03 am

    Sure, make me get all teary eyed! I’m in awe every time I listen to you play fiddle, and for a “mousy bit of a girl,” you’re far less shy than I am.

    I felt so awkward in school, too. Juggling and a handful of close friendships were all that I felt I had. Later, it was juggling and writing.

    When I started writing, again, I felt very timid — like I was back in high school. But I came to find out that people respected my drive and ability to talk about writing and what I was doing with anybody who would listen. Shyness fell to the ground when it came to pitching ideas and letting people know what I was up to.

    That came from juggling. Juggling was just something I did, and did well — so of course it was easy to talk about. I had and have that same confidence with writing, so aspects of promoting what I was doing came easy. (After a lot of practice, writing got easier, but I’ll never say it’s come as easy to me as juggling).

    You’re right: a lot of things can fall to the side and aren’t like riding a bike when you get back to it. When I go back to juggling after a long break, I have to catch back up and sometimes get frustrated not being able to do what once came with ease. At the same time, when I come back, sometimes things I would have never thought about just happen with no effort.

    Writing isn’t quite like that with me. After the break I took when my sister was sick and I was dealing with a pituitary tumor, it was the hardest, most frustrating thing I ever did. It would have been so easy to just stop and make up excuses. It took some time to feel comfortable writing again, but after awhile, there came that feeling I get after not juggling for awhile where things just clicked.

    As a juggler, I do my best not to drop, but it comes with the territory and I’m used to picking things up and getting back to it.

    Writing isn’t quite that easy to get back to after a few big drops. I know dropping things comes with the territory of writing, too, but I know I can never leave it on the ground for more than a few days.

    For so many different reasons…

Trackbacks

  1. The Juggling Writer - The Patience of an Oyster says:
    November 19, 2009 at 4:04 pm

    […] At jobs, I’m the person who can work well with the people others avoid. I don’t mind dropping things for hours, just to learn a complex juggling trick that very few people will truly appreciate. It […]

  2. The Juggling Writer - Queries that Worked: My Biggest Writing Regret says:
    January 21, 2010 at 11:38 am

    […] if I’ve learned nothing else from over 28 years of really juggling, it’s that you have to pick things back up and keep […]

  3. The Juggling Writer - Random Writing-ish Bits says:
    September 9, 2011 at 11:19 am

    […] the props that were there when I finally got up the courage to street perform. They are the props I’ve dropped more than any other. (Although the props in the photo with this entry are Todd Smith clubs.) They were the props that […]

  4. The Juggling Writer - The Cult of Failure says:
    September 3, 2013 at 10:37 am

    […] I understand and agree with the sentiment. (Well, except that last example, which is only half a joke. More on that later…) There are TED talks about failing, and blogs about creativity often praise failure. Hell, I’ve written about the power of failing myself. […]

  5. Remembering the Process says:
    July 19, 2018 at 6:58 am

    […] One of my earliest entries on this blog was about how you have to drop a lot to become a good juggler. […]

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Subscribe to the E-mail Feed

Enter your email address:

Delivered by FeedBurner

Sign Up for the Newsletter

E-Books for Sale

The Hell Comes With Wood Paneled Doors Podcast

Follow Me On

Recent Posts

  • Fifteen Years
  • A Silent Year
  • Fourteen Years
  • The Annual September Silence
  • Process Series

Recent Comments

  • Christopher Gronlund on Fourteen Years
  • Christopher Gronlund on Fourteen Years
  • A Silent Year on The Annual September Silence
  • Paul Lamb on Fourteen Years
  • Lisa Eckstein on Fourteen Years

Archives

  • September 2024
  • September 2023
  • August 2023
  • February 2023
  • January 2023
  • December 2022
  • October 2022
  • September 2022
  • August 2022
  • November 2021
  • September 2021
  • August 2021
  • June 2021
  • May 2021
  • April 2021
  • March 2021
  • January 2021
  • December 2020
  • October 2020
  • September 2020
  • August 2020
  • July 2020
  • June 2020
  • February 2020
  • January 2020
  • December 2019
  • October 2019
  • September 2019
  • August 2019
  • July 2019
  • June 2019
  • May 2019
  • April 2019
  • March 2019
  • February 2019
  • January 2019
  • December 2018
  • November 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • August 2018
  • July 2018
  • June 2018
  • May 2018
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • February 2018
  • January 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • July 2017
  • June 2017
  • May 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • January 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • April 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • July 2015
  • June 2015
  • May 2015
  • April 2015
  • March 2015
  • February 2015
  • January 2015
  • December 2014
  • November 2014
  • October 2014
  • September 2014
  • August 2014
  • July 2014
  • June 2014
  • May 2014
  • April 2014
  • March 2014
  • February 2014
  • December 2013
  • November 2013
  • October 2013
  • September 2013
  • August 2013
  • July 2013
  • June 2013
  • May 2013
  • April 2013
  • March 2013
  • February 2013
  • January 2013
  • December 2012
  • November 2012
  • October 2012
  • September 2012
  • August 2012
  • July 2012
  • June 2012
  • May 2012
  • April 2012
  • March 2012
  • February 2012
  • January 2012
  • December 2011
  • November 2011
  • October 2011
  • September 2011
  • August 2011
  • July 2011
  • June 2011
  • May 2011
  • April 2011
  • March 2011
  • February 2011
  • January 2011
  • December 2010
  • November 2010
  • October 2010
  • September 2010
  • August 2010
  • July 2010
  • June 2010
  • May 2010
  • April 2010
  • March 2010
  • February 2010
  • January 2010
  • December 2009
  • November 2009
  • October 2009
  • September 2009

Copyright © 2025 · eleven40 Pro Theme on Genesis Framework · WordPress · Log in