Finding Balance in a Bowl of Oatmeal
I recently made myself a bowl of oatmeal. It was the steel-cut variety, which is deliciously chewy, but also requires that I cook it on the stove and add my own salt and sugar. What I have discovered about salt and sugar, at least in relation to the perfect oatmeal, is that one of these ingredients is remarkably more forgiving than the other. I usually add a pinch of salt while I'm cooking the oatmeal, then top it in the bowl with brown sugar, chopped nuts, dried fruit, and a splash of milk. If I add a teaspoon of sugar, it's pretty much perfect. If I add two, it's a sweet treat. If I don't add sugar, the nuts, fruit and milk do an adequate job of providing that hint of sweetness. I have a lot of latitude with the sugar. But the salt is another story.
On this particular occasion I added what I thought was a reasonable dash of salt. It turned out to be wildly generous. In fact, it was inedible. No amount of extra milk or sugar could drown the salt. Ironically, I was overcompensating for the oatmeal I made a few days earlier that was lacking in salt. It had that flat taste that draws attention to itself by dragging down all the other flavors in its absence. Salt is the one ingredient that needs to be in perfect balance. Too much salt is the obnoxious character at the party, but too little, and you don't have a party at all.
We usually seek people in relationships who balance us out in some way. When I work with people in therapy I often look for patterns of relating that have to do with balance: pursuer/distancer, overfunctioning/underfunctioning, rational/emotional, blaming/placating, serious/playful, driven/relaxed, orderly/chaotic, and many more. Even in relationships where each person has a similar trait--such as a desire for order--one person will typically emerge as more orderly, and the other less so. Over time, these mirroring roles that initially offered balance can become heavy and entrenched, and what once felt like dynamic balance feels more like wild swings of the pendulum. Or too much salt.
Lately, I've taken to measuring my salt when I make oatmeal. It forces me to be conscious of what I want rather than reacting to what I didn't get the last time and overcompensating. The same principle can work in relationships. Consider the pursuer/distancer dynamic. It is typical for a person to want to pursue a partner who is distancing, but this usually results in more distancing in reaction to the pursuit. Instead of trying to overcompensate, think about what would truly bring balance in the relationship, and then define your position. This might mean challenging yourself to move out of a familiar pattern, and you may have to experiment to get the balance just right. Ultimately, focusing on thoughtfully positioning yourself rather than reacting to your partner will result in a relationship that is just right.
On this particular occasion I added what I thought was a reasonable dash of salt. It turned out to be wildly generous. In fact, it was inedible. No amount of extra milk or sugar could drown the salt. Ironically, I was overcompensating for the oatmeal I made a few days earlier that was lacking in salt. It had that flat taste that draws attention to itself by dragging down all the other flavors in its absence. Salt is the one ingredient that needs to be in perfect balance. Too much salt is the obnoxious character at the party, but too little, and you don't have a party at all.
We usually seek people in relationships who balance us out in some way. When I work with people in therapy I often look for patterns of relating that have to do with balance: pursuer/distancer, overfunctioning/underfunctioning, rational/emotional, blaming/placating, serious/playful, driven/relaxed, orderly/chaotic, and many more. Even in relationships where each person has a similar trait--such as a desire for order--one person will typically emerge as more orderly, and the other less so. Over time, these mirroring roles that initially offered balance can become heavy and entrenched, and what once felt like dynamic balance feels more like wild swings of the pendulum. Or too much salt.
Lately, I've taken to measuring my salt when I make oatmeal. It forces me to be conscious of what I want rather than reacting to what I didn't get the last time and overcompensating. The same principle can work in relationships. Consider the pursuer/distancer dynamic. It is typical for a person to want to pursue a partner who is distancing, but this usually results in more distancing in reaction to the pursuit. Instead of trying to overcompensate, think about what would truly bring balance in the relationship, and then define your position. This might mean challenging yourself to move out of a familiar pattern, and you may have to experiment to get the balance just right. Ultimately, focusing on thoughtfully positioning yourself rather than reacting to your partner will result in a relationship that is just right.
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