Life and Lemons

Sometimes, life gives you an empty bucket. Other times, it throws lemons at you like tennis balls out of a machine.

Just when I thought I had an empty bucket, I encountered a great lemon: fresh, plump, bright yellow lemon. "This'll make for some great lemonade," I thought. I began to squeeze the lemon, indulging in every drop of cheek-tingling, tangy juice. All of a sudden, another lemon rolled toward my feet, and my eyes steered away from the one I was already juicing to the one I could be juicing. Surely, I couldn't squeeze both at once, because I have only so much focus, time, and effort. I couldn't immediately stop juicing the first one because I had only started. At the same time, I couldn't simply let the second lemon--just as fresh, plump, and bright yellow--roll away right before my eyes.

I wanted to take full advantage of both lemons. I wanted to juice the first one and to pick up the second one. I wanted to keep and savor both, but the problem was, I could do only one before its opportunity rolled or dried away. I had to stop squeezing one and pick up the other, or continue juicing one and let the other go. It had to be one way or the other; it couldn't possibly be both.

When life gives you lemons, you're in the middle of a down-sloping hill. It starts at the top. Sometimes, nothing rolls down, and you're left standing by yourself, desperately yearning for any lemon at all--ripe or raw, plump or pruny, bright yellow or dingy green--to quench your thirst. Other times, an entire harvest of lemons tumbles down, and you're left with two hands to intentionally and purposefully pick up whatever speedily passes you by. In the latter case, you must be diligent and deliberate, wary and wise. You can't simply pick up any lemon, because no two are of equal quality or character. Certainly, you want the cream--or juice, as the case may be--of the crop, but you're so easily blinded by the sudden availability and abundance of lemons that you forget you can have only a certain amount. You're so giddy with excitement that you forget your cup can hold only so much lemonade. You lose sight of limits, and in doing so, the sourness that is supposed to be pleasant transforms into one that is unsettling.

Then what? You have to take antacids. Drink milk? You have to do whatever it takes to recreate a balance in your system, in your life. Sure, lemons contain plenty of vitamin C, but everything in moderation, right?

In conclusion,
When life gives you lemons, pick carefully. (When it doesn't, just wait.)