Balance...and a side of picnic

Last week, on a week night, Brian and I had a picnic (at this spot).  While it was still light out.  And then I understood why the Europeans (well, at least the French) so fiercely defended the 35-hour work-week.

Balance is something I think about a lot.  It means something different to everyone, I suppose; everyone has their own tipping point.  I'm not sure yet what it means to me.  Right now, all I can say is I try to play as hard as I work, for whatever that's worth.  But sometimes there just isn't the time.  

There isn't the time to be still, think, plan, veg even.  And sometimes all I can think about is the scarcity of it -- of time.  Sometimes I feel like I can actually see the deadlines, the calendar reminders, the blinking emails in my inbox stealing away my moments as a young, healthy twenty-something and I get sweaty and panicky and contemplate imaginary escape plans where Brian and I dramatically throw our Blackberries (well, his iPhone) into the ocean and spend all our money on one-way tickets to Costa Rica, Aruba, or a teeny little town in the Italian countryside, where we'll have all the time in the world to do and see and think and talk...but is that a balanced life?  Without our families, our friends, the normalcy of everyday working-people lives that we're used to?

That's all very scattered, I know.  I still don't know what I'm looking for.  All I can tell you is that the closest I've felt to balance was last week, having a picnic, on a week night, while the sun set over the ocean.  I want more of this.