What Two Lizards in Bali Taught Me About Balance

The other morning, I noticed two lizards—one inside my house and one outside—facing each other like a living yin-yang. I couldn’t look away. Their mirrored positions captured exactly what life in Bali feels like: the constant dance between light and dark, chaos and calm, beauty and mess.

Everywhere I look, the contrasts are striking. On the same street, you’ll see piles of trash smoldering in the heat and, just steps away, a fresh flower offering carefully placed on the ground. Getting out into traffic can feel overwhelming, yet a conversation with a local farmer leaves me grounded and nourished. The contradictions are constant—and, in their own way, harmonious.

This week, several families in our community gathered for a full moon fire ceremony. We set intentions, offered flowers, and communed together around the fire. It felt sacred and unifying. But the very next day, thunderstorms raged for 24 hours straight. The river swelled nearly eight meters (26ft), washing away all the offerings. 

It was another reminder that nature always balances itself out—fire one day, water the next.

I see this theme in people’s lives as well. A friend here shared her own yin-yang moment: the dual pull of fear and faith. On one hand, there’s the cautiousness—wondering where the income will come from, holding back on spending, keeping expectations modest. On the other hand, there’s trust—knowing that things are working out, because she was able to rent her property back home and create space for new opportunities here. Fear and faith, both present, both necessary.

And beyond individual stories, I’ve noticed another contrast in our small expat community. Some families dive straight into a packed schedule of classes, workshops, and activities, filling every hour as if still living in the rhythm of their home countries. Others lean into the slower pace of Bali, embracing quiet mornings, unstructured days, and the art of simply being. Neither approach is right or wrong—it’s another expression of yin and yang at play.

These moments keep teaching me that contrast is inevitable. You can’t have one side without the other. Fire needs water. Fear sharpens faith. Activity makes rest sweeter.

Peace comes from holding both. Instead of resisting what feels uncomfortable, can we allow it to sit alongside the joy? The chaos beside the calm? The fear beside the trust?

And balance isn’t about perfect halves—it’s about flow. Some seasons are fuller, others quieter. Both belong.

When I fight the “undesirable” side—the storm, the uncertainty, the discomfort—I miss the fullness of what life is offering me. But when I can sit with it, something shifts. I stop demanding perfection and start noticing harmony.

Maybe balance isn’t about erasing the contrasts but allowing them to coexist. Maybe the goal isn’t to choose one side but to see how both create the whole.

So I leave you with this: Where in your own life are you being asked to hold both the storm and the sunshine, the fear and the faith, the mess and the magic—as equal parts of the same truth?

To your success and abundance!

Tania

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