Bounce. Break. Wait.
Nobody talks about what gets dropped when we look like we’ve got it all figured out.
We talk about keeping it all together. Managing priorities. Staying focused. We celebrate the juggle like it’s proof of something. And maybe it is.
But if you’ve ever actually juggled (YouTube link to me juggling), you know the truth: dropping is part of the practice. The question was never whether you’d drop something. It was always what happens next.
And that depends entirely on what you were holding.
I developed a framework I call Bounce Break Wait. It started with me trying to teach my kiddos what happens to things that hit the floor when learning to juggle and turned into something I actually use.
They of course want to put things down as soon as they realize they might not be naturally a pro at it. I tried to teach them that dropping things is part of the process. Which is why they weren’t ready to juggle the same objects as me. It was as cute as you imagine. The yoyo lesson on the other hand is a story for another time.
For Bounce Break Wait, the idea is simple: not everything you drop behaves the same way. And if you don’t know what something is made of before you let it go, you’re leaving a lot to chance.
The Tennis Ball
Some things bounce. You drop them, they come back up, maybe not exactly where you expected, but they’re not gone and they’re not broken.
These are the things that can absorb imperfection, absorb delay, absorb a stumble without catastrophic consequence. They have resilience built into them.
In your career, these might be projects with some flex in the timeline, relationships with enough history that a missed call doesn’t crack the foundation, or goals that can take a detour without losing their destination.
When something bounces, you can drop it intentionally. Not carelessly, but strategically.
The Egg
Some things break. Full stop.
These are the balls with zero tolerance for being dropped. When they hit the floor, something changes. Sometimes the mess is literal. Sometimes the consequences travel further than the thing you dropped.
What makes these tricky for high performers is that when everything is moving fast, it’s not always obvious you’re holding an egg. Unfortunately you can’t always know, so the real work is learning what you’re holding quickly and preferably before your hands get full.
Ask yourself: if this hits the floor, will it remain intact? And who will have to clean it up?
If the answers are no and not just you, you’re probably holding an egg.
The Baseball
Some things just wait. They land flat, they don’t roll far, and they’ll be right there when you come back for them.
These are not unimportant things. They are just things that have the grace of patience built into them.
The danger isn’t dropping these. The danger is forgetting they’re on the floor and letting them quietly collect dust while you convince yourself you’ll get back to them.
One More Thing
There’s a fourth thing worth naming, not a category exactly, but a conscience check.
Some balls won’t destroy themselves when you drop them. But they’ll destroy whatever they land on.
For instance a bowling ball.
Before you let anything go, ask: is anyone standing underneath this?
Because sometimes you’re fine — but the drop still matters.
The Part Nobody Puts in the Framework
I want to be honest with you about something.
I’ve gotten pretty good at protecting the eggs at work. Most professionals do. We learn fast which things have zero margin for error and we guard them accordingly.
What I underestimated for longer than I’d like to admit was that some of the most fragile things in my life weren’t on my work list at all.
There’s a friend I used to have Saturday brunch with. A standing thing. Good conversation, good food, the kind of relationship that felt solid because it had been solid for so long. When things got busy, we both let it slide. Just for a while. We both assumed we were holding a baseball. The kind of thing that would be right there waiting when life opened back up.
It wasn’t. We’re not estranged, but we’re far. The Saturday thing never came back. And the honest truth is neither of us knew we were holding something fragile until it was already on the floor.
That’s the real risk of the Bounce, Break, Wait framework done wrong. It’s not that you’ll misidentify a work deliverable. It’s that you’ll look at your personal life, your health, your relationships, your creative self, and assume everything there has bounce or patience built in. Because those things somehow feel more flexible. Because they don’t have deadlines or performance reviews attached.
You should know that some of them do not bounce. And they will not wait forever.
So Here’s What I’d Recommend
Right now, think about everything you’re juggling. Work, home, relationships, personal goals, the thing you’ve been meaning to get back to for six months.
Now ask: what is each one actually made of? Not what you hope it’s made of. Not what would be convenient. What is it actually made of?
That answer changes everything about how you carry it.
And how you juggle it.
So I’m curious: what are you currently juggling that you’ve been calling a baseball but might actually be something else?
And what’s your system for making sure the things you intentionally set down don’t get forgotten?
Here’s a safe place to drop your comments. Nothing breaks here. I read every one.