The ascetics asked the Buddha, “What kind of teacher and yogi are you? You are soft, weak, indulgent.”

To which the Buddha replied, “I, too, have slept on nails; I’ve stood with my eyes open to the sun in the hot sands beside the Ganges. I’ve eaten so little food that you couldn’t fill one fingernail with the amount I ate each day. Whatever ascetic practices under the sun human beings have done, I, too, have done. Through them all I have learned that fighting against oneself through such practices is not the way.”

Through the years I have known a few ascetic type personalities who forever deny the body, its needs and its care. One young man I knew was so physically beautiful and so unhappy and grim. His eating habits were very austere and unpleasant. He always seemed to be miserable in the pursuit of his spiritual awareness. He munched on raw garlic cloves like they were peanuts and insisted they left no pungent odor on his breath. The rest of the world did not agree. I recall one acquaintance saying to this fellow that he would probably throw himself under a train rather than eat a Frito. His response was, “What’s a Frito?” If misery, self-denial and self-imposed suffering were the way to get “it,” we would all have gotten “it” a long time ago.

The Buddha emphasized the Middle Way, which he likened to the successful playing of the lute, the strings being not too taut, not too loose, but with just the right amount of pressure. We all need to seek a way to bring forth such balance in our own lives.

I deeply believe that it is vital to our spiritual practice that we become spiritually disciplined. Without spiritual discipline we are never going to wake up or advance on our soul’s journey through this life. But our discipline must be wedded to joy, and we must find pleasure in the myriad wonders that this life offers.

I smile when I recall taking Buddhist friends, Tibetan and American, to the airport. A young monk asked the American Buddhist if he could wheel her carry-on through the airport, because it was maroon and better matched his robes than his own tan one. We all laughed, the woman complied, and the monk was color coordinated. He may have given up much of this world’s offerings, but within him remained an artistic sense of color—balance.

For every ascetic I have known, I have known legends of overindulgent, spoiled consumers who live their lives as “hungry ghosts,” never getting enough. The truth is that we can never fill ourselves up sufficiently with things to ever feel satisfied. There is no amount of beautiful stuff that can ever fill the empty soul and make us whole, loved and liberated.

It isn’t that we can’t enjoy the finer things in life, we just need to know they are not our life. Those practicing Middle Way know this. They can take in what is offered and available without being consumed by it. Their eyes discern beauty, even from the mundane. Their ears discern harmony from discordant notes. Their taste discerns pleasure from bland food. Their noses discern subtle notes of pleasant fragrance from the rancid.

We would have to be a bit off to choose the mundane, discordant, foul and putrid to believe these will lead to spiritual awakening. So we choose the pleasant and do not allow it to possess us. When we don’t get what we would prefer, we don’t allow ourselves to become unbalanced and miserable—adding to our own suffering. We see it for what it is, and we are able to remain detached and move on.

A good example and a recurring theme in my life is around eating and my food preferences. For most of my life I have not eaten meat. It was not something I forced upon myself. It was not a “should.” One weekend meat simply gave me up. As a young child, I realized the steak, hot dog, pork chop and chicken thigh came from the body of an animal. I can still remember being shocked and thinking that it was so odd and gross that my mother and father, who were excellent cooks, were serving me meat and I was eating it. Being a dutiful child, I continued to eat meat to please my parents and others, unlike my friend Roger, who at age four told his mother he no longer wanted to eat any meat. She was aware enough to comply, and he has never had meat since.

So I don’t eat meat. Many people do not really understand what that means. I love the scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding where the heroine is introducing her fiancé to her aunt and mentions that for their forthcoming dinner together he does not eat meat. “What do you mean he don’t eat meat? No meat?” She is so puzzled, and then the light dawns, as she cries out, “Good! I’ll make lamb!” That line still makes me laugh.

There have been many a dinner party, a gathering where I have had to eat only the rice and peas and maybe an egg, and it is truly okay for me. I prefer more than that, but if that’s what needs to be for me to remain true to my choice, then so be it. I realize that, since I am the one who has chosen to eat differently, I am more than willing to adapt to any situation.

An important and recurring theme in my life is balance. So many times this important lesson is driven home to me, and the irony of it is that often it is very humorous.

David and I went to France to celebrate my birthday. In Paris for five days, we stayed in a luxurious hotel providing every imaginable creature comfort down to the walls of our suite being padded and covered with soft peach silk. One could fall asleep in luxury just by leaning again the wall. It was a pleasure to the senses. By contrast, we next spent a week in a concrete, windowless cell at Thich Nhat Hanh’s monastery, Plum Village. It was devoid of creature comforts but ripe with the purity of deep and engaged spiritual practices.

The strings of the lute of my life are not too lax, not too tight. There is a balance between the two—the Middle Way.

When we take the Middle Way we still have preferences, but we are not driven by them. We have sought for and found the balance. I have long thought that one of the most beautiful songs to come out of the seventies was from The Moody Blues, “The Balance.” The lyrics, to paraphrase, are: Just open your eyes, just open your mind, and open your heart, and realize the way it’s always been.

The Buddha realized the self-destructiveness of totally denying our desires, and the ultimate unhappiness of succumbing to all of them. Thus was born the concept of the Middle Way—having a balance that was not too rigid, not too slack, just like the strings of the lute.

To practice achieving the Middle Way in one’s own life, first there must be the desire to live a balanced life. One must be awake enough to care about such things. It must be meaningful. Second, it is necessary to recognize when life has gotten out of balance and begin to bring in either more discipline or more pleasure. Seek to live as a conscious being, neither totally hedonistic nor totally ascetic.

A physician I met out of a personal medical need has over time become one of my nearest and dearest friends. She truly, sincerely cares about her patients. Not only does she tend to their medical needs in an extraordinary manner, she is brilliant in diagnostic work and the necessary follow-through. She also adds a spiritual dimension and prays for her very ill patients, sometimes even in the hospital setting. She is always willing to serve, to give a call to a medical colleague across the country to admit and attend to an unknown patient.

She is awesome in so many ways, but her life is not in balance. The scales are tipped way to one side with medical responsibilities, caring for her family, often flying around the country for speaking engagements. Sixteen- to twenty-hour days are all too commonplace, leaving her no time and little energy. We discuss how overwhelming her schedule is, and she says she’ll do less, but it has not yet happened.

For many, perhaps especially career women, the demands of career and family leave very little time for self. Yet it is absolutely necessary to make sure there is time for meditation, prayer, entertainment, doing nothing, exercise, gardening, having lunch with a friend.

One way to begin to bring a bit of balance into your life is to look at your calendar or day planner with a discerning eye and clear one entire day each week. “Impossible!” the workaholic exclaims. Okay. Then revisit your calendar and eliminate just one appointment—a breakfast or lunch meeting, an after-school activity, a volunteer task—each day. It is not only possible but imperative to do so if you are to live a balanced life.

Do something just for yourself that will nurture your inner being at least twice a week. I do Pilates and take French lessons, both of which I love. They are just for me and not for anyone else in my life. Ask yourself what would bring you balance and pleasure. Is it hikes in the woods, watching a sporting event, participating in a sport, taking a painting class, taking a cooking class, learning to play chess, swimming? Find an activity you can greatly enjoy, one that will also clear your mind and calendar. Your life will be better for it.

Think of those you know personally who seem to have chosen the Middle Way. What do you see in them that you could begin to emulate? Balance can begin with acts as simple as turning off the computer or TV and taking a walk in nature, reading inspirational material or meditating for thirty minutes.

The Middle Way is not about never going to the movies or a club or shopping. It is about not making these things your life, the object of your existence. The Middle Way is also about remaining centered and spiritually poised when life is going your way and when it is not. The Middle Way is choosing peace in all circumstances. It is choosing love over the need to be right.

In our world fraught with violence and conflict, it is knowing there is always a Divine way out of the madness. The Middle Way is having the desire to find it.