Being Balanced

Mar 20, 2026 | By Lance Cartwright UT Austin ‘27

Like many college students, I spend a great deal of effort trying to balance my life. Every semester I think I’m going to do better:

This semester I can at least go to the gym three times a week

I should get in the habit of reading the Rudin textbook before lectures

Maybe I’ll spend more time alone so I can focus on getting things done

Actually, I should try to work in study groups for better accountability

If I can just get a consistent morning routine then I’ll stick to a schedule for the rest of the day

And, to be honest, I usually don’t. If I focus on one thing–my eating, my studying, my personal finances–inevitably something else goes out of stasis.

Saint Augustine once wrote that “To many, total abstinence is easier than perfect moderation.”  His quote is frequently used by 12-step recovery programs to justify the complete elimination of an addictive activity. But Augustine wasn’t primarily referring to people with substance addiction: he was referring to all people who wrestle with tempering an appetite, finding right conduct in a gray area fraught with temptation and human weakness. Perhaps this puts into context the ascetic or seemingly self-punishing lengths that some go to in order to reform certain habits, like extreme diets, workout regiments, or anything remotely resembling “75 Hard”. But I think the words of Saint Augustine, in addition to the actions of our peers, can point us to a greater truth: that there is more to morality than moderation.

By focusing on one particular desire or habit during a fast, I expect to get a direct result; I feel entitled that on the other side, I’ll have almost total control over whatever desire I denied for that period. Unfortunately, that isn’t always the case. By understanding the other extreme of a particular appetite, I don’t always feel a meaningful change in my life when I return–even if the fast produced a shift in my normal behavior.

Thankfully, fasting is not self-improvement, nor is it solely asceticism. Fasting is a way to reexamine my relationship with a particular appetite, focused not on finding a perfect medium between extremes, but on reflecting the character of Christ in that specific part of my life. For instance, fasting from food not only trains the appetite, but also cultivates gratitude for earthly provision and helps me remind myself of my inherent human weakness. Fasting from social media not only improves my focus and saves me time, but it also helps me look to God for validation instead of looking to my peers. In all forms, fasting is a way to corral my flesh into harmony with my spirit, so that I can invite the personal presence of the Spirit in submission to the will of the Father. 

Realizing this, I’ve felt a conviction to devote more of my time to prayer during Lent. It’s an obvious suggestion–one that practically every Ash Wednesday service will encourage–but I’ve been increasingly reminded of the futility of changing my own habit through my own power. Even developing the conviction and desire to pray is a gift that I can’t cultivate by my own self-control. In the words of St. Augustine,

My soul is like a house, small for you to enter, but I pray You to enlarge it. It is in ruins, but I ask You to remake it. It contains much that You will not be pleased to see: this I know and do not hide. But who is to rid it of these things? There is no one but You.

[1] Augustine of Hippo, On the Good of Marriage, trans. C. L. Cornish, sec. 25.

[2] Augustine, Confessions, trans. R. S. Pine-Coffin, 1.5.6.