Last Week: Taking it Slow
A weekend of unraveling. In a good way.
Welcome to the Chaos Palace is about coloring outside society's boring ol' lines.
More specifically, it's about ADHD, parenting, queerness, and Judaism. Subscribe to get new ideas (big and small) about how to expand the boundaries of societal rules. Paying subscribers get updates from my own Chaos Palace, as well as conversations with folks who are whistling their own quirky tune and reported essays — for just $5 a month (or $55 for the year)! The latest of these is an interview with the thoughtful and hilarious Noha Beshir about making time for creativity, deepening one’s faith, and finding community.
Dear fam,
It’s Monday evening, so technically I’m keeping my promise to you (and to me) to write to you on Mondays. My wife is next to me in bed, rewatching This is Us, the kids are asleep in their rooms, and I’m trying to make sense of my jumbled up thoughts with you all.
Here goes. *cracks knuckles*
One thing I’ve noticed about life with a 9-5 job is the weekends. You know, being a freelance journalist can sometimes be like being a stray dog. You don’t really belong anywhere or to anyone, and as a result, anything goes. Will you catch the eye of a friendly stranger who’ll feed you (i.e. hire you to write stories)? Or is today the day you’re scrounging for anything that comes along (i.e. writing something truly dull because it pays)?
You never know quite what the day will bring.
Sometimes work was sparse for weeks on end. Then, all at once, I’d land four or five stories at once. Suddenly, I’m calling Oahu Police Department for comment on my way to school pickup and then typing up a story about mortgage rates at 10:00 p.m. It was a strange existence. Weekends, though, meant nothing at all. I worked weekends if there was a deadline. I didn’t really understand the idea of looking forward to days off — there were no definitive days off.
Now, I get it.
I no longer have to whine and scratch at the doors of editors who may or may not have anything to throw my way this month1. I get up, I do my work, I close my email at the end of the day. I could get used to this.
Weekends with young kids are their own challenge, of course. Especially when it rains or someone is teething or someone else is just feeling crabby. But I love the ability to take it. slow.
Time, as I’ve written about, is hard for me. I don’t totally get it, is the thing. This has to do with my ADHD time-blindness; the term “five minutes” means nothing to me. Just a collection of syllables. Time stretches and contracts at strange paces in my mind. When someone says we’re leaving in five minutes, I understand from context clues (and a lifetime of fucking up) that I should hurry. But I don’t feel five minutes passing, and I certainly can’t gauge what can or can’t be done in that random amount of time.
This is why, a few weeks ago, my wife and I had the following exchange:
Wife: Aren’t you going to be late?
Me: No, I’m supposed to leave at 8:30, and it’s 8:30.
Wife: But you’re at the table. You haven’t left. You don’t have your shoes on.
Me: Oh, yeah. I guess that’s true.
In my mind, I can be ready in 0 minutes. In the world, that’s not true.
All this is to say that I spend all week being super-conscious of what time is, when things are happening, how many things I can get done in a certain amount of time, what I should commit to, and so forth. All those ongoing calculations neurotypical people do with ease are a major lift for me.
And, of course, managing Big Kid’s non-existent sense of time is also no picnic. This is the kid who thinks we can build a life-size flying machine after breakfast and before we brush our teeth.
Basically, my wife is the only person in the house who knows why we have clocks.
All this is to say: Weekends are a relief to my nervous system. Even when the kids are crabby and whiny. Even when it’s raining. Even when the house is a mess. I crave not knowing what time it is, not worrying that I’m getting it wrong. I love reverting into my natural jello-brain state, wherein I can follow whatever intuition catches my fancy. The stakes are so much lower. It’s a joy.
Sometimes, I wish neurotypical folks knew how hard us neurodivergent folks work to fit into their world.
This weekend was a particular delight. We visited dear friends on Saturday. Big Kid and Toddler played easily with their kids, running (or toddling) up and down the stairs, making up stories, chasing each other. Us grownups got to actually talk to each other, which is rare and a delight.
Sunday morning, we didn’t bother getting dressed right away. Instead, we made waffles. Went out to the yard. Snuggled. Dug at some dirt. Squinted at the sky. Talked about Paw Patrol or something else, who remembers? We talked is what matters.
We attended a Purim carnival — but only a little. Purim may be the very worst holiday for anyone with sensory processing issues. Big Kid was immediately overwhelmed by both the happenings and the people. Remember, for him all sounds are magnified, all lights are more, all smells are more… and so one. So, I held him close until everyone cleared out and he got the very last face-paint — a T-rex on his right cheek.
Then we went to the park, picnic-ed with hamantaschen and peanut butter sandwiches, played ball in the sunshine. Climbed. Jumped. Slid down slides. Did fun kid things.
I had no idea what time it was ‘til the sun started setting.
Then home for the family, and an evening of folding laundry and dishes and getting ready for the week commences.
Fam, I love letting go of the clock so damn much. Today, I can already feel the coil of the everyday grasping at me, tightening and tightening. “Dinner is now,” I tell Big Kid, “and soon we have to get to the shower. So you’d better hurry up.” Hurry up, indeed. I know it’s important to be in the world. I know it’s useful to fit into the paradigms of Real Life. I know sometimes you can’t be jello. Nonetheless, those lazy weekends… they’re pretty great. Two days of unspooling. Yum.
Once again, my ideas are not new. My tradition is the wise one — G-d commanded us to take a day of rest every seven days — and to let the whole Earth rest every seven years! During Shabbat prayers we thank G-d over and over for giving us the Sabbath.
As a kid, I did not get this at all.
Why would I give thanks for not being able to watch TV? Or use the microwave? Or listen to music? Or have to put on a dress and sit through prayers?
Now, though, it makes a lot more sense. Adult me wishes I could keep Shabbat more fully, eschew electronics and take a day of quiet introspection. I have semi-plans to go back to keeping Shabbat once the kids are older, at least to a degree. And, yes, when I’m at synagogue I give thanks with my whole heart. I am truly grateful for the opportunity to set aside a few hours of prayer, which is, to me, meditation on the little G-d-given miracles of the world and the ways in which I can better fulfill the divine potential in all humans.
Stop. Breathe. Pray. Gratitude.
Until such a time as my children allow me to follow through on my spiritual aspirations, though, I will take what I can get. And that’s quite a lot — sunshine, peanut-butter sandwiches, giggles, springtime with my babies.
Wishing you a week of presence. And a weekend of unspooling.
Shavua tov,
Mikhal
Some links….
How to Dodge a Bullet: Life Suggestions From the Void is an excellent list of advice from
. I endorse everything on this list, especially numbers 7, 13, and 29. The only one I’m not here for is number 38, because I believe all food is good food. But, hey, a list with 69 excellent pieces of advice and only one I don’t love?? Pretty swell.I Don’t Want a Mom Water made me scream (internally) at: the patriarchy, capitalism, heterosexual relationship norms, heterosexual cultural norms, and SO MUCH MORE.
, I hope everyone subscribes to read more of your excellent and needed writing on . I sure did.Death and Taxes by the incomparable
spoke to me as an Ashkenazi Jewish person with hangups about money. But, honestly, if you’re just a neurotic millenial or Gen-Xer, you’ll definitely love it as well.Calling Obesity a Disease is a Classic Move in Pharmaceutical Profiteering is a brilliantly written, exquisitely researched article by the ever-fantastic
on . Folks, read Kate Manne.(Don’t) Act Your Age is basically my mantra. This essay also includes tips on how to fool park rangers with your outward persona. So, a win? Thank you for writing it,
and for publishing it !
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Welcome to the Chaos Palace is about coloring outside society's boring ol' lines. More specifically, it's about ADHD, parenting, queerness, and Judaism. Subscribe to get new ideas (big and small) about how to expand the boundaries of societal rules. Paying subscribers get updates from my own Chaos Palace, as well as
For the record, I worked (and still sometimes work) for some very fine and wonderful editors. Folks who I learned a great deal from and who gave me a great many fascinating projects. It’s just a wacky industry.