This Week: Back to Normal?
Wondering if you can have a stable life that's also super weird and chaotic (in a fun way).
Dear fam,
Last week Big Kid went back to school. For three days in a row, my wife and I got to sit down at our computers and actually think whole thoughts for several hours at a time. Which mostly meant trying to complete the myriad tasks we’d been putting off until the beginning of the school year as hastily as possible.
My wife wrote and produced, from scratch, two songs in three days for her main client. I scrambled to write the blogs and articles I owed my own clients and to interview folks for the plays I’m covering for one of my fave publications to write for, NY Jewish Week. I’ve also been working on an exciting new podcast project (more on that later), so this week brought researching, editing, and interviewing interesting folks for that. And we’re preparing to lead our community in prayer for Rosh HaShana next week, which meant rehearsals and vocal practice.
It was an intense and exhilarating three days of creative work.
On the second day, as we ate lunch together, my wife said this feels like, “the start of a beautiful new routine that is sure to fall apart pretty soon.” We both laughed. It’s funny, you see, because it’s true. We’re ‘back to normal,’ sure, but what does that even mean? Moreover, is normal what we even want?
I’m pretty ambivalent on this. My mother is almost certainly reading this and shaking her head. After all, as she has reminded me, I have told her roughly eight bajillion times how much I want stability. And I do! The last year or so of constant flux have been incredibly stressful. I crave a schedule that’s at least somewhat predictable. But I don’t know that I want normal.
I, like so many other folks with ADHD, thrive in a stable environment. When I know the outlines of my days I can figure out how to fit the puzzle pieces within the lines. When there’s no outline, everything just spills all over my life in a sticky mess.
I have a vivid memory of sitting on the floor of my bedroom — maybe I was thirteen? — and giving up on doing homework because I couldn’t figure out how to will myself to do it. ‘Soon there’ll be more pressure because of tests,’ I thought, ‘Then I’ll motivated to study.’ And that’s pretty much what would happen every semester; I was a bad student until the adrenaline of stress kicked in. Then I aced the tests (more or less) and saved my grades.
This is not an ideal strategy for life, though, and it’s not an example I’d like to set for my sweet four-year-old Big Kid, who almost certainly has ADHD like I do. Four is too young for diagnosis, but he has basically every symptom I have, so… yeah.
Which leaves me with my puzzle. How do I create enough structure so my brain can function but not so much that I get bored and depressed? It’s a fine line.
As I wrote last week, the Jewish month of Elul is a time of reflection. This is the season in which we, traditionally, spend time figuring out how we’re doing with our life goals. Have I grown, as a person, in the ways I wanted to? Where did I mess up? How can I repair that which is broken? How can I maintain that which I’ve built, both in terms of my relationships with others and my relationship with myself?
Ever since I was a girl, I’ve tried to show up at synagogue to celebrate the New Year with some idea of how I planned to address these questions. I used to journal a lot (no surprise there), especially around this time of year. I’d make promises to myself (that I would likely not keep). I’d swear this year I’d be better (without reflecting on what better means and how we can never, in fact, arrive at the destination of better). I’d consider how to fit better inside the boxes of options laid out by society. As I beat my chest and repeated the litany of sins laid out by Yom Kippur liturgy I promised G-d never to commit them again.
I think us humans tend to think in stark patterns like this.
‘I will never do X again!’ we declare, and ‘This is the year I change the way I think about X and X! I’m done with gossiping!
On its face, our liturgy seems to encourage a bluntness as well. “On Rosh HaShana it they will be written and on Yom Kippur they will be sealed: Who will live and who will die.” Leonard Cohen famously wrote a haunting song based on this prayer. When I was younger, it terrified me. I’d sit in the women’s section of my grandmother’s synagogue and imagine the Book of Life, a giant tome in G-d’s hands, banging shut with a finality that couldn’t be appealed. You either repented enough or you didn’t. You’ll either die this year or you won’t. And you won’t know ‘til it happens.
Now, when I lead the congregation in this prayer, I still get a shiver of that old fear. But I have a bit of a different perspective on it.
I think this (and other) prayers from the Rosh HaShana liturgy have some deeper ideas. They may even offer some insight into my search for that sweet spot between stability and weirdness.
One recurring theme across the High Holiday liturgy is the fragility of the human condition, what I call the chaos of not knowing. As a kid, it terrified me that I couldn’t know what had been decided for me in a certain year. The truth is, though, that any illusion of knowing is just that — an illusion.
None of us has any idea what will befall us, joyous or terrible, each year. Are our woes and delights predestined? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, we can’t prepare for them. No point in being scared, then. Instead of trying to figure out what we’re supposed to do, then, we should constantly be in a space of wonder and questioning. In my experience, staying curious leads to an increased chance of quirkiness in one’s life. When you’re not afraid to be (perceived as) weird you end up living more intentionally, authentically, creatively, joyfully.
Like how we ended up carving a pumpkin a full six weeks before Halloween last night at six p.m., ending up with a sticky mess of seeds and goop all over the floor and a fully thrilled Big Kid, just because we could and wanted to. Sure, it was dinnertime and a school night. Not a logical decision, but a joyful one.
Embrace the chaos.
Right before we sing about how everyone may die this year, the Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur liturgy includes a stunning example of piyyut (liturgical poetry) colloquially known as ‘Unetaneh Tokef’ (ונתנה תוקף). The text itself dates back to the 12th century, and may have been written by Rabbi Ephraim of Bonn. Technically speaking, Unetaneh Tokef and B’Rosh HaShana (the above text) are different stanzas of the the same poem but they’re treated separately both melodically and within the structure of the prayer service. For that reason, I’m treating them sort of separately here.
There’s one sentence of Unetaneh Tokef that really jumped off the page at me during rehearsals last week.
I read a bunch of translations and didn’t like any of them, so here’s my own translation of the stanza in question:
Let’s look at two sentences, specifically as they pertain to the idea of evolving, chaotic identity:
You remember all that has been forgotten, and you will open the book of remembrances.
Despite a straightforward You have sinned and will, therefore, be punished mentality, this sentences speaks of a historical view. In this, the Divine Presence will be remembering all of everything you have ever done. If you, like me, believe that the Divine Presence is presented through human conduits into the world (we are all connected to something holy and are holy), it follows that we all remember all that has been forgotten. Of course I don’t remember every bad or good thing I’ve ever done. Except when I’m trying to fall asleep, and my various faux pas run through my brain at great speed. But all we’ve done and experienced has left an imprint on us. The cumulative effect of these, mostly very random and uncontrollable events, has become an inherent part of who we are as people.
And the handprint of each person is imprinted in its pages.
How can this be? Even as a metaphor, it doesn’t make sense unless you take into consideration the idea of evolving identity and messy, weird existence. My handprint today is not the same as it was ten years ago, or even last year. The ‘book,’ then, is always being updated. We are always being updated. Often in ways beyond our control. Still, though, we each have a unique handprint. A singular impact on the world and those around us.
These mixed-up thoughts feel deeply queer to me. Truthfully, the older I get the more my understanding of G-d transcends anything gendered or heteronormative. How could an all-encompassing energy that pulses within all living beings in the world be bound to a binary definition of identity? It just doesn’t make sense to me.
But I digress.
More importantly, when I sing these two lines I feel the love of the Universe for each of us stumbling beings. I sense a compassion for our clumsy way of making our way around this really quite strange world. I see a long view of life and the possibilities offered off the beaten track.
This year, I’m aiming for stable and strange. Let’s see where that gets us all.
Shana tova,
Mikhal
If you love this newsletter and want to get more essays about ADHD, and life, and Judaism, and queerness, as well as interviews with folks who are thinking about chaos in their work, please consider becoming a paid subscriber. Thank you in advance!
What I’m Reading
Mostly the new and incredible book about parenting in the age of technology by
, which I had the pleasure of reviewing for TC Jewfolk. Link to the review a little later. In the meanwhile, go ahead and check out the book here.Also,
wrote about tradwives for and drew out some important societal threads with her usual brilliance:
And
wrote about divesting from achievement culture, something I and many of my loved ones struggle with a lot.
What I’m Writing
Today, specifically, I’m in my niche role as queer opera journalist for the Michigan-based publication Pride Source, but I’ll only be able to share that piece next week. In the meantime, here’s the review I wrote of Heitner’s fantastic new book, ‘Growing Up in Public’ and a piece I wrote about a new family-friendly play exploring themes of forgiveness and repentance just in time for Rosh HaShana.