This Week: In Praise of Night Walking

The best thing since sliced cheese.

Dear fam,

First, thank you to those who have reached out in response to the last couple of posts. At least one reason why I send out these life updates and wonderings about life, the universe, and everything is because otherwise it would be too lonesome. Your notes, whether via email or in the comments or whatever else, fill my heart. Which sounds like a platitude, but isn’t — I actually feel nourished by your interaction with my thoughts and words.

This last week has been, in a word, intense. Both Big Kid and Toddler are acclimating to new classrooms, expectations, teachers and… it’s not easy.

All things considered, school hasn’t been terrible so far. Toddler is, of course, already running the classroom; her teacher said she’s always helping put things away and is up for any activity. She doesn’t cry at drop-off anymore, just waves and says, “Bye, Mama!”

Big Kid likes her teacher, which is great news. Better yet — her teacher doesn’t resent her! Which may sound obvious to folks with typically developing children, but parents of neuro-spicy kids know the pit-of-the-stomach dread that comes with a new school year. Will the teacher call me to get my kid today? How quickly will the school decide she’s a ‘bad kid’? How many times will I have to advocate for my kid to be understood as a fabulous kid who is doing her best today?

The importance of having a teacher who sees your child for who she is and is determined to help her thrive cannot be overstated.

Yesterday was a hard day for everyone at the Chaos Palace. Big Kid had bad dreams the night before and woke up all out of sorts. She wouldn’t move in the morning, had numerous meltdowns during breakfast, and was late for school. At one point, I had to excuse myself and step out to the backyard for some breathing exercises in order to gather myself and keep going.

At kindergarten, she got upset when her teacher left during music class and flipped a desk. She got mad again later and accidentally knocked over a bookcase. The teacher raised her voice. Her friends wanted to play games she didn’t want to play at recess. When we picked her up she looked sad and defeated, just hugged me there on the blacktop while my wife spoke to the teacher.

At home, more turmoil. “Please don’t throw that,” and “Please don’t climb that.” We tried to talk to her about what had happened. No dice. At this point, we were pretty much here:

Then, right before dinner, after the third bathroom accident and as my last nerve was about to snap, my wife and I actually had a good idea. “Wanna go on a night walk?” I asked Big Kid. For the first time that day, she lit up with happiness, and cried, “Yes!”

Once, about a year ago, I took Big Kid on a night walk to get out some excess energy before bedtime. Halloween decorations were already up, and it was dusk-time; the world felt magical and full of possibilities. We stopped to look at the ghosts and jack-o-lanterns, marveling at a giant dragon with glowing eyes and motorized wings. Near the neighborhood school, where she’s now a student, we lay on the lawn and looked at the stars.

Last night’s walk was different in a lot of ways. The sun hadn’t yet set, and there were no ghosts to be seen. No stars either. Just a soft-orange waning light and a cricket song.

We wove in and around the blocks, taking in houses and jumping over cracks in the sidewalks. The whole time, she was bursting with joy. “Isn’t this such a nice night walk?” she asked over and over. We stopped at the school to lay on the grass (“The sky is dark blue, Mama!”) and sniffed some hydrangeas. We waved at dogs, and bunnies, and one black cat slinking up a driveway. We held hands.

As we walked, the school day slowly unfolded. She told me how she’d tried to play with her bestie during recess, and how he hadn’t heard her. We talked about how she loves the 6th grader who comes to play with her, but she’s sometimes busy with friends when they cross paths at school. We talked about getting angry.

Not in so many words, of course — she’s still five years old! But bits and pieces. Enough so I could know what was happening. Enough so we could talk it through some more around the dinner table, and my wife and I could help her strategize about how to better manage tough moments at school.

Getting through the bedtime routine was a whole lot easier than getting through the morning routine, and I credit that to our willingness to let out the seams of the evening and allow for extra processing time. Big Kid needed to work it through; needed to move through (not past!) the days’ events.

Later, after the kids fell asleep, I went for my own night walk. Well, night run. I do this a couple times a week, the repetitive motion helps me move through my own emotional build-up. The consistent exercise is a key component of my ADHD management routine — adding adrenaline and dopamine to my brain at regular intervals helps my focus and my emotional integration. Not just any exercise will do the trick for my mental health, though. For me, at least, I crave things both get my heart racing and allow my mind to wander. Running is kind of perfect that way.

Maybe this is another thing Big Kid and I have in common — the need to move our bodies in order to metabolize the feelings.

I like to joke that kids are like mail-order mattresses, in that they arrive all squished up and then slowly unroll and take shape. Alas, their parents do not know what kind of mattress they’ll turn out to be. This is not a perfect analogy, but go with it.

If my wife and I had known Big Kid was hyperactive and struggled with authority, we would never have signed her up for a thoughtful but strict daycare in Bushwick in a small space. Spoiler: It didn’t work out.

If my wife and I had known Toddler had especially sensitive skin, we would have bought the extra-strength medicated diaper cream ahead of time.

Problem is, you can only know what you know when you know it.

Trick is to seek out new things to know and try not to forget them.

Last week was the first day of the Hebrew month of Elul, which is traditionally a time for cheshbon nefesh (literally, an accounting of the soul). It’s a time to take stock of one’s deeds in advance of the new year, which will commence on the first day of the next Hebrew month — Tishrei.

The big idea? Apologize for what you’ve done wrong and try to do better next year.

In the ‘Repentance’ section of his foundational work of halakhah (Jewish law) known as the Mishneh Torah, Rambam makes a point of noting repeatedly that it’s not enough to atone. Repentance, he posits, only counts if you change your behavior in the future.

Notably, in this passage, Rambam doesn’t say one must get it right every single time going forwards. He says one must “commit in his heart” to get it right. You have to keep trying.

For me, this is a beacon. As a parent, and indeed, as a person, there are so many moments of getting it wrong. Missed appointments, misspoken words, outbursts you didn’t mean.

Regret is helpful, and so is repentance — but only as a tool for pointing us in the direction of improvement. We have to show up more fully next year. To apologize, yes, and then to commit in our hearts that next year we will try not to repeat the same errors.

Rambam also writes that the correct way to repent is to admit the things we’ve done wrong (see above), and to forgive those who have wronged us (see below). I find both of these pieces of advice helpful as I move through life.

It makes sense to me that speaking one’s misdeeds aloud is a useful exercise. First, saying things out loud has a clarifying effect; it makes them more concrete. This is the same reason why I read things aloud when I’m proofreading them. Second, by making them more concrete, it can make them seem more manageable, less scary. In this way, speaking one’s misdeeds aloud (even alone in a room) may help clarify how to address them in the new year.

As for forgiveness, it’s a skill like any other. I’m not a naturally patient person, but by G-d I practice being patient. And, slowly, I’m getting better at it. Forgiveness — self and otherwise — takes practice every day.

Forgiveness is, at its root, release. When we forgive ourselves, we set ourselves free from the vines of regret and anger that threaten to choke us. When we forgive others, we set both ourselves and them free — our lives are no longer dictated by the harm caused, no matter how dire.

Forgiving is a powerful, and incredibly difficult, thing to do. It takes skill and practice and is absolutely worth the effort.

All this is to say, this Elul I’m going to forgive myself for yelling at my kids sometimes. For not remembering to breathe into the feeling. For not getting it right. For losing my patience. For forgetting about night walks. For slamming a door or two. For not having the energy to read one more book or look at one more cool thing.

V’al kulam, Eloha selichot, s’lach lanu, m’chal lanu,, kaper lanu.

And for all of these, G-d of forgiveness, forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement.

— Yom Kippur liturgy

I’m also going to give thanks for evenings like the one we had yesterday and for moments of sweet connection with our little ones. I love seeing what kinds of people they’re becoming. Toddler, who already knows her own mind so well. She’s a true bundle of joy, just bubbling with giggles and up for any adventure. Loves a puzzle and is friends with every animal she meets. Big Kid, who doesn’t give in to any challenge — she practiced the monkey bars until she got blisters! Who loves with all her heart. Who thinks about solutions, invents new things every minute of every day, and wants her friends to be happy.

I hope wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, you’re being soft with yourself.

Let’s keep on keeping on, shall we?

Love,

Mikhal

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 fantastic and insightful

Kristen Drozdowski

about finding inspiration in the little moments and remembering to breathe.

Looking for a soundtrack for Elul? My wife and I released an album of meditative music we wrote, based on texts from the Jewish canon. It’s called KAVANA (which means intention).