This Week: In the Quiet...
We finally see each other. And so much more.
Dear fam,
How are you? Is your head above water? Is your heart in your throat? How are you taking care of yourself?1
The other day, as I was doing some Substack maintenance, I noticed that the last few updates from my Chaos Palace have been a bit more focused on political matters, both local and international. By which I mean I’ve been writing about how the world is a swirling firestorm of terrifying threats to the existence of those I love.
I don’t regret those posts. The personal is, after all, political — whether we like it or not. The politics of the day have a deep and enduring impact on how I live and how I parent — that’s why I write about them in this space — and if you want to read more about how I’m thinking and feeling about my place in our shared political and societal reality, you can do so here and here and here (among other places).
Today, however, I want to bring the weekly newsletter back to its original format: a meditation on how chaos can be a force for creative parenting, grounded in recent happenings at home. With a sprinkling of Jewish ideas, you know, for extra spice.
Have you ever walked out of a club or a really loud concert into the deafening quiet of the night? The streets are just as quiet as they’d have been any other night — it’s you who are different. The silence has an oceanic roaring quality, turning your ears into seashells. Other sounds, previously unnoticed, toll like church bells in your ears. A car alarm is turned up to ambulance-esque decimals. The slap-slap of shoes on pavement resounds, seems to boom through alleyways.
This is what it has felt like at the Chaos Palace since we started treating Big Kid’s anxiety as what it is — a physical issue that requires medical attention. The simple, everyday things are what they have always been, no louder or softer than before. But the whir-whir-whir of the anxiety motor has been turned down to a manageable hum. And so, in this new quietude, we can finally hear and see things we simply had no bandwidth to perceive before.
You know what’s even better? She can hear the world now, too.
To be clear: Our home is no less chaotic than before. Just the other day, Big Kid had a friend over and they made a “glitter potion” in one of our stainless steel pots — water, glitter, corn starch, and fuchsia-colored Elmer’s glue — which morphed into a kind of slime concoction. Long story short, I’ll be wiping up glitter for the rest of my life.
Chaos has also appeared in the burgeoning sibling relationship between Big Kid and Toddler. They’ve begun to interact with one another independently of my wife and I. Sometimes this is sweet (hugs and snuggles and sharing a snack). Often, it’s contentious (vying for our attention and goading one another into a fight). Honestly, even though this can be infuriating as hell (why does Big Kid need to say the one thing she knows will make Toddler scream in frustration?) it’s pretty incredible to see. I mean, we made these little people in our uteri. And now, here they are, having a whole relationship that doesn’t depend on us at all. Wild.
Plus, of course, the regular bothersome wrenches that end up in the machinery of life — a forgotten school project, summer camp signups (it’s February! This should not be a thing!), everyone in the house getting sick, work stress. The stuff of life.
Still, it all feels like a delicious, cavernous silence. The noise – that horrible screaming anxiety roar — has been shut off like a fucking valve. All that’s left is the drip-drip of regular ol’ life anxiety. And that, my friends, I can handle.
In this new space, I’m able to see my children (and myself) with more clarity.
I can see Big Kid, newly emerged from her swirling tornado of anxiety and anger. She’s just as sensitive a before, but now she has more senses, and they are beautiful. The sheer joy when playing with a friend she loves; the grief when a Lego kit falls apart; the determination and focus when learning to ice-skate (or skateboard). Her dance moves and creative ideas and problem-solving prowess. She burbles over with emotions and cool ideas all day. Nothing is impossible to Big Kid.
I can see Toddler, newly emerged into the land of the speaking. This kid has full sentences. The other day she came up to me and asked, “Can you fix this, Mama?” to which I immediately acquiesced. I hope I can always say yes to that question, even while I know that’s not possible. She has Ideas and Opinions about how things should and should not be done. Paired with a staggering amount of focus and determination, I constantly feel like I should be taking notes from Toddler on how to live my life. But this description makes her sound so serious, and the opposite is true. She’s funnier than anyone I’ve ever met, making crazy faces and sounds, then erupting in a contagious belly-laugh that instantly cracks everyone up. She is, as my mother would say, a hoot and a holler.
Toddler is present in a way I hope to one day achieve. Big Kid is embodied in a way I hope to one day achieve. The more I get to really, truly see them, the more I want to know them. To learn from them. To experience life in their midst.
The mishnaic text known as Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Sages) is the only tractate of the Mishnah that doesn’t include laws, instead providing sort of life advice from the rabbinical authors. After this text was composed in the first and second centuries, it has been re-interpreted and commented on for centuries — until this very day2. This is one of my favorite things about Jewish text study: You can read a verse written in the first century alongside the opinion of someone writing thousands of years later.
In chapter 1, verse 6, the Mishnah says:
“Joshua ben Perahiah used to say: make for yourself a mentor, and acquire for thyself a companion and judge all men with the scale weighted in his favor.”
Then, 1100 years later, the eminent scholar known as Rambam wrote:
“Make for yourself a mentor: He means to say even if he is not fit to be your mentor; still place him upon you as a mentor, so that you can give and take (discuss and argue) with him, and as a result of this the study of wisdom will come to your hand. As the study of a man on his own is good, but his study from someone else will be better established in his hand and it will be more clear - and even if he is like him in wisdom or below him.”
The way I understand Rambam’s writing, it seems as though this incredible commentator (a polymath of unbelievable intellect) is saying that it does not matter one bit whether the person you’re discussing an issue with is a child or a toddler or a sage. The act of interacting, of discussing, is the act that will lead to wisdom. You can make anyone your mentor if you’re engaging from a place of open curiosity.
Moreover, any discussion is better than solo study! We understand things better when we talk them through, when we’re open to points of view we wouldn’t have imagined on our own. It’s the act of externalizing thoughts — not in an adversarial way! In a give-and-take way — that deepens your own wisdom.
That’s how I feel about my kids. It’s not a hierarchical arrangement of learning; we learn from one another, each of us a fallible human doing their best, often failing, sometimes prevailing.
About a million times a day, I stop myself from dismissing something one of my kids says. To be fair, it’s really tempting to say that things aren’t possible when they seem impossible.
Like when Big Kid wanted to make a sauce of cherry tomatoes, Cool-Whip, and red wine vinegar simmered together. With some orange juice.
Or when Toddler insists on putting on her own coat despite never before having displayed the necessary motor skills.
Or when Big Kid is 100% sure that a specific version of the Pirates of the Caribbean theme song exists and I’m sure I’ve never seen it before.
All of those are true stories in which I was wrong and they were right.
Now that the anxiety-valve has been shut off, I have the patience to go with the flow. They have the space to be themselves. We all have the capacity to learn from one another, to engage with openness, to make for ourselves mentors in all kinds of surprising places.
This quietude is a damn miracle3. And while the fire-storm that is the world outside rages on and on and on, I’m endlessly grateful to have this haven. This place that is crazy, but in a rich and abundant way. This space where we can see each other, finally, for who we are — and who we are becoming.
Wishing you a Shabbat of learning from all sorts of folks.
Love,
Mikhal
Welcome to the Chaos Palace is the space where I write about ADHD, queerness, Judaism, and how to navigate the mess that is the world. You can support my work by sharing this post with others, subscribing, or just clicking the like button. That makes the silly little algorithm send my words to other folks who might enjoy ‘em. Or just read! That’s huge, too, and very appreciated! Thank you!
And some music for your weekend…
Based solely on what I’ve been enjoying, in no particular order.
I really want to know! If you want to share, that is.
Literally, I’m commenting on it right now.
RFK Jr., if you’re reading this, this is what you’ll be taking away if you take away SSRIs.