This Week: The Chaos Won (In a Good Way)
Opening my arms to the mess can actually create some incredible joy.
Dear friends and family,
A week or so ago I was talking to my mom on the phone and she mentioned that she was concerned about the Chaos Palace. That is to say, she was concerned that I refer to my home as a site of such disorder. Which makes sense — she’s my mom, after all. She wants good things for me. And it is true that chaos is not often regarded as a positive term.
“No, no,” I insisted, “This is a good thing, Eemush1! The point of the Chaos Palace is to honor the joy of the disarray, to lean into the absurdity to find creativity.” By her tone, I could tell she remained a little unconvinced. Fair enough. I’ve called her in tears about the aforementioned mess enough to make any mom worried.
That conversation, while brief, has been on my mind since we chatted. I keep thinking maybe I’m not sharing enough joy here on this newsletter. So, I’ve decided to deviate from our regularly scheduled updates. Instead, this week you get three (ish) short stories of the joy of Chaos. As I see it.
No Festival Today — We’d Rather Jam With the Birds.
A week ago, Big Kid’s school took part in a spring festival hosted by the local public school district. The invitation looked so fun: A jazz band, a drum circle, an art exhibition with paintings done by local students. Activities, snacks, dancing, music. I mean, what could be better? All week we talked about going. Big Kid was particularly excited about seeing the upright bass (he thinks we should get one) and about the drum circle.
Dear ones, we did not attend this festival.
I’m sure it was lovely, but we woke up in the morning to a kid who was just fried from the week of sensory stimulation. Going to school, dealing with noisy classmates, participating in activities — all of these take a lot out of anyone, but especially someone with Big Kid’s superpower of extra sensory awareness. When he woke up, it was really clear that he was in no shape to take part in a drum circle. Heck, he was in no shape to leave the house. We tried to convince him a little, but soon realized we needed to follow his lead.
We sat and watched videos, we sat in the quiet and stared, we played guitar and ukulele together in my wife’s studio, we ate pancakes and maple syrup. We did comfort-ey things. It was a last minute u-turn on our schedule, and created an amount of havoc, sure. It was also 100% the right thing to do.
Later in the afternoon, when everyone was a little calmer, we headed out to Brooklyn’s Marine Park Salt Marsh Trail for a quiet walk in nature. Big Kid insisted on bringing the guitar and the ukulele so we could play together outside, and play we did. We played all the hits — The Ants Go Marching, Shake Your Sillies Out, and Good Vibrations — and then loaded the instruments into the car and headed out to look at birds2.
That night, as Big Kid snuggled in his bed, he said, “I’m ready to go to the festival now. We can go tomorrow.” I smiled, “Oh, honey. The festival is over. It was just today.” He got really sad, teary even. I held his hand and explained that sometimes events in the world don’t line up with how we’re feeling in our bodies; it’s just a mismatch. That’s why it’s important to do exactly what he did — listen to his body and follow its cues. I told him I was proud of him, that his Eema was proud of him, too. He calmed down and drifted off, so completely sweet.
After, my wife and I talked about how sometimes you just have to rip up the whole schedule and do a trust-fall into your family. If we hadn’t leaned into the unknown, we wouldn’t have had a musical jam with birds at the end of Brooklyn. We wouldn’t have helped our kid learn about his body, his needs, his inner voice. We wouldn’t have learned either. It was a damn good day.
Big Kid’s Debut Performance at Shabbat Services
Those of you who have been here for a while know that my wife and I travel to Greenwich, CT periodically to lead Shabbat and holiday services for a synagogue there. We’ve been working with Temple Sholom for several years now and love the community; it’s been a source of a lot of musical and spiritual growth and fulfillment.
Friday evening (two days ago) was one of those occasions — and Big Kid was psyched. He loves going to Temple. There are toy cars big enough to ride in, tricycles, a gym room with mats and balance beams — the works. Oh, and there’s also the services, which he has recently become more interested in as a venue to try out his career as a rock star.
Big Kid is a drummer. Like, a real drummer. He plays for hours every day on his toddler-sized kit, practicing such hits as The Ventures’ Wipe Out (which he has fully mastered) and, now, the Foo Fighters’ Everlong (which we’re still working on). He loves anything and everything about music. He wants to learn piano, and bass, and trumpet, and guitar, and ukulele. He loves to sing.
And on Friday morning he announced he would be “performing” with us that evening.
To be clear, saying no was a non-starter. We tried to say he could rehearse with us before and after but not during, but he was having none of it. He was performing. With a microphone. And an amp, which he brought himself and plugged in on his own.
It was, in a word, chaotic. Big Kid was trying his best to follow the rules (no talking to his moms while they’re leading a prayer, no talking while the Rabbi is giving his sermon, no cartwheels) but sometimes the music just moves you, you know? Folks, there were cartwheels. And a certain amount of hanging upside down from the banister. And, yes, a few loud whispers to his moms on a variety of topics.
We took a gamble, to be honest. We could have put our feet down and banished him to the gym. But, you know what? That was the most exuberant and joyful service we’ve led in a while. He was encouraging the congregation to clap — how could they refuse that smile? He was encouraging them to sing along — and they sure as hell sang. He was dancing, and grinning, and having the time of his life. So was everyone else.
Later, as we packed up the car, he said that this was the best day ever. My heart just about busted clear out of my chest, I was so happy. This kid, who loves music more than anything, got to perform live (in front of about 200 people, mind you) with his moms. And he had the best. day. It was a damn chaos fest, but Lord was it worth it.
Self Release? Or Self Trust?
Ok, this last story will be a short one3 and it’s not about Big Kid. Heck, it’s not even about Baby, whose misadventures I’ve not mentioned this week despite being many and hilarious.
It’s about my wonderful wife, who did something brave and, yes, chaotic this week. Ella spent the last full year working on a collaborative visual album, with nine dancers and visual artists from different places around the world. She worked with folks from almost every continent—Uganda, Nigeria, Italy, Spain, Russia, Mexico, and more. The idea of the album was to break apart the idea of a home and examine it through myriad points of view.
Ella is, herself, turning these questions round and round; I think she just wanted to feel less lonesome while exploring the ideas in her mind. She also has a knack for listening deeply to what others have to say and making folks feel safe when sharing vulnerable stories.
The album asks both individual and communal questions: Is home a place, a feeling, a sensory experience? How can we strive to feel at home within our own bodies? How do those who have emigrated rebuild a sense of safety and belonging, despite the physical estrangement they were raised within? These are themes that so many folks can connect with, especially at this moment in history.
The resultant album is an hourlong gut-punch of an experience. I attended the exclusive premiere this past November at DCTV's Firehouse Cinema in Manhattan and witnessed firsthand the visceral emotional responses expressed by the audience, ranging from outright tears to laughter. It was a profound evening.
This week, Ella released the first track, a song called Shapeshifting. This is the only track on the album she made alone, and it talks about her journey of unlearning diet culture and releasing herself from a lifetime of struggles with her body. It’s a very intimate song and, in my mind, powerful as hell.
She released it alone. No record label, no PR firm, no nothing — just trusting in herself. It was terrifying. What if no one noticed? What if this work, some of her most open and brave — fell into the black hole of the internet?
We don’t know yet what will come of the video, to be honest; it’s only been a couple of days. But I can tell you one thing for sure: Sometimes the plan has to be not to have a plan. Sometimes you just have to trust yourself, and the universe, and the strength you have to keep on trying. To hope the Chaos has your back.
I’m so freaking proud of Ella. To have created something this momentous is amazing in itself. To do it while pregnant with our daughter, while caring for our Big Kid, while earning a living and being a loving partner. Y’all, she’s a superstar.
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That’s all I have this week. NYC public schools were closed for two days last week (hence this very late edition of This Week at the Chaos Palace), so no more book recommendations for now.
I will say I published three pieces this week as well, and I’m proud of them all. This one is about how a new play in the Village is exploring antisemitism in The Merchant of Venice as it connects to the modern day iterations of this hate. This one is about a new and very queer imagining of the classic Donizetti opera, Don Pasquale (now D[x]n Pasquale). This one is the latest in our Dreams of Chaos series here at the palace, a conversation with fashion designer, artist, and activist Mars Wright about LGBTQIA+ civil rights, community care, and trans spirituality.
Shavua tov lovebugs,
Mikhal
a derivation of Eema, Hebrew for mother, and one of the many loving names I call my mama. :)
We saw a white egret, an osprey building a nest, and a grey heron!
maybe. let’s see, shall we?