This Week: Tired Beyond Belief
Bleary-eyed and babbling, we still need to show up for our kids and ourselves. But how?
Dear family and friends,
We moved last week. Five packing professionals walked into our home of six years, packed everything up in just over two hours, and drove it across the Hudson River to our new house in New Jersey. My wife and I followed, two sleeping littles in the back seat. “Holy shit,” I kept saying, sipping ice coffee and trying to focus on the road, “We’re moving. Holy shit.” My wife squeezed my hand and smiled, “Yeah,” she said, “We really are.”
The first two nights, we all slept in one room on mattresses on the floor. Big Kid twisted and turned — twice I found him horizontal across the bed — and Baby woke up multiple times a night to nurse and cry and nurse and cry. The days have been long, and sweaty, and strange.
I remember our first week in New York City, back in June of 2015. The days were also long, and sweaty, and strange. I remember sitting on our fire escape in a wilted tank-top and shorts, beer and cigarette in hand, trying to figure out how the hell I’d ended up in this buzzy dreamscape of a city. This was where movies were made. What was I doing here? Pretending to be some kind of extra on Friends?
I couldn’t wrap my head around New York then, and I can’t wrap my head around Jersey now. Two days ago, our new neighbors knocked on our door with a box of homemade chocolate-chip cookies, welcoming us to the neighborhood. This morning I sat on my back porch with Big Kid and Baby, watching a bunny munch on our lawn.
I have a lawn. I mean, what the actual hell do I think I’m doing?
I’m not sure why it’s so hard for me to believe I’m an adult who is actually living the life I’ve been working so hard to create for so many years. I mean, my wife and I worked very damn hard to buy this house. Of course we live here. And yet.
At times I feel something akin to awe, especially when I see my beautiful kids and remember that I write words for a living. Logically, it’s pretty unbelievable for that to be the truth, right? How fortunate I’ve been and continue to be. Gratitude doesn’t even begin to describe it.
Other times, it’s terror that courses through me. Sure, I’m doing this now, but soon they’ll1 discover I’m a fraud, a phony, a con artist. I mean, I’m living in a house with multiple floors and bunnies in the yard. Surely that’s all too good to be true and will be yanked away soon enough. Or, so my mind would like me to believe.
Most of the time, the awe and terror combine into a cocktail of confusion.
I felt this way in New York, surrounded by painters and poets and revolutionaries and manic pixie dream folks. I felt this way in Boston, wandering from class to class on the Berklee campus, all around me musicians weaving gold from their fingertips. I felt this way in Tel Aviv, the quintessential city of sweat and startups and survival.
I’m beginning to think it might be a me thing.
Imposter syndrome is pretty common, especially among us ADHD-ers. We know we’re smart, but our brains seem to run on either dopamine floods or fumes. As a result, our productivity can be spotty. I, for one, have developed a vast arsenal of techniques to keep people from realizing I’m not 100% on the ball at all times. All of these fall apart, however, when life is completely a mess. Say, after a move.
Two nights ago, I told my wife and my parents (who, bless them, are here to help and without whom we would not have survived the past week) I’m worried Big Kid is bored. He watched a lot more videos this week, and had to deal with a lot of grown-ups unpacking instead of paying attention to him. What if this week is traumatic to him and he remembers is as a horrible time and hates us and what if what if what if —
“What are you talking about?” they all told me, a Greek chorus of sanity, “he’s fine.” As evidence, they reminded me about all the wonderful things he did do this week. We built Baby’s bed together, for example, and he went to the playground multiple times. We had a one-on-one outing to play soccer in the nearby park. We painted, and played, and cooked. We watched part of Encanto together on the couch and made strawberry ice cream.
They were right of course — he was fine. So was Baby. So were we. It was just the awe and terror overtaking me again. Sometimes the chaos of having a brain with big feelings is too much. I’m so grateful to have beautiful, brilliant kids it makes me afraid to fuck it up. And being tired beyond belief doesn’t help with having a clear, collected mind amid the tumult.
In a few days, we’ll hang mezuzot on our doorframes. As Jews, we’re commanded to add these markers to our doorframes. According to the commandment, stated once in the book of Leviticus and once in the book of Deuteronomy, this will serve as a reminder of our ongoing connection to G-d’s laws and values. The mezuzah will serve to protect us, although the text doesn’t say exactly how. Many superstitions have developed around this commandment — some folks will recommend checking a home’s mezuzot if you’re having a spate of bad luck.
The mezuzah itself is not actually the box (that’s a beyt mezuzah, the home of the mezuzah), it’s the scroll inside, made of lambskin parchment and inscribed with text from Deuteronomy 6 and 9. In Hebrew, we don’t use the verb ‘to hang’ for a mezuzah, we use the verb לקבוע (likvo’a), meaning “to affix” or “to make permanent.” When you affix the scroll to your doorframe, you’re making a statement: Someone lives here, and that person finds this text meaningful and important.
As I’m muddling through all my feelings this week, I’m thinking about this verse from the text of the mezuzah: “These words that I command thee this day, shall be upon thy heart. And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and thou shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thy house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down and when thou risest up.” (Deuteronomy 5-7)
What am I teaching my kids, when I let my anxieties swell in waves that crash against my consciousness? What do I wish to make permanent in my life? Which divine laws do I want to affix to my home, to instill in the air my kids breathe?
What would it look like to believe I deserve all this, and still stay humble? Is that even possible?
A mezuzah is a reminder; it’s there to prompt us to heed the word of G-d. Perhaps it can also be a reminder that the universe loves us and we have within us a kernel of divine knowing.
And maybe it’s also okay to feel a little wonky when you haven’t slept in a week. After all, the contradictions are where the learning and growing happens.
I’ll let you know how it’s all going as we move forward into this new life. Meanwhile, wishing you a day of wonder without fear.
Shavua tov,
Mikhal
What I’m reading
I read Amy Tan’s exquisite novel The Bonesetter’s Daughter this week. A haunting, hallucinatory exploration of maternal lineage and complicated family histories. As I dive into the world of fiction writing, I’m on the lookout for heart-stopping novels and short stories to read, so if you’re reading anything fabulous please comment below!
What I’m writing
This week, Real Simple published my article about Creative Reuse Centers (think Goodwill for craft supplies) and Lilith published my article about Marva Zohar, a visionary who’s trying to dismantle the patriarchy by healing survivors of sexual violence. A few weeks ago, Parents Magazine published this piece about coming out to your kids as queer. Stay tuned for more Dreams of Chaos — next week we’re chatting with Lora-Faye Åshuvud of Arthur Moon about their new record Chaos! Chaos! Chaos! Side B.
What I’m listening to
Two new (to me!) artists — Mon Rovîa and Lucaa — both of whom create ethereal otherworldly tunes for escaping this physical realm but in very different ways. And I’ve been binging the heck out of
’s masterpiece of a podcast Maintenance Phase. I know I’m late to the party on that one, but hey — better late than never. Want to unlearn everything you thought you knew about dieting and wellness culture? Aubrey and her fabulous co-host are the folks for the job.not sure who they are, but they sure get loud sometimes.