"Of course, your phone does not love you. But it can kick out a little picture of a heart every once in a while, which makes you feel good, because in second grade you cut one just like that out of a piece of rough red construction paper. We are not complicated creatures."
I sure did mash the little cut-out heart below this.
Don't mind me, Max, I'll just be over here slightly leakily feeling things about time (what is it? why am I so very bad at it?) and state changes (how does anyone ever do them functionally, I surely do not know) and Thin Mints and phones. I have not a lot of experience with children, aside from having been one surrounded by others and largely disliked that state; I was relieved to see that you were in fact heading towards discussion of one's inner child because I had found myself thinking that from early in this post and was feeling weird about it in that way which trying to communicate through ADHD has taught me to feel weird about my struggles with adulting versus other people's apparent relative ease.
(For what it's worth, I also have found people talking about "running out of netflix" etc fascinating - I have a thousand million things I want to be doing and no energy or attention or discipline to do them instead of sending out endless hearts and screams on this magic mirror through which we speak.)
You speak so incredibly evocatively and rather searingly about this, about where your child is and where that brings you to, in a way which I find incredibly resonant. I hope this paper heart and message in a bottle find you well.
Always here for leaky feelings! And for paper hearts. I also totally hear you w/r/t the lack of energy/attention/discipline to do the things you want to be doing. That happens to me a lot these days--I'll have a blessed hour and a half, and somehow spend it alt-tabbing between different corners of internet, none of which give me any joy, rather than, say, finishing a mission in Shadowrun Dragonfall, or reading a book, or making myself a cup of tea, or working out, any of which would make me feel better. We're just doing our best, you know? Forgiveness--especially of self--is a root and tonic, for me, right now.
Yes. Forgiveness. Forgiveness and gentleness are absolutely what I am attempting to lean into these days as well. And embracing all the tiniest wins & accomplishments, because it turns out they all count and they all need to count in order to be able to keep moving.
The other day I was reading Nurture the Wow by Danya Ruttenberg (which is subtitled "Finding spirituality in the frustration, boredom, tears, poop, desperation, wonder, & radical amazement of parenting") and thinking of you & this post. She too talks about about children & wonder, about seeing the world through their radical amazement at all the world. (She also talks a lot about working through the frustrating bits, and about learning to engage with their wonder rather than fighting against it when it’s inconvenient, which sounds incredibly hard to me.)
I feel the doomscrolling / aimless alt-tabbing deeply. I find that the more I am in need of rest the more I have trouble directing my attention towards that which I find rejuvenating. That kind of discernment and intention is one of the first things to tap out when I am fried, which is of course a vicious cycle. I find that having (re)realized that has actually helped a bit, though - allowing myself to realize it’s what is happening and practice, as you say, self-forgiveness even if I still don’t have the resources to change it in the moment.
All of three of those paragraphs are, I suppose, about leaning into gentleness and forgiveness rather than frustration. Funny, they somehow felt more disconnected when I started.
I relate powerfully to that feeling--the first thing to go is my ability to steer myself in a rejuvenating direction. There's a bit in Gorey's The Unstrung Harp where a novelist who's recently finished a major project is described as "wandering the house, picking up teacups and putting them down again." I feel like that a LOT. And, yes, I think it has to start with forgiveness, and perhaps compassion, for the self. Thanks for mentioning Ruttenberg's book! I only know of her from Twitter--it sounds very much to my interest.
What an excellent essay. You are spot on about the phones, Max. So many a time I have felt outside of time -- outside even of feelings that normally remind us of time's passage, like hunger, or sleepiness -- by hooking myself up to a stream of information. Yes, it's dangerous, but... sometimes it *is* nice to rebel. And not just by reading Twitter -- by reading a parenting book, or watching a murder mystery, or playing a tabletop game.
In Days of Yore, when I was twenty seven and work wasn't eating my entire life, I would go on gaming binges and come out feeling guilty -- but also creative. I'd write a lot, cleanly, quickly, after having finished a marathon WoW session. I no longer have time for a marathon WoW session, but I find that when I lock myself into Responsible Adult Schedule for too long, I need a break. Just to cut loose a bit.
Obviously, saying this from a place of huge privilege. Can't cut loose on a toddler. Or maybe if you live in an extended family situation, where grandma or close friend or whoever can take over for a little while, you get more freedom to take a break. That's one of the particularly rough things about this pandemic, and one of the things I most eagerly look to restoring -- communities being able to come together and help create these gaps of time, these pockets of now, that we so desperately seem to crave.
I really think you're on to something. It's important to let yourself run--not just to curl around the track but to cut out for the horizon. That's one of the pleasures I get from writing, and it's why start to feel the wheels coming off the galloping troika of my mental health whenever I'm unable to write for long. But even writing--especially writing something you know other people are going to see, something that has to fit a certain sort of space in the world or in the market--can have an element of discipline and Responsibility to it. Some days you do need to stay up too late reading a book that's too good to put down. Or, as I've been doing on and off throughout the pandemic--sink a truly irresponsible amount of time into Slay the Spire or the crossword puzzle.
"Of course, your phone does not love you. But it can kick out a little picture of a heart every once in a while, which makes you feel good, because in second grade you cut one just like that out of a piece of rough red construction paper. We are not complicated creatures."
I sure did mash the little cut-out heart below this.
This is so beautiful & good.
Thank you! Hearts all around. It's odd--felt so emotionally overwhelmed after writing this that it took me until now to circle back to the comments.
Don't mind me, Max, I'll just be over here slightly leakily feeling things about time (what is it? why am I so very bad at it?) and state changes (how does anyone ever do them functionally, I surely do not know) and Thin Mints and phones. I have not a lot of experience with children, aside from having been one surrounded by others and largely disliked that state; I was relieved to see that you were in fact heading towards discussion of one's inner child because I had found myself thinking that from early in this post and was feeling weird about it in that way which trying to communicate through ADHD has taught me to feel weird about my struggles with adulting versus other people's apparent relative ease.
(For what it's worth, I also have found people talking about "running out of netflix" etc fascinating - I have a thousand million things I want to be doing and no energy or attention or discipline to do them instead of sending out endless hearts and screams on this magic mirror through which we speak.)
You speak so incredibly evocatively and rather searingly about this, about where your child is and where that brings you to, in a way which I find incredibly resonant. I hope this paper heart and message in a bottle find you well.
Always here for leaky feelings! And for paper hearts. I also totally hear you w/r/t the lack of energy/attention/discipline to do the things you want to be doing. That happens to me a lot these days--I'll have a blessed hour and a half, and somehow spend it alt-tabbing between different corners of internet, none of which give me any joy, rather than, say, finishing a mission in Shadowrun Dragonfall, or reading a book, or making myself a cup of tea, or working out, any of which would make me feel better. We're just doing our best, you know? Forgiveness--especially of self--is a root and tonic, for me, right now.
Yes. Forgiveness. Forgiveness and gentleness are absolutely what I am attempting to lean into these days as well. And embracing all the tiniest wins & accomplishments, because it turns out they all count and they all need to count in order to be able to keep moving.
The other day I was reading Nurture the Wow by Danya Ruttenberg (which is subtitled "Finding spirituality in the frustration, boredom, tears, poop, desperation, wonder, & radical amazement of parenting") and thinking of you & this post. She too talks about about children & wonder, about seeing the world through their radical amazement at all the world. (She also talks a lot about working through the frustrating bits, and about learning to engage with their wonder rather than fighting against it when it’s inconvenient, which sounds incredibly hard to me.)
I feel the doomscrolling / aimless alt-tabbing deeply. I find that the more I am in need of rest the more I have trouble directing my attention towards that which I find rejuvenating. That kind of discernment and intention is one of the first things to tap out when I am fried, which is of course a vicious cycle. I find that having (re)realized that has actually helped a bit, though - allowing myself to realize it’s what is happening and practice, as you say, self-forgiveness even if I still don’t have the resources to change it in the moment.
All of three of those paragraphs are, I suppose, about leaning into gentleness and forgiveness rather than frustration. Funny, they somehow felt more disconnected when I started.
I relate powerfully to that feeling--the first thing to go is my ability to steer myself in a rejuvenating direction. There's a bit in Gorey's The Unstrung Harp where a novelist who's recently finished a major project is described as "wandering the house, picking up teacups and putting them down again." I feel like that a LOT. And, yes, I think it has to start with forgiveness, and perhaps compassion, for the self. Thanks for mentioning Ruttenberg's book! I only know of her from Twitter--it sounds very much to my interest.
Oh gosh yes, I definitely spend much time picking things up & putting them back down (literally & metaphorically).
If TED talk-type things work for you, she also has a 12-minute one on the topic here: https://youtu.be/l1VsnXD6Czs
What an excellent essay. You are spot on about the phones, Max. So many a time I have felt outside of time -- outside even of feelings that normally remind us of time's passage, like hunger, or sleepiness -- by hooking myself up to a stream of information. Yes, it's dangerous, but... sometimes it *is* nice to rebel. And not just by reading Twitter -- by reading a parenting book, or watching a murder mystery, or playing a tabletop game.
In Days of Yore, when I was twenty seven and work wasn't eating my entire life, I would go on gaming binges and come out feeling guilty -- but also creative. I'd write a lot, cleanly, quickly, after having finished a marathon WoW session. I no longer have time for a marathon WoW session, but I find that when I lock myself into Responsible Adult Schedule for too long, I need a break. Just to cut loose a bit.
Obviously, saying this from a place of huge privilege. Can't cut loose on a toddler. Or maybe if you live in an extended family situation, where grandma or close friend or whoever can take over for a little while, you get more freedom to take a break. That's one of the particularly rough things about this pandemic, and one of the things I most eagerly look to restoring -- communities being able to come together and help create these gaps of time, these pockets of now, that we so desperately seem to crave.
I really think you're on to something. It's important to let yourself run--not just to curl around the track but to cut out for the horizon. That's one of the pleasures I get from writing, and it's why start to feel the wheels coming off the galloping troika of my mental health whenever I'm unable to write for long. But even writing--especially writing something you know other people are going to see, something that has to fit a certain sort of space in the world or in the market--can have an element of discipline and Responsibility to it. Some days you do need to stay up too late reading a book that's too good to put down. Or, as I've been doing on and off throughout the pandemic--sink a truly irresponsible amount of time into Slay the Spire or the crossword puzzle.
Ah, but this is perfectly beautiful.
Thank you!