2020-06-21

“Son, how can I help you see?
May I give you my shoulders
to stand on?
Now you see farther than me.
Now you see for both of us.
Won’t you tell me what you see?”
– H. Jackson Brown

Macaroni, Redux

I posted this on Father’s Day almost fifteen years back, but it still holds as true today. This year, even if we’re socially distanced to opposite coasts, I’m sending my father transcontinental love and best wishes. I’ve been glad to celebrate so many Father’s Days with him – and even more glad to have him in my life for all the days in between them – and I look forward to hopefully many, many more years, celebrating live and in person, ahead.

When I was growing up, I loved macaroni and cheese. But, for some reason, I believed the dish was best served for breakfast. The strange preference passed to my younger brother as well, and on most weekends, he and I would put in a request for macaroni brunch.

Complicating matters further, however, I liked Kraft’s Deluxe, which featured a large packet of congealed Velveeta, while my brother remained partial to Kraft Dinner and its powdery (even once cooked) orange ‘cheese’.

So, in an act of kindness and child-humoring that astounds me even to this day, my father (official school lunch and breakfast preparer of our family) would brew up two parallel pots, one of each, for my brother and me.

I think of this each Fathers’ Day, and of the countless other big and small wonderful things my father Andrew did (and still does) for us, and realize that, as far as dads go, my brother and I got it really, really, remarkably good.

Almost Juneteenth

As I wrote yesterday, by nature I’m more fox than hedgehog. And, as a result, this blog has similarly been all over the place. Twenty-some years in, I still can’t seem to figure out if it’s just personal journalling and story-telling, or if I should be trying to share more focused and useful content around a single topic, like fitness or entrepreneurship or productivity, where I hope I’ve accumulated some wisdom.

But what this blog mostly hasn’t been about is taking bold political stands, or advocating for causes in which I believe. I’ve told myself that’s because I don’t want to alienate readers who see the world differently than I do in those specific areas. Though, less charitably, it’s probably because I’ve been afraid of being judged for, or truly held to, my beliefs. And, indeed, looking back now at some of my few posts that did stake out strong political positions, many of which now strike me as exceedingly cringey, perhaps that’s not unwise; it may be I just suck at that kind of writing.

Still, even if silence has felt safe, it now also seems increasingly complicit. Indeed, I noted as much myself when, six or seven years into blogging, I wrote a Judaically-themed post for the first time:

Posting about [Judaism] still makes me vaguely uncomfortable, as if it’s something I shouldn’t share, or at least shouldn’t advertise, about myself. We Jews are a culturally paranoid people – it’s easy to think everyone’s out to get you when, for centuries, they were. These days, bludgeoned as children by hundreds of Holocaust documentaries, we grow up with the message that, sometimes, being publicly Jewish can be rather bad for your health.

With a bit of thought, however, I conclude my tacit ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy simply supports anti-semitism. Instead, I decide to push for understanding through openness; if Chanukah is something I’m thinking about, a part of who I am, certainly, I should be willing to share that.

Fifteen years later, with anti-semitism clearly on the rise, there are as many risks as ever to being publicly Jewish. But it also remains fairly unique as a minority experience, in that I have some choice as to how much I identify (and am identified) as a Jew. Which is why it’s felt increasingly morally bankrupt to not stand in solidarity with the many other minorities who don’t have that privilege.

A few weeks back, when I joined the protests in Harlem, several of my family members called to express their worries about the risks – whether COVID, police violence, or arrest – inherent in that decision. In response, I told them that, if this were the 60’s, I’d like to think I would have marched with MLK on Washington, if not headed down with other Jewish Freedom Riders to register voters in the South. So, much as I was also concerned about my safety, I felt I needed to balance that with my obligation to the greater societal good.

And, in short, I think that applies to this site, too. I won’t be making a hard left turn into nonstop social justice warrior-ing here. But I will, at least, try to be less of a wuss about staking publicly the stances that I think are genuinely important. As I said before, I sort of suck at it, and I’m sure I’ll make a ton more (in retrospect equally cringey) missteps along the way. But, morally speaking, I don’t think I have any other choice.

 

Counting Rabbits

Since the start of the year, I’ve been trying to do less, better. And, in the process, I’ve reinforced a lesson I’d several times previously learned: the relationship between the length of my to-do list and my productivity output is shaped like a bell curve. If I don’t put things on my list, they don’t get done. (I realize that sounds tautological, but I mostly mean that I’m terrible at remembering to bang out even minor tasks in the open stretches of my day, if I don’t have them on a list in front of me.) Conversely, if I put too much on my list, my productivity similarly diminishes. I use the glut of easy tasks to procrastinate around the important ones, or reach general overwhelm and don’t do much of anything useful at all.

So getting a Goldilocks length right on my to-do list each day – not too short, not too long – makes a huge difference.

For projects, that’s meant taking a Kanban-esque approach, and strictly limiting ‘work in progress’ at every level, whether quarterly, monthly, weekly, or daily. And, by and large, that’s worked pretty well.

But a bunch of my time is also spent on more open-ended commitments – regular habits like playing the trumpet, meditating, or working out, as well as semi-regular ones, like occasionally deep-cleaning the kitchen, or making it to a museum, live theater performance, and live music show each month (at least when the world isn’t on lockdown).

For those habits, the best thing I’ve been able to do is to simply downshift their frequency – say, moving monthly ones to quarterly schedules instead – or to drop some of them completely. And, indeed, that’s helped further hone my daily list to a far more manageable length.

Still, not all of those de-prioritizations have sat well with me. While I’ve never been a consistent, daily blogger, I’ve at least previously tried to trend in that direction. But, in my habit purge, I downgraded my intention to posting weekly. And, in short, I missed it.

So, in the last week, I’ve been upshifting or adding back in a few of the habits I regretted excising or downgrading. But I’ve been doing it cautiously, trying hard not to overshoot, lest I again end up on the downhill slope on the far side of my to-do list length curve.

Really, it’s all just a playing out of one of my perpetual core struggles. For better or worse, I’m more a fox than a hedgehog. And though I genuinely believe I would accomplish more in the world were I laser-focused on a single life pursuit, I’m also passionate about a bunch of different things, and it’s exceedingly tough for me to give them up.

Hence, in turn, my tendency to overload my to-do list. So, even as I slowly build it back up, I’m trying to remind myself of my overarching push for 2020, my aim to do less, better. I’m trying to keep in front of me the old French proverb: “Qui chasse deux lièvres n’en prend pas un.” He who chases two hares, catches none.