Senses - 063
🫵 Losing Touch
I worry sometimes that I'm turning into a robot. Or maybe a zombie.
The monotony of suburban fatherhood has me worrying that I'm going to wake up in 10 years and wonder where I went.
Not the time. But me.
As a parent, it feels like I pour so much of myself into my kids.
Like eventually I could disappear.
I find myself wondering:
how do I keep in touch with myself?
Touch. It's not really "touch" is it?
It's connection.
When we talk about our senses, it often implies more.
Taste can be personal style.
Hearing can be awareness.
Sight can be planning.
Smell can be intuition.
Make sense?
Let's dig deeper.
Digital Photo by Gabriel Guerrero Caroca
🎢 Sense of Adventure
After a conversation with a friend of mine, he challenged me to list my values.
Then define them.
"Knowing our values," he said, "keeps us on our path."
In my rough draft, I included "travel."
Wait. That can't be right. I haven't really traveled in 5 years (#pandemicwithkids)...
so what is it about travel that I actually value?
Exploring new places or cultures?
Meeting new people?
Learning new things?
It took me weeks to uncover that it's not actually travel that I value.
It's adventure!
So how would I define that for myself now?
There was a time that it was Ferris Bueller days, bucket list items, and passport stamps.
But it's different today. Maybe something like..."Doing activities out of my normal routine."
Ok... a new diner. New museum. New park.
But something was missing for me. It's not just doing the thing.
Adventure is about the intention behind it.
So I rewrote it as: "Trying new experiences to learn and create memories."
Extreme bubbles in the bath?
Eating a new kind of fruit?
Snowball fight?
Yes!
Even with my changing life, my values can stay the same.
They just mean different things in different phases.
I don't need to crash a wedding or book a last-minute trip to Bali to know that I am living adventurously.
Want to go to a new diner with us next weekend?
⚖️ Vestibular Sense
After I would share a difficult story
my former therapist would often ask me to close my eyes.
"Where is
this stress living
in your body?" she would ask.
My body is trying to tell me something.
Shhh.
I close my eyes
Am I listening?
The exercise
connected the world outside
to my inner world.
I usually disconnect
from my body.
Stop listening.
We all do it.
Ignore the tired. Distance ourselves from satiety. Resist the itch for a break.
We do it and call it grit. Or hustle. Or discipline.
What is my body saying?
This headache doesn't mean take a pill and get rid of it.
"You're dehydrated. You had too much caffeine." My body says.
This bad back doesn't mean power through the day.
"Slow down. Stop. Rest." It insists.
That gut churn doesn't mean stop, don't do this.
"Go do the thing BECAUSE it's scary!"
Your body is telling you something, too.
Shhh.
Close your eyes.
Listen.
🤝 Common Sense
Suddenly, Abe runs out the front door.
He's running right for the street.
I'm 5 steps behind him, terrified he'll be hit by a car.
Just before he reaches the curb, I scoop him up.
He's laughing hysterically like it's a game.
It's strange to be in a position to teach someone common sense.
I've been thinking about that idea.
Common sense– the logic of how the world works, understood by nearly everyone.
But as I'm teaching it to Abe and Golda, I believe it means something more than that.
Common sense is the not-so-obvious idea that we share our world with others.
It's common sense to not take the whole cake for yourself.
Or to get onto the elevator before other people get off.
Or to look where you're walking. Don't run in the street. Wait your turn.
Common sense is knowing that we share this space with other people.
So that means we need to be doing two things.
First, we look out for ourselves because other people are looking out for themselves. Like don't run into the street.
Second, we need to look out for other people, because we are not alone here. Be helpful. Be generous. Assume best intent.
We share this world with other people.
We share this life with other people.
It's common sense.
😂 Sense of Humor
There's 8 of us crowded into my mom's hospital room.
It's two weeks after her stroke and she's still a little slow.
We've decided as a family not to pursue rehab and we're preparing to bring her home for hospice.
And here she is crackin' jokes as if she were on stage.
Quoting Dana Carvey - "This is a bunchabullshit!"
Quoting Steve Martin– "May I go to the bathroom please? ... Ahhhhhh..." (She had a catheter in)
That's how I was raised.
There's always room for a joke.
That week, my dad had thought that she had a bank account that he couldn't access.
So I was on a hunt for her passwords.
I checked her computer. Searched all her Google Docs. Read hundreds of post-it notes all around her desk and monitor.
Nothing.
The 8 of us are around her in her hospital bed while she's awake.
"MOM!" I hold her hand and speak as loud and clearly as I can.
"WHERE.
DO.
YOU.
KEEP.
YOUR.
PASSWORDS?"
She thinks for a moment.
"My...
passwords...
...
are...
..."
I THROW my head back, my arms collapse, and I stick my tongue out. 😵 Cough. Ughlll.
It is simultaneously the funniest thing I've ever done and the most heartbreaking.
But there's always room for a joke.
Especially when things are hard and heavy.
That's how I was raised.
(And how my kids will be, too.)
🧠 ESP/Sixth Sense
I have this sense that comes with years of working on creative projects like these.
Which is that it could be better.
But here we are, end of the month. Time to send this off.
Part of working in creativity is learning to hone this intuition.
It's a sense.
But it's also a skill.
It can be improved.
And whether it's a side project or business, your kids' health or what you're wearing today, we all have intuition. A sense of the things in our world. And we can sense when they're off. Or just right.
I hope you listen to that today.
Thanks for spending some time with me here.
I'm grateful for you and any reflections you share.
Until next month....
Refrigeyalater,
Jake
Oh, hey it’s me again just following up.
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The Email Refrigerator is a monthly delivery of essays, poetry, imagery, and thoughts, written and curated by Jake Kahana. Why a refrigerator? Well, it's where we look for snacks, a little freshness, and where we hang the latest, greatest work. And besides, "newsletter" sounds like spam.