Unfamiliar - 069
The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Abraham
I'm on my way out to lunch when the tears start.
Abe, who recently turned 3 years old, is too old for a nap yet too tired to make it through the day without one. He's melting down. Not like a candle. No, this melting is not slow and elegant. It's a nuclear reactor. Sirens blare urging passersby to evacuate. Shockwaves ripple all around. Stand in the radius of the meltdown and you're bound to catch some radiation. Or at least some thrown shrapnel in the form of a thrown toy or food.
It's insane how quickly he turns.
Literally 20 minutes before, he put his head down on my lap. "Wanna veggie stwah, Grovah?" (I accidentally started this thing where I talk to my kids like Grover from Sesame Street. Yes, it's weird but it also seems to help. When they're sad or upset, sometimes talking to Grover is easier than talking to dad. The conversation turns playful, and the moment feels suddenly sillier and lighter.)
But during this epic meltdown, Grover is not helping. Nothing is. Toys are flying, crying is now screaming, drool and snot are mixing, and we clear out anything breakable.
Like any intense feeling or major storm, sometimes the best you can do is find cover and wait it out.
And amid the chaos, I think to myself, "who is this boy?"
Ten minutes later, a pouch of fruitsnacks and one Bluey later and my sweet boy returns.
It's making me think a lot about how something so familiar can seem so strange. And then also how strangers can also feel familiar making us feel comfortable instantly. Maybe it's part of the reason I took on this Grover personality (hallo ev'ry baDEEE!).
Let's take a trip into the unfamiliar.
Semantic Satiation
The first time I said "I love you" to my wife, I was so nervous. These days, though, we say it every night.
I love you. I love you too. I love you. I love you too. I love YOU. I love you TOO. I LOVE you. I love you.
It's automatic.
It just becomes something we do before we turn out the lights.
I love you. I love you too. Click.
There's a funny thing that happens when we say the same word over and over.
Before long, it loses its meaning. It's a phenomenon called Semantic Satiation, a familiar word or phrase turns into something that feels completely foreign.
Repetition eventually leads to nothing. No meaning.
Button. Button. Butt on. But ton. Button. ButtON. BUTTon. Button. But. Ton. Bu. tton. Button.
Every night for their whole lives we repeat the same mantra to our kids. Does it lose its meaning when after a thousand nights in a row? How many times can we say "I love you the most the most the most. Just the way you are. No matter what." before they ignore it?
Then I saw something happen.
I was with Abe at the park last week. He's climbing up the big spiderweb and made it all the way to the top. On his way down, I heard him say to himself "go slow, watch where you step."* It's something that I've repeated to him over and over when he climbs.
When you repeat something over and over, sure it loses meaning. But it also gets internalized. We don't need to hear it to know that it's true. It becomes an inner monologue. The things we repeat to our kids will be what they say to themselves when they get scared, overwhelmed, or hurt.
Repetition leads to bravery and self-confidence.
Sure, repetition makes things strange and unfamiliar. But it also is a way to teach that love and security are part of our routine.
Last night, I stayed up late working. I crawled quietly into bed and turned to Lauren already deep in sleep. I leaned over quietly and whispered, "I love you too." Then clicked off the light.
Inspired by Phil Kaye's poem "Repetition"
A photo I took from my car this month (read the accompanying essay below)
Sonder
I'm driving an unfamiliar street to pick Golda up from camp.
I turn a corner to a quiet residential street and see an open U-haul truck and a man behind it working on a table. But wait. That's not a table.
Is it?
NO!
It's an... open casket? He's digging in there for something. I drive slower and gawk for a minute. I snapped the picture above.
• • • • • •
In 1998, the movie The Truman Show was about a man who was unknowingly being watched as his life played out in a fictional world that revolved around him. Some psychologists have noted an uptick in what they call Truman Syndrome– the feeling that the world is not real and instead, a production of actors and events centered around the patient.
Sometimes life can feel that way.
But when I see a a man working on a casket... When I cross paths with a family of strangers at the airport talking about the first thing they're going to do when they land... when I see a woman on a park bench in New York City crying... I'm reminded of a word:
SONDER
It means "The profound realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background"
Everyone's else's life is as complex as yours. Everyone.
The woman scanning your groceries is thinking about something else.
The person standing next to you on the train is worrying about someone.
The plumber who came to fix your problem has her own.
Every stranger you've never met is living a complex and challenging life.
They're finding their way and managing through today.
Just like you.
Graphic Design elements by Armin Hoffman
Re-Break The Ice
I forgot where my aunt works.
It may not seem like a big deal, but when I saw her last, she was talking about this convention she goes to every year like I'm supposed to remember or know. I felt stuck nodding my head and asking surface questions– how was the flight out there? Did you have any free time?
It seems to me the conversation is frozen–stuck because I don't know what she does for work.
It's not a ridiculous thought. We all have that. I've seen that same person every week for over a year now at school dropoff. And I've just forgotten his name. I know his kid's name.
Sometimes, it feels like once we're too familiar with someone, we can't ask basic get-to-know-you questions. The story I tell myself is that they'll think I'm not listening. Or not a good friend. Or selfish. Or stupid.
The relationship has gone cold– it's on ice.
And then, at a community event last weekend, a friend of mine asked – "I'm sorry, you may have shared this already but can you remind me what you do?"
And I went into my shpiel. No second thought.
That wasn't weird. I don't feel offended. And I warmed right up.
So I got to thinking. If my dad said "I'm sorry I don't remember why you're going to LA next week" am I upset? If someone I've met a few times asked "Can you tell me your name again? I'm so sorry..." is it the end of the world? If you invited me to the annual music festival this weekend because they forgot we already discussed I'm out of town, I don't feel ignored.
There's a shift happening here. Maybe the idea to consider is that first, everyone's got a lot going on (see "sonder" above). Second, we're always learning which means we're always getting to know each other (ask anyone in a long-term relationship).
If you're afraid to ask something, you NEED to ask. You're not the only one. I learned that in school.
What's your name, again?
Remind me what you do for work.
I totally forgot. When is your birthday?
Ask the question so you're able to be more genuine. To re-break ice and go deeper.
Everyone you know used to be a stranger.
Everyone you know is someone you can know better.
Anti-Ghosts 👻
There's a law in New Jersey that you can't pump your own gas. So I'm waiting in the car while the attendant fills my tank. I hear the thump-click and he returns the nozzle. Walking towards my window with my credit card, he looks me in the eye and says, wholeheartedly, "Thank you, my brother."
I know in other languages they use that phrase. Brother. But I really felt that for a moment, we were connected. Related, even in some strange way.
The small interactions with the gas station attendant, a wave to the across the street neighbor, or having the barista recognize me with a smile makes me feel seen. I don't have to know everyone's name. Not every wave has to turn into small talk has to turn into a best friendship (or friendship at all!).
I remember not so long ago actively avoiding neighbors and strangers and looking down on small talk. But what is a life without those? To go about our day without a wave, a smile, a "hello" and "thank you", eye contact, handshake, "this weather, huh?" is to be invisible. We can be ghosts passing each other like ships in the night that stare at their phones.
Or we can be anti-ghosts.
There's value in micro-interactions with strangers. They make us feel seen; a member of the fabric of our community. And belonging improves our longevity and wellness.
Strangers keep us alive.
Thank you for being here.
Thank you for reading.
Thank you for replying.
Whether I've ever met you in person or not, thank you, my brothers and sisters.
Refridgeyalater,
Jake
Get Familiar
Crossing The Unknown Sea by David Whyte
Women Talking by Miriam Toews
Mating in Captivity by Esther Perel
"Repetition" poem by Phil Kaye
Longevity and Being Social (Harvard School of Public Health)
The Truman Show (Wikipedia)
The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows by John Koenig
(*Sidenote: I think telling kids "be careful" is silly because they don't know what to do. Saying that is mostly for them to consider the parent's anxiety. Instead, I try to get specific about what I want them to do or what to look out for. Go slow. This could break. It's slippery. Hold on. Are all clearer and more practical directions than "be careful")
Ahem! Me again.
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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.