15 june 2006
My Own Personal Chaos Theory
by Linda Breitag
Listen to an audio version of this MOMbo essay.
I don’t actually remember what chaos theory is about, although I once planned on majoring in physics in college, that is, until I found out you really did have to understand more than 8th grade math. But I have more than a passing acquaintance with chaos itself. Speaking of 8th grade, my physics teacher that year gave me the honorific “Queen Entropy,” for my ability to take simple everyday materials and leave them in a mess whose sum was greater than its parts. I’m one of those people who peel the labels off beer bottles. Who save big pieces of scrap metal for my future welding career. As I write this, a moat--of paper piles, books, various recycling receptacles, clothes that need mending, craft detritus, leftovers from packing for a trip I took two weeks ago, and bargains from our neighborhood garage salelaps at my feet on all sides. I had to move yet another pile to sit on this chair.
And that’s just physical chaos. Back in my twenties, when I could still fit everything I owned into the used Chevette my parents sold me for one dollar, I came up with a title for my autobiography: Beating Back Chaos. Yes, my personal brain is like one of those magic kitchen wipes that soak up improbably giant spills like magnets. I can go to the library not looking for anything specific, and come back with fifteen books, on topics ranging from interior decorating to Hasidic Judaism to how to raise a puppy to learning American Sign Language to the history of sub-Saharan Africa. Plus five novels. All due in three weeks. And I’ll feel bad when I have to return almost all of them unread.
And yet. I love order. I long for order. And simplicity. Clarity. Visual order, not of the straitjacket office cubicle type, but of the Zen, one asymmetrical grass stem in a handmade vase type, makes me swoon. My preferred “porn” would be along the lines of a book about Shaker life. Dust bunnies? No problem. Dust rhinos are welcome, as long as they float in a peaceful, beautiful, mostly empty space.
And mental order. Wouldn’t that be nice? Clarity, purpose, worthy goals which appeared one at a time and were accomplished with noble, clean-smelling sweat right out of a Nike ad. I would “Just Do It.” With no guilt about other goals lying dormant, about missed calls to my mom or doll-playing sessions with my daughter, let alone the small fact that I forgot to grocery shop for two weeks. Because I wouldn’t forget. It would all just fit. My mind would be a whiteboard with straight lines and gay colors, ticking off my days, with plenty of inviting space for home and work, art and fun, beach time and time for effective work to end global warming and the “liberation” of countries which would really rather be left alone.
But let’s see here. Where would I fit in that day where the puppy got loose just as I had to be at a recording session, during which I would need to somehow arrange a week of childcare and, oh right, buy those plane tickets before they go up, but wait, I was also supposed to get the next bigger size violin before Sophia’s lesson today, oh man, we haven’t even practiced this week, and jeez, the phone’s ringing and I can’t get it because I know it’s that guy who wants me to play in Bemidji but I never called Hans to see what I should charge, and man, I’ve got wicked cramps today, which I probably wouldn’t have if I hadn’t eaten all that ice cream last night and stayed up till two reading that novel about the meaning of suffering. Oh, just forget it. I’m opening a beer.
So where am I going with all this? Beats me. Oh, sorry! You probably thought I was leading up to an “aha” moment when it all clicked into place. When I realized that chaos really didn’t matter as long as I just loved my kids. Or when I realized that if I just burned (or melted, I guess) my library and credit cards, my house and brain would just naturally clear themselves up. Or maybe when I determined to make one small but key change, such as drinking wheat grass every day…
Sorry about that. But believe me, I’m still looking for that moment. I’m still beating back chaos. I just wish I could either be fine with it, along the lines of “a messy desk (or life) is the sign of a creative mind,” or actually pare it all down. I know, when I start fantasizing about being stranded on an island with just one good book, or imagine that jail might be a relief from clutter and ringing phones, it’s time to slow down. To pay better attention, prioritize just a little, remember I’m not going to live forever, and force myself to admit that maybe it’s not the year to climb Kilimanjaro. Or if it is, I’d really better not sign up for that Intensive Beginning Chinese course. I should probably go out and get some milk for breakfast instead.
Linda Breitag is a mother, songwriter and musician. She is a regular contributor to THE ZONE here on MOMbo, and she was the songwriter for our Mother’s Day anthem which was performed at Lake Harriet in Minneapolis on Mother’s Day 2006.
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