Quantum Acrobatics

Going with the flow in spite of myself

Quantum Acrobat

I have a sordid relationship with chaos.

In my youth, my nuclear family thwarted it - outsmarting with ritualized planning akin to perfectionism - kind and rigid ways of being that left only a sliver of light below the locked door of uncertainty. Breakfast was always cereal, poured and portioned by my father, except Saturdays when it might be pancakes, waffles, or French toast made by my mother. Bed time was 8:30. No one left their rooms early - my mom placed a garage sale sticker near the hour marker on my digital clock after this precocious toddler wandered out one morning at 3:37. No, my love. Seven by the dot. We waited an hour after lunch before swimming, and had leftovers for dinner on Tuesday and Friday, with most Thursdays out at the all-you-care-to-eat salad bar where we each loaded our plates with nearly identical foods and took no more than what might have been portioned out at home.

It would be convenient to bestow the responsibility of this structure onto my parents and take no ownership at all, but in fact, I recall the year I turned seven, when I asked Santa for a tackle box into which I could store my Legos. Not in a pile, like the feral children of the neighborhood, but in a refined and logical way, by size and shape and color. Then I could plan and build, layering patterns into the bricks. How those kids with Lego buckets ever accomplished a full inventory is beyond me.