Until I started listening to Blur again, I’d forgotten the feeling of the impending end of an entire century.
I’ve been struck by how many Blur songs use the word century, or reference its ending. In “For Tomorrow,” “he’s a 20th century boy.” In “Country House,” the city-dweller is “caught up in the century’s anxieties.” And of course, in “End of a Century,” “we kiss with dry lips when we say good night… end of a century, it’s nothing special.”
Time ends, flips inside out. We fall off a cliff and into a different world than the one we’ve known, even though it’s exactly the same, changing by events rather than by numbers. I lived almost the first half of my life in a different millenium.
My mom got me a new Fitbit for Christmas, and there is now a thing called a Sleep Score. I got a grade of 72 for a little under 6 hours of sleep last night.
I would like to be graded on a more punishing scale than this. Less bell curve, more bladed pendulum swinging from the ceiling.
Also, I read an article awhile ago that claimed 6 hours of sleep is just as bad as none. I forget what the logic was and what research it drew upon–it might have been mostly about cognitive function. But 6 hours of sleep is most certainly not as bad as none because the extent to which I feel like shit still matters.
There’s nothing like becoming a parent to turn someone into a militant, judgmental psychopath. A common complaint is that our culture has become increasingly polarized. I often wonder if this is true, or if this statement is a result of nostalgia. As parenting goes, the polarization is here now, and easy to spot, starting with natural birth versus hospital birth and breastmilk versus formula. Once toddlerhood comes about, there’s child leashes versus YOU MONSTER WHY WOULD YOU LEASH A CHILD LIKE SOME KIND OF ANIMAL?*
That’s where I am now.
I started researching this topic when my toddler was about a month into walking, and her running off into the road became a tangible possibility. Was a leash something we’d need or want, or was this now considered a barbaric practice better left in the 1980s?
What I found at the start of this research process didn’t help me at all. There haven’t been a lot of studies done on child leashes. In lieu of science, the internet served up a chunky stew of thinking errors, logical fallacies, and ad hominem attacks.
In other words, the discussion of child leashes borders on useless. In a state of reactionary horror, the anti side won’t entertain practical considerations, instead screaming about ethical questions that they don’t bother to ask. The pro side has seemingly been more willing to look the pragmatic side, but the ethical questions are the elephant knocking politely at the front door, still having not made it into the room.
In the would-be Venn diagram of these two sides, both lack questions that should be asked, and the overlap between sides is crescent-moon thin.
That’s where I come in. I have either no sides, or many. I’m an amorphous cloud with no direction.
I’m pro rationality. I’m pro critical thinking. I’m pro questioning.
Forget sides. If you’re figuring things out, here are some useful questions to ask about child leashes and other parenting choices:
Is there any scientific research to support either position?
In terms of physical effects?
In terms of psychological effects?
How old is the research?
Who funded it?
Is it applicable to all types of leashes, or only a particular kind?
The answer to the big question, unfortunately, is “not very much.”
How does being leashed affect the child?
In the long term?
In the short term?
Does this encourage the traits I want to instill in my child?
Does leashing encourage or curtail a willingness to explore?
Does it encourage or curtail bodily autonomy?
And which of those things do you want?
The antis say no, duh, your kid is on a leash. The pros say yes, because you’re now enabled to take your kid into the environment and let them walk.
Is the leash a response to realistic dangers or imagined ones?
Is my view on leashes, as it is now, consistent with other views that I hold?
Would it make more sense to avoid the situation in question, at least until the child is older?
Are there some situations where leashing is more or less acceptable?
Are there some situations in which it’s worth trading off long-term effects for the sake or safety?
Long term psychological damage is meaningless if a child is truly harmed. But if you can avoid the situation altogether, wouldn’t that be preferable?
Is it the most pragmatic solution?
Do leashes even work?
If so, are they effective, particularly versus other options?
Have you fixated on the leash as a solution when there is a different root problem that needs to be fixed?
Some anti-leash folks say that kids need to be disciplined, not leashed. That statement itself is a huge can of worms, but does point to a potential root problem that might need to be addressed.
Also, I can say from experience that leashes don’t always work. I was leashed as a child, and I still remember squirming out of my harness at the fabric store and hiding in colorful bolts of patterned cotton.
No, I have no idea how it affected me psychologically. I did enjoy the fabric though.
In his latest season of Revisionist History, Malcolm Gladwell did a series on “thinking like a Jesuit” and using Jesuit reasoning to solve moral dilemmas by looking at the particulars of a situation. In this case, one might ask, “Is a child leash closer to a set of handcuffs, which might hold a prisoner, or a safety strap on a carseat?” One might also ask if it’s like having a dog on a leash, and if so, is having a dog on a leash positive or negative.
It’s a lot of thought-work for one seemingly minor decision. But habit shapes who we are, and if a leash is something that would potentially be used often, it’s worth considering possible outcomes. The gap between intention and actuality is where our personalities form.
When I first drafted this several months ago, I decided that I wasn’t going to conclude by choosing a side. I would leave it open, even if writing this and thinking through all my questions had swayed me to a particular side.
This hasn’t been an issue that I’ve spent endless months grappling with, or lost any sleep over. When I first drafted this, my toddler was still at the stage of strollers and wrap carriers. In the interim, as this sat on my hard drive and I posted other things, my child went from a hesitant walker to a kid who yells, “RUNNING RUNNING RUNNING” at the top of her lungs and climbs anything. We passed into the stage at which, if we were going to use leashes, we would be using them.
You know the saying that actions speak louder than words?
By my actions, I’m on the side of no leashes.
But my circumstances allow this. I live on a rural area; I don’t need to contend with busy city streets. I also have only one child.
I taught her not to run into the road. Considering that she just turned two, I’m happy with how well she does. However, I have no way of knowing if that’s down to successful parenting, or if it’s because she’s an easier kid than I was.
The research that hasn’t been done yet is what would’ve swayed me to one side or another. As it is, while my actions have put me on the no-leash side, philosophically and ethically, I’m still neutral.
Neutral, and excessively pro-questioning.
*People like to ignore that they too are animals. I’ve taught my two-year-old to answer the question “What type of animal are you?” The answer is “hooman.”
The other day I wrote about how I ended up with a love triangle in Stars Fall Out–something that surprised me (but shouldn’t have) and made me suspicious, as I’m not typically one for romantic storylines.
There’s also another love triangle, and that’s me two-timing Stars Fall Out with its sequel, Bitter Machines.
And there’s a third one, which is me making a love triangle diagram instead of working on either book.
And a fourth one, in which I’m in a relationship with a human being and run away to my office to do all of the above.
Apparently, if you have a secret marriage and an emotional affair, relationship math dictates that you will end up with a love triangle. This came about organically with Stars Fall Out after I developed a couple of the characters more, so I think it deserves its place in the story.
But I’ve been wrestling with resolving it in a non-melodramatic way that deepens the already-existing conflict and doesn’t hijack the rest of the story, kill my ending, or kill my characters, who already have future book storylines.
I’m less confident in this excerpt than in most of the other excerpts I’ve posted. Apparently, it’s tough to write a balanced, reasonable jealous rage.
But he didn’t stop. He hauled himself through streets the color of winter’s muddy death at the hands of a vicious spring, and he came to The House by the Sea Inn.
It loomed up at the top of the hill, a fortification against everything he needed to know and didn’t want to know. His heart thudded in his chest from the exertion of the hills, and only grew heavier, faster like the chugging of machinery.
No one had told him this was where the floppy-haired glass merchant was staying, but he’d pieced it together. The last job of the Rill Ryonin bakery had been a king’s ransom of rolls. They had been sent here, and Tyatavar had been the one to make that delivery.
And after that, hours after that, they’d leaned together against the wall of the locksmith’s shop, their faces lit by firelight that could never touch them.
He had been there with her there in the thick of things, where a son-in-law should be.