The other day my four and a half year old and I woke to a stormy morning here in NZ. He peered out the window into the dark morning skies, wickedly rough seascape, and howling winds and proclaimed with utter certainty, and just a tinge of caution, “Dad, wake up, it looks very, very unpredictable outside!”
It was almost as if he said, “Dad, watch your back, there’s a storm on the horizon,” or “Hold on tight, you never know what’s coming.” It was one of those moments, without hesitation I accepted it for what it was and rolled out of bed to get a better look. In my little world, these kinds of comments don’t go unnoticed.
In my late teens I stumbled upon a line from Tom Stoppard that has greatly impacted my outlook on the day-to-day. He feeds the line to Rosencrantz, “It is the unpredictability of the predictable that keeps life interesting,” I think, or maybe it was the opposite, not sure, exactly, but it all ends up in the same place, anyway, trust me I have thought about it some: I learned early on that Chaos theory has merit, or at the very least deserves a seat at the table. All thanks to my AP English class.
I pulled the curtains open, shook off the early morning chill and stood with Vince looking out in silence. He looked outside, full of wonder – so did I. Then, after some time, as if sensing I was struggling, he took my hand and followed up with, “Dad, don’t worry, all life has meaning.”
Are you kidding me?
And followed up immediately with, “I know, I know, let’s both have Cheerios today.” In a flash he had moved on, sprinting to the cupboard to grab the cereal box, leaving me to struggle with the sheer randomness of it all. And I say “moved on” but I am not so sure he was actually set at any point long enough to have it be considered permanent enough to move on from. It was all, so, well, fluid. I could barely move.
I watched him brush past the dilemma, the significance, the chaos, with such easy and grace it was startling. He didn’t pause to struggle with the “whys” and “why not’s?” the “what’s” and what ifs.” He didn’t bother to search for meaning. After all, it was “morning” time!
So I followed him out and joined him at the table, watched him carefully pour out two bowls of the Cheerios and milk, both filled to the brim, and then thoroughly enjoyed a “super big” breakfast.
Indeed, it was unpredictable outside.
Chaos and meaning be damned!
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