As part of a slower and more intentional life, I write these weekly emails and make Fernsage, a digital commonplace book.
What’s worse than a kid having HFMD?
Two kids having HFMD.— Me, a dad
I looked up at the clock. It was only 8:30 am. My kids had been up for three hours, screaming, crying, and refusing to drink or eat. They had caught HFMD a few days earlier.
Hand, foot, and mouth disease. HFMD. Probably the four letters parents of little ones fear the most. My son caught it once when he was just eight months old. He barely drank for three days because the ulcers were giving him so much pain. Desperate, we tried frozen milk, yogurt, and even ice cream. It was two miserable weeks for him and for us.
We knew what was ahead for us. At least a week of crying, feeding troubles, and weight loss. On top of that, we would miss work, cancel activities, clean the house endlessly, and avoid contracting the disease ourselves. Everyone would be stuck at home, frustrated, annoying one another, and melting down.
I knew this too shall pass. But how do we deal with it when we are in the thick of it? When you are in the middle of a major project and you suddenly have to take care of sick kids for a week or two? When you are not only overwhelmed by worry but also frustration and fatigue? When it feels unfair this has to happen to you?
In the second century, Marcus Aurelius led a decade-long military campaign along the Danube River. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he also had to manage the devastating Antonine Plague sweeping across the empire. To deal with the stress, frustration, and anger, he wrote reminders to himself, often drawing on earlier philosophers like Epictetus. For instance, to remind himself not to take time for granted, he wrote:
Epictetus used to say that, as you kissed your child, you should say in your heart: ‘to-morrow maybe you will die’. ‘Those are words of ill omen.’ ‘No,’ he replied, ’nothing that means an act of Nature is of evil omen, or it would be a bad omen to say that the corn has been reaped.’
While that might sound extreme, it was a harsh reality for him. He and his wife Faustina had at least 13 children, and fewer than half lived to adulthood. Thankfully, we don’t have to worry about such a high mortality rate nowadays. But we should never forget how fragile life can be.
This practice is known as hypomnēmata. The practitioner collects quotes from books he read or conversations he heard. Every day, he opens his notebook, finds passages relevant to his current struggles, and meditates on them. Reviewing the passages and keeping them top of mind daily helps him reframe his current circumstances and inspires him to act in the way he wishes to. It is kind of like watching Top Gun and feeling inspired to be courageous. But the effect fades, so you watch a different action movie each day.
One of the first passages I meditated on this week was from Clayton Christensen’s How Will You Measure Your Life?:
In the words of Andy Grove: “To understand a company’s strategy, look at what they actually do rather than what they say they will do.” Resource allocation works pretty much the same way in our lives and careers.
I have been writing about wanting to be a great dad. Have I been living up to it? Have I been doing the hard long-term work and being with my children when they need me the most? Have I been patient and understanding while they are sick? Have I been regulating my own emotions and anger, especially when my children are upset and throwing tantrums?
My son hates me brushing his teeth. I usually coax him patiently, but I wasn’t at my best when I was short on sleep. I insisted he brush his teeth even though he was sick. I almost lost it, but I caught myself. It dawned on me that it must be extra painful to have his teeth brushed when he has ulcers in his mouth.
When I wanted to complain that my situation was unfair, I meditated on Charlie Munger’s advice to not wallow in our misfortunes:
I had a friend who carried a thick stack of linen-based cards. When someone would make a comment that reflected self-pity, he would slowly and portentously pull out his huge stack of cards, take the top one, and hand it to the person. The card said, “Your story has touched my heart. Never have I heard of anyone with as many misfortunes as you.”
Well, you can say that’s waggery, but I suggest that every time you find you’re drifting into self-pity—I don’t care what the cause, your child could be dying of cancer, self-pity is not going to improve the situation—just give yourself one of those cards. It’s a ridiculous way to behave and when you avoid it you get a great advantage over everybody else, almost everybody else, because self-pity is a standard condition and yet you can train yourself out of it.
Charlie Munger was left with almost nothing after a divorce, and then lost his 9-year-old son to leukemia. (What is HFMD in comparison?) Yet he believed one shouldn’t let a single blow become worse through wallowing. He cited Epictetus’s view that every unfair setback is an opportunity to behave well and learn something new.
I expected to get more and more frustrated as the week went on. I’m more tired for sure, but I’m handling each meltdown a little better. Each tantrum was (and still is) a chance to practice patience and empathy. (Of course, I’d be glad for easier practice scenarios but this is supposed to be hard.)
When I worried about neglecting my business and writing, I thought of Anna Quindlen’s A Short Guide to a Happy Life:
Don’t ever confuse the two, your life and your work. That’s what I have to say. The second is only a part of the first. Don’t ever forget what a friend once wrote to Senator Paul Tsongas when the senator had decided not to run for reelection because he’d been diagnosed with cancer: “No man ever said on his deathbed I wish I had spent more time at the office.”
In How Will You Measure Your Life, Clayton Christensen also wrote:
[my classmates who inadvertently invested in lives of hollow happiness] prioritized things that gave them immediate returns—such as a promotion, a raise, or a bonus—rather than the things that require long-term work, the things that you won't see a return on for decades, like raising good children.
I wrote that I want to prioritize my family and build my business around them. Have I lived up to that commitment? But also, when the kids finally fall asleep, do I watch Netflix or write?
This week has tested my commitment. Thankfully I work for myself, so I can drop everything to be home for my kids. I still wanted to keep writing, so I have written several field notes and this newsletter when the kids slept, albeit more hurriedly than I’d have liked.
I’m certainly not a perfect dad. One moment I’m marveling at how big my son is and how loving he is to his little sister. Next moment I’m pulling my hair out wondering why he has to melt down and cry over seemingly little things. There are moments when I wonder if I’ll make it to the end of the week (and whether the illness will end then).
What I love about hypomnēmata is it doesn’t require me to be perfect. In fact, by doing it, I’m acknowledging that I’m not perfect and that I’m working on it.
I don’t know when this will end. My kids are still sick, and I’m drained.
But I know I’ll open my notebook tomorrow and meditate on another passage.