So far, the tactical parts of parenthood have been easy. We were lucky in that Remy’s birth was easy for both her and Elizabeth. Just a few days after getting home from the hospital, Elizabeth and I walked Remy in the stroller to and from her first pediatrician appointment. It was too far of a walk for Elizabeth that early and we learned our lesson, but the fact that we tried was a testament to Elizabeth’s strength through the entire process. We had concerns over Remy’s size before she was born, but she has quickly erased those fears. A newborn has basic needs and by paying close attention, one can even figure out which of those needs is the highest priority at any given moment. She sleeps fairly well, she took to breastfeeding (in large part to Elizabeth’s determination and hundreds of hours of TikTok research on the subject), and I’ve picked up some cool diaper tricks.

What has been more challenging is adjusting to what is important and possible. There have been studies that show that parts of men’s brains shrink as a result of starting parenthood. I feel like I felt that shrinking in real time. We took Remy on a stroller walk to Riverside park near our apartment (a shorter and easier trip for postpartum Elizabeth) and sat on the benches during one of NYC’s several false springs. She asked me what I was thinking about, and I completely failed to articulate the sense that I had run out of time for all the things that I needed to do before becoming a parent.

Some of those feelings were the sense of dread at the passing of time that I have always had. When describing myself, I always included the word “musician”, but I’m embarrassed by the fact that I haven’t written a complete song since high school, and I’ve never written a good song in my life. If I were to die tomorrow, I’d leave no lasting legacy of recorded music outside of bad unplugged takes from my iPhone. Even those will disappear once Apple stops charging me $1.99 a month for iCloud.

The more pressing fears were all the things that I had not done to prepare for Remy. Outside of covering roughly twenty hours of work during each of the first two weeks of my paternity leave (which fairly caught the ire of Elizabeth and was a less easy part of early parenting), I spent probably 10+ hours trying to build a better note taking app so that I could begin documenting my own take on the classics of literature and philosophy for Remy to use as a guide when she is ready to take that on. This is ignoring the fact that I have read an infinitesimal portion of the classics of literature and philosophy and was stressing too that I had had only a few years to complete my own classical education before I’d need to start hers.

In a similar stressed vein, I’ve been playing the classics of bebop on repeat, trying to get ‘Round Midnight drilled into her brain so that it comes as naturally as Mary Had a Little Lamb (which I also plunked out on a mini electric keyboard on the floor during a tummy time session. I read the audition requirements for second graders at a Manhattan musical elementary school and figured waiting to start lessons until month two was probably too late.) Even thinking about starting Remy’s music lessons made me feel behind on my own musical education, because if I was asked to take a chorus on Round Midnight right now, it would be one of the worst solos you’ve ever heard. How can I teach her to take musical approaches to jazz standards if I can’t execute on them myself?

The good news is, I think I’m over it. I am now feeling that many more things in life are not precious. I am not precious about where whatever amateur thoughts I have on Hobbes and Rousseau end up. For years, I’ve kept all my notes and past writing from the first iteration of the Palmer Press in markdown files on my computer, because it avoids the ‘vendor lock in’ of more popular and accessible note taking tools, because I was afraid I would ‘lose’ them if something happened to Notion or Evernote. The fact that I have chosen to publish here today versus the standalone blog I barely managed for the last 6 years is proof that I am choosing to do something easily in the here-and-now versus vainly preparing my words for perpetuity. I am not anxious about trying to record some proof of my existence as a musician. Even though a copy of The New Lifetime Reading Plan arrived this week, I am not going to pretend that my scribbles in the margins of the world’s great books will mean anything to Remy or to anyone else. Besides, I had always known that she might not give a damn about jazz or philosophy anyways, but it still felt like a failure to not have something prepared. That feeling has passed.

It is instead much more clear to me what is precious. The time spent laying on the couch as Remy sleeps on my chest is more important and meaningful than all the other things that I could create or work on that would have always disappeared in time. The experiences of shared moments with her, or Elizabeth, or any of my friends or loved ones are what is truly rare and precious. That has always been true, but it feels more obvious. I only have 18 years where I can really be an overly involved father, and I’ve already burned through one month of that time and regret that I haven’t used it as wisely as I could have.

“Now all them things that seemed so important, well, mister, they vanished right into the air” - Bruce Springsteen, The River

As a closing note, why then, if this is all so much less important, choose now to restart a blog or whatever this is? Well, for one, newborns still need naps and writing my thoughts down is a lot quieter than practicing guitar. Secondly, writing things down helps me make sense of the world, and making sense still seems like a good trait to look for in a Dad.