The Creative Act of Parenting

Parenting advice from Rick Rubin

In May, en route to Charlotte for Roomate CWD, M.D.’s wedding, I grabbed off the display shelf at Hudson News a copy of Rick Rubin’s The Creative Act: A Way of Being. I had been hearing about this book everywhere — a review was featured along side my original “Kid Food” post in

WARKITCHEN

a few months ago — and figured it was worth reading on the plane.

Rick Rubin is a music producer. If you’ve listened to music in the last four decades, you’ve heard something he’s produced. He’s worked with Johnny Cash, with Jay-Z, with Metallica; with the Beastie Boys, Aerosmith, Weezer, Shakira, the Dixie Chicks¹. That the guy has had a remarkably successful career goes without saying.

In The Creative Act, Rubin outlines his philosophy on the creative process. Written primarily for artists — or those who pretend to be artists — I found the book fascinating. While I’d hesitate to call myself a creative, I couldn’t help but dog-ear page after page, making notes to come back to and reference. I won’t try to summarize it here — but the aforementioned WARKITCHEN review does a great job getting to the essence of it — and instead encourage you to give it a read. Even if you don’t consider yourself creative or an artist, you’ll likely pick something up. Rubin writes that “talent is the ability to let ideas manifest themselves through you” — and you can let the book and the process help you do that in any context.

I think of the book as a rosary or prayer beads — it won’t do the creative work for you, but it will augment, focus, and guide it. It’s like a firestarter for creativity. As I read, I kept relating sentences, ideas, to my own work writing this newsletter, to my professional career, to my life. But, interestingly enough, what I most often thought about was Rubin’s writing and creative process in the context of parenting. The Creative Act could very easily be rewritten with the subtitle of A Way of Parenting.

As I neared the end of the book, I felt those ideas — those “transmissions” as Rubin calls them — manifest themselves, compelling me to distill them into some thoughts on parenting. This post, this reduction², is mostly for my own benefit — to help me delineate my thinking on how to raise good children into something I can refer back to — but hopefully there are a few others out there who might find it helpful as well³.

With that, we don’t have a recipe for food this week —instead, we have a recipe for a life well-led. Hopefully I’m not overstepping my bounds here, so let’s see where this takes us.

Part I: Tuning In

“Tuning In” is the title of the second chapter of The Creative Act, but it very easily could be the title. Rubin’s entire philosophy on producing good art begins with listening to the universe. We channel these transmissions into “energetic material that can’t be physically grasped,” letting you “[draw] down [on] the ideas that the universe is making available.”

To be a good parent, you need to do the same thing. You need to tune into your children. You need to “create an open space that allows [you]” to notice and engage with your children. You need to have that very same sense of wonder that your children have. As Rubin writes:

[C]hildren… experience much less interference between receiving ideas and internalizing them. [They] accept new information with delight instead of making comparisons to what [they] already believe… live in the moment rather than worry about future consequences… are spontaneous rather than [worrisome] about future consequences… [are] spontaneous… [and,] curious, not jaded. Even the most ordinary experiences in life are met with a sense of awe. Deep sadness and intense excitement… come within moments of each other.

Any one with a baby or toddler knows exactly what he is talking about here. Seeing a bus — a yellow bus! — can be the most amazing experience in the world; seeing it disappear from sight, the most devastating. As parents, we not only need to acknowledge that this is how the world works from our children’s point of view, but we need to live the same way. We need to experience the sheer joy of watching our children, being with our children, growing with our children — and also be able to embrace the challenges. We, too, much be able to pivot from frustration to support quickly, acknowledging what our children need. And the only way to do that is to tune in to them, to be present.

Rubin later writes about “nature as a teacher,” how by “simply [being] aware when your breath is taken away by moments of great beauty” we “move closer to our own nature” and “[awaken] the possibility within us.”

You need to be doing the same with your kids. In a chapter about self-doubt, Rubin conjectures that the reason why many great artists die so young is that they are so closely attuned with the world, that they have “incredible sensitivity.” Children are the same way — they see great joy and they see great sadness in everything. They are “confronted with big feelings all the time [and these] emotions can be confusing and overwhelming.” As parents, it is our responsibility to notice this and help guide our children away from the “dark clouds,” help navigate the “charged emotions,” and ultimately work through them and thrive. If you’re not listening, not noticing, not being aware of your child’s sense of wonder, you can’t do this.

Part II: Work Without a Map

“It’s a healthy practice to approach our work with as few accepted rules as possible,” Rubin writes — by doing so, it’s much easier to “think outside the standard paradigm.” When you have set outcomes in mind, a fixed and rigid way of doing things, any deviation from that path can feel like a failure. While some structure is helpful — and certainly needed — it’s important not to lock yourself in. If you do, even if you’re tuned in, aware, and receiving the transmissions from you kids, you won’t be able to react to them. And what’s the benefit there?

This ends up being like “[writing] with no map,” and instead waiting, watching, “[seeing] what happens.” You can’t parent “through sheer will,” and instead need to “approach the process with humility.” Rubin writes that there is a “universal rule: whatever we concentrate on, we get.” This is certainly true to a point, but the inverse is as well: if we’re only concentrating on one outcome, we miss all the other paths we could take, learning that goes on, successes that aren’t immediate obvious. If you’re dead set on an activity, an outing, or an adventure going exactly as you planned, in a linear, logical, and straightforward pattern, you’re setting yourself up for failure. That’s just not how kids — and especially toddlers, as we’ve found! — work! Furthermore, sometimes, “the proven solutions are the least helpful.” What worked once won’t work again, might even make the situation worse.

Of course, you do need some destination in mind. You should have a rough idea of where you are going, how you should parent. You, like the way I like to set my goals, set an intention and then let the universe do with it what it wishes. You only job is to read the currents, catch the swells, follow the movement.

Figuring out that destination can be either the hardest or easiest part of parenting. For some people, it’s abundantly clear from the outset, from early on: they have a vision of themselves as parents and let that vision manifest itself when ready. For others — and I’d mostly include myself here — it takes a little while to envision the endpoint. This is where the wisdom of others come in.

As a parent, you should certainly be reading, learning, making yourself more knowledgeable. The best thing I did, before having Kiddo, after having Kiddo, before the Warthog, after the Warthog, and still is read books about parenting, absorbing resources, taking in new points of view. As Rubin writes, we should be “[receiving] wisdom skillfully,” “[trying] it… on,” “[seeing what] fits,” “[incorporating] what’s useful,” and “[letting] go of the rest.”

Not everything you read will be helpful — not everything will jive with how you see yourself as a parent — but until you learn about it, it won’t even be an option. Advice should be informative, not “prescriptive” — it should “open you up to another point of view and broaden your idea of what is possible.” “There’s no need to fear of learning too much,” Rubin writes — it’s “how you use the knowledge” that matters, not having it. By being more informed, more versed, you can make better and more intelligent decisions when you’re faced with challenges.

Likewise, you should have other parents as friends — “fellow travelers” as Rubin put its for other artists. You don’t need to — and certainly shouldn’t — mimic them outright, but by instead spend time with them while you “absorb and exchange… [new ways] of looking at the world.” “Creativity is contagious,” and because it’s “impossible to copy another [parent’s] point-of-view,” copying their actions — what works for them; the bed-time routines; the meal plans; the activities — can help “inspire you… to find your own voice.” View their wisdom as “information not prescription.”

Part III: Experimental Faith

When you travels without a map, you’re forced to be spontaneous, to approach each new day with innocence, ignorance, even. This might be hard at first. Speaking in generalities, my generation is used to to having a clear road map of what works and what doesn’t. Parenthood doesn’t have that type of map. You need to embrace the unknown and take flight. Holding on to preconceived notions only sets you back.

Rubin likens this to playing jazz music. To play well, you really need to “let the music play itself” and accept that “performances will be good on a good night and bad on a bad night.” This happens. Kids are good on good days and bad on bad ones. Approach each day agnostic of how the previous one went — to a certain extent, you need to let your children dictate how you “play” each day’s performance. If you expect each day to go well, it won’t; if you expect it to go poorly, you have put that frame out there. Instead, watch. Listen. React. “Not being aware of the challenge may be just what [you] need to rise to it.”

As Rubin writes: “The work,” or, in this case, parenting, “reveals itself as you go.” He goes on to call this mindset “experimental faith.” It’s not blind faith — there is no certainty, and often the “outcome is out of our control” — but it’s not skepticism either. With each day, you get a little better — you start to understand how your children act and react — and your faith in this experimentation grows. Much like when you have a “piece of music [you’re] learning,” you must play it “over and over,” letting it get “a little easier, a little harder, a little easier,” until “suddenly, it flows… naturally” and the “knot unties itself” — so to it goes with parenting. You have to “move forward with patience,” “trust the mysterious unfolding before you,” and let the process take you forward.

No two children are alike, of course. We found this first hand with Kiddo and the Warthog. Things that were simple with one were beyond difficult with the other — and vice versa. But one child is no harder or easier than another, just different. It’s all relative to your frame. “We can only tell where something is in relation to something else.” That’s why working without a map is so important — you can’t let the first child bog down the second⁴.

Part IV: Closing Thoughts

Throughout the book, Rubin reflects on some of his approaches in the studio. In one anecdote, he describes how, after listening to a first cut of a song, he suggested no further edits, no refinements to the balances and sounds. He just let it be — “sometimes, the most valuable touch a collaborator can have it no touch at all.” As a parent, we must also keep this in mind. It’s okay to let your children learn, play, and grow on their own. We certainly must be there, ready to help if needed, but sometimes, you just need to let them be. Let them learn how to open the box, climb the ladder, connect the dots. If you have a solution to their problem, “hold back” — often, they “may be able to come up with a better [one] on their own.” “Sometimes, disengaging is the best way to engage.”

In the chapter on “Self-Awareness,” Rubin writes that few children are taught to “understand and prioritize [their] feelings.” The traditional education system doesn’t optimize for sensitivity, but instead, more often than not, for “obedience.” “There is a set of rules and expectations” put upon children, discouraging them from exploring the entirety of “what they are capable of.” As parents, we must do our part to counterbalance this tendency⁵. Be there to set the guardrails, but let your children be free when they can. Let them experiment with adventure, with creativity. Set loose boundaries, allow the box to stretch⁶.

Above all, don’t approach childhood like a to-do list, “crossing off items;” instead, “engag[e] and participat[e]” with “the opportunities of each day.” Life is not a “continual quest for efficiency” — especially not with kids. It’s okay if things don’t go exactly as you plan them. Kids are spontaneous, they are always “in the moment, valuing play above all else, [often] having no regard for consequences [and are] radically honest.” They move freely “from one emotion to the next without holding on to the story.” “Each moment is all [that] there is,” “[n]o future, no past.” They are “all pure authenticity.” Because of this, as I often have to remind myself, with kids, “the need for patience is ever present.”

In many ways, Rubin is channeling the Stoics. He writes that “good habits create good art” and that “the way we do anything is the way we do everything.” Marcus Aurelius wrote much the same. When Rubin proclaims that we must “treat each choice… each action… each word [we] speak with skillful care,” he channels Epictetus. “The goal is to live your life in the service of art,” but really, the goal is in the service of goodness⁷.

And really, that’s the most important thing. That’s how we need to parent — with goodness, treating our children with skillful care.

1. He works out with Laird Hamilton. Dude has range!

2. That’s a cooking pun.

3. There are a million gems in the book beyond parenting that I am not even going to begin to touch on — again, read it yourself!

4. I found this too with endurance events. Swimming the English Channel, for example, was exceptionally hard. But, I didn’t know how hard it would be, would really be, until after it was over. When Salty called me up a few years later to do the North Channel, I had that English Channel frame in mind, and was way more nervous and anxious leading up to it. That was good because I trained, but bad because I had already set myself up for it to be difficult.

This, by the way, is probably the biggest point of differentiation between how Mrs. CWD and I look at the world. She’d prefer to expect the worst always and be pleasantly surprised; I’d prefer to set no expectations and see what happens. It hasn’t caused too much contention in our relationship after almost 15 years!

5. By no means is this every teacher in every school system. Trust me, I taught kids for two years — I know there are some fantastically amazing educators and I worked with them. But generally, it’s easier to find an okay teacher than an exceptional one, and we all want exceptional for our kids, right?

6. Safety first, of course, in all instances!

7. As I wrote earlier this year: Seek good.