So last year I blogged about goals that I wanted to achieve for 2010. They included getting into Ohio State, finding renters for our house, finding a place to stay and maybe adopting a thank-you dog, blogging for HarperCollins and writing more, going more natural, indulging myself more, finding a spiritual outlet and revisiting my once active yoga practice.
I went about 3.5 for 10, which is batting .350. In baseball that sounds pretty good, right? Hmm.
I did get into Ohio State and got a graduate assistantship to cover my tuition and pay me a stipend. I found a place to live. I blogged for HC pretty regularly until school started, and was natural-ish until I couldn't afford it anymore. I got back into yoga for a while, but again, once I moved I stopped because the yoga at my Columbus gym is pretty lame, and the independent studio is too far away and too expensive at the moment.
I did find renters for our house, but that became a moot point, as did the thank you dog. I did not write too much, though I tried blogging as often as possible (and wrote in my journal for about a month, which I enjoyed), and the spiritual thing sort of just fell by the wayside. Of course, there's that whole divorce thing that wasn't part of the plan, but, you know: it is what it is."
So what should be in store for two thousand eleven? My OSU best girlfriend has embraced the motto "tighten it up!" which can be applied to all sorts of things--health and fitness, budget issues, etc. Another friend has vowed "no more heartache," which sounds unpredictable, but for her it has a purpose. Another friend is all about turning over the proverbial new leaf, which she has already begun by completely reorganizing her house (while wearing a belly-dancing coin scarf and perhaps a tiara).
Maybe my motto should be "live it up!" I tend to stay in the lines in many areas of my life and could probably stand to break free from my self-imposed boundaries. Another friend suggested that I take an "own it--no apologies!" attitude, which I suppose is a corollary of "live it up"--it wouldn't be "living it up" if every time I "lived it up" I then apologized for or hid from it, right?
I'm not sure I'm ready for a motto yet, but I can't begin a new decade without articulating a goal or two. Of course, the accountability on a public forum like a blog is quite terrifying, but, hey. This is me, living it up.
1. I am going to try to compliment myself more, or at least accept them from others. It's not like I get fawned over or praised constantly, but I have a tendency to brush them off, or respond with self-deprecation even if I also say "thank you." People have told my I'm a good writer ("oh, come on; it's just a blog" or "well, I'm not as good as you are..."). I get told how fit/trim/ thin/"tiny" I am--the fact that this is considered a "compliment" in our culture is a wholly separate issue--and I quickly point out my flaws (small boobs, super fair skin, flat hair...). People tell me how brave and courageous it is that I quit my job and moved to a city knowing one person in order to pursue a dream; I mention how the rest of my life collapsed as a result, and that I am certainly not the only person who has ever done such a thing. See how annoying that is? I'll try to stop.
2. I liked keeping a journal for most of December. I'm going to try to keep up with it, and my friend Remy bought me a new one so I'm all set. I would also really like to work on that goal from last year about writing more often (my YA series, children's book, etc.) though time seems to elude me.
3. I have a friend who spent a lot of last year dating herself. I'm going to give that a shot, too.
4. I have got to get better at cooking for one. This fall, I ate the same thing almost every day for about two months (this brown rice-spinach-chick pea-feta concoction my mom and I adapted from Cooking Light), and then once I got sick of that, I ate turkey and spinach lasagna every day for three weeks. Cooking for one is pretty annoying though, since you're also on dishes duty. And purchasing the ingredients for one serving of something is generally impossible--so that means leftovers anyway. Maybe I'll try one new recipe a week, so I'm only eating the same thing for five days.
5. I'd like to make a few more friends. Through Meetup I met Michelle and Jodi, who are a good time to go out with, and the aforementioned OSU friend and I have all four classes together, get along fabulously and do fun things like dinner, drinks, etc. as well as hanging in our pjs watching Planet Earth. My program is comprised entirely of women, most of whom are married and/or work full time and/or have kids, so it's hard to do much beyond little events with our cohort. My best guy friend lives here, too, and he's my go-to movie buddy, but I need women in my life more. I was hitting the Meetup circuit pretty hard when I first moved here, but school and work take up a lot of time.
6. I would like to be a better "Aunt" to my "nieces and nephews." I am an only child, so these kids are neither biologically nor legally related to me, but they are the progeny of my best friends and I need to start paying more attention to them.
7. I am going to try to keep getting a 4.0, and I am entering a graduate student essay competition at the conference in Texas, though I'm sure I won't win. Getting accepted to the Roanoke conference would be nice, too.
8. There is no reason I shouldn't keep my apartment clean. It's pretty stinkin' small. I've been pretty good thus far; let's keep that going.
9. Should I take a Facebook break? Probably.
10. Dance more. Fret less. You know, things like that.
So far in 2011, I've hit the gym twice, bought new mascara, written in my journal and recorded my "niece and nephews" birth dates in my planner. I started working on my essay for the competition, made a dinner that was newish (and only lasted for 2 days, not seven), and sent a text about how good I looked today. Off to a great start! I also spent hours uploading pictures to Facebook, but, well. I can't win them all.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
The Other Ten Percent (or Why I Don't Want Kids)
I try not to use this blog as a venue through which I air my worldly grievances, but sometimes I get incensed and leap up on my soapbox. Not everything makes me feel this way, but we each have our "hot button" topics that get us all riled up.
This commercial doesn't help with one of mine:
You see, the notion that this couple wasn't a "family" before the baby arrives is irritating, not to mention insulting to all sorts of people who have a family that is constructed differently than heterosexual couple plus a kid or two.
This post from a typically hilarious comic/blogger also fueled my annoyance/anger.
Really? A couple with no children in their early to mid adulthood can't happily celebrate the holidays because there isn't a small child destroying wrapping paper under a tree? Really?
This whole kids thing gets me worked up. Listen, before I get attacked by the Mommies and MommyBloggers of the world--I like kids. I do. They say hilarious things; surprise you with kindness; look adorable while they're sleeping; ask funny, interesting, questions; have a beautiful, innocent way about them (most of the time); and have a fashion sense that is rivaled only by Lady Gaga. I think babies are cute and smell lovely. Teenagers are an overlooked population who I find fascinating--I didn't leave teaching because I hated my students. So, to reiterate: I like kids.
I just don't want any.
I have not come to this conclusion lightly; it was one of the largest factors in the (civil, pleasant) collapse of my marriage. I thought I did want them and then realized that, in fact, I do not. And have never really wanted them. I felt guilty for this, but our therapist told me that as long as I had not lied in order to get a proposal, then there was nothing to feel guilty for. I had changed my mind (or really, acknowledged something buried deeply), and changing my mind on this issue had consequences, but it isn't anything to feel guilty about. While trying to sort through this issue and its inevitable impact on my life, I sought out information and support online and found a bunch of blogs that helped me suss out my feelings and articulate them; I even emailed the blogger of my favorite to say thank you, and we just met in person. I also read a couple of books that discussed the "to have or not to have" conundrum, one of which was Elizabeth Gilbert's follow up to Eat, Pray, Love called Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage, which I read in a fury on vacation with my mom last May.
This book is primarily about her and her partner Felipe's struggles with green cards and the institution of marriage itself (they had both been married and divorced prior to meeting each other in Indonesia and vowed that they would never get married again, not even to each other), and is also a quasi-anthropological investigation into marriage rituals, beliefs, etc. However, she also discusses the fact that she does not want her own children (this was one factor in the demise of her first marriage, too). She spends some time investigating facts and figures about childfree women across history/time. (A note: among the community, childfree is the preferred term because childless is language that implies a deficit model, not an active choice.)
One factoid stuck with me and I've quoted it several times since: at any time in history, across any culture, no fewer than 10% of women do not have their own children. It has gotten higher than that--hitting closer to 30% during harsh economic times like the Great Depression--but it is never lower than 10%. Now, of course, some of those women did not make the choice and were either infertile or had infertile partners, but Gilbert points out that many women went to great lengths to avoid having children (including, of course, not getting married or having abortions if they did get pregnant). She goes on to argue that society needs some of its women to not have their own, so they can more easily help the women (sisters, friends, neighbors, etc.) who do. Sort of the Wacky Aunt clause of the It Takes a Village theory.
Sign me up.
Only three members of my inner circle have children thus far; I have a "niece," Harlee, and three "nephews," Hunter, Keaton and Andrew, but I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of the rest of Aunt Hilary's brood: Zoe, Phoebe, Lauren Claire, JayDee, and any other yet-unnamed hypothetical offspring of my nearest and dearest. Yes, I am an only child so biologically I won't really be an Aunt (though I technically have a half-niece, Olivia, and a half-nephew, Christian), but my friends are my family. I would also prefer that my next partner have siblings so I can be an Aunt that way, though it's not a dealbreaker. I spent a recent evening doing math problems and dancing to the Burlesque soundtrack with Harlee, who gave me a yellow princess SillyBand to confirm our BFF status, and it was absolutely wonderful. Kids need adults they can trust beyond their parents and I will gladly serve that role.
Yet many people take issue with my choice. Here are some of the more popular criticisms I, or those like me, have gotten, and how I nicely respond to them.
I love my friends who have or plan to have kids, and I love their children, too. Aunt Hilary will babysit so you can have date night. She'll come over and rescue you from a colicky baby so you can shower for the first time in three days. I'll walk your dog while you're at the hospital with a broken leg from youth soccer. I'll take them to see the newest Pixar movie, read to them, come to their school plays, send cards for their birthdays, and dance at their weddings. I'll talk to them about sex and drugs and drinking if they can't (or don't want to) ask you. I'll come with you to an IEP meeting if your kid has a learning difference to advocate for their educational rights. Hell, I can be the person they call drunk from a party if they're too afraid to call you.
And you'll never have to return the favor. Now, doesn't that make my choice sound better?
This commercial doesn't help with one of mine:
You see, the notion that this couple wasn't a "family" before the baby arrives is irritating, not to mention insulting to all sorts of people who have a family that is constructed differently than heterosexual couple plus a kid or two.
This post from a typically hilarious comic/blogger also fueled my annoyance/anger.
Really? A couple with no children in their early to mid adulthood can't happily celebrate the holidays because there isn't a small child destroying wrapping paper under a tree? Really?
This whole kids thing gets me worked up. Listen, before I get attacked by the Mommies and MommyBloggers of the world--I like kids. I do. They say hilarious things; surprise you with kindness; look adorable while they're sleeping; ask funny, interesting, questions; have a beautiful, innocent way about them (most of the time); and have a fashion sense that is rivaled only by Lady Gaga. I think babies are cute and smell lovely. Teenagers are an overlooked population who I find fascinating--I didn't leave teaching because I hated my students. So, to reiterate: I like kids.
I just don't want any.
I have not come to this conclusion lightly; it was one of the largest factors in the (civil, pleasant) collapse of my marriage. I thought I did want them and then realized that, in fact, I do not. And have never really wanted them. I felt guilty for this, but our therapist told me that as long as I had not lied in order to get a proposal, then there was nothing to feel guilty for. I had changed my mind (or really, acknowledged something buried deeply), and changing my mind on this issue had consequences, but it isn't anything to feel guilty about. While trying to sort through this issue and its inevitable impact on my life, I sought out information and support online and found a bunch of blogs that helped me suss out my feelings and articulate them; I even emailed the blogger of my favorite to say thank you, and we just met in person. I also read a couple of books that discussed the "to have or not to have" conundrum, one of which was Elizabeth Gilbert's follow up to Eat, Pray, Love called Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage, which I read in a fury on vacation with my mom last May.
This book is primarily about her and her partner Felipe's struggles with green cards and the institution of marriage itself (they had both been married and divorced prior to meeting each other in Indonesia and vowed that they would never get married again, not even to each other), and is also a quasi-anthropological investigation into marriage rituals, beliefs, etc. However, she also discusses the fact that she does not want her own children (this was one factor in the demise of her first marriage, too). She spends some time investigating facts and figures about childfree women across history/time. (A note: among the community, childfree is the preferred term because childless is language that implies a deficit model, not an active choice.)
One factoid stuck with me and I've quoted it several times since: at any time in history, across any culture, no fewer than 10% of women do not have their own children. It has gotten higher than that--hitting closer to 30% during harsh economic times like the Great Depression--but it is never lower than 10%. Now, of course, some of those women did not make the choice and were either infertile or had infertile partners, but Gilbert points out that many women went to great lengths to avoid having children (including, of course, not getting married or having abortions if they did get pregnant). She goes on to argue that society needs some of its women to not have their own, so they can more easily help the women (sisters, friends, neighbors, etc.) who do. Sort of the Wacky Aunt clause of the It Takes a Village theory.
Sign me up.
Only three members of my inner circle have children thus far; I have a "niece," Harlee, and three "nephews," Hunter, Keaton and Andrew, but I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of the rest of Aunt Hilary's brood: Zoe, Phoebe, Lauren Claire, JayDee, and any other yet-unnamed hypothetical offspring of my nearest and dearest. Yes, I am an only child so biologically I won't really be an Aunt (though I technically have a half-niece, Olivia, and a half-nephew, Christian), but my friends are my family. I would also prefer that my next partner have siblings so I can be an Aunt that way, though it's not a dealbreaker. I spent a recent evening doing math problems and dancing to the Burlesque soundtrack with Harlee, who gave me a yellow princess SillyBand to confirm our BFF status, and it was absolutely wonderful. Kids need adults they can trust beyond their parents and I will gladly serve that role.
Yet many people take issue with my choice. Here are some of the more popular criticisms I, or those like me, have gotten, and how I nicely respond to them.
- You're selfish: If I'm selfish, shouldn't I avoid having kids if I can't give myself fully to them? Lots of selfish people have kids--how's that workin' out for everyone? And the notion that having kids will magically make you unselfish may be true on the outside--you have to put them first for many, many years--but that doesn't change who you are. Right now my selfishness doesn't really hurt anyone--I don't work on Wall Street--but it could.
- You just haven't met the right guy: I've had tons of boyfriends, serious or otherwise--one of whom I married. And with each of them, dating back to my two-year high school boyfriend, I used to think "well, maybe I want kids, but just not with him..." I have dated guys who represent nearly every facet of personality, interests, etc. and not once have I wanted to reproduce with that person. In fact, I remembered that years ago, a guy I was in love with and I used to plan out our perfect future life together living in a beach house--with our dogs (named after authors) and cats (named after psychologists). No kids. You know that saying "it's not you; it's me"? Yeah--it is me.
- It's different when they're yours: It's also different when your own mother has cancer instead of your best friend's mom having it. Of course it's different when they're yours--and part of that difference is that at the end of the night doing math games and dancing in the living room, I'd also have to be the one who wakes up at 3 am if she's throwing up. Sure, the joys may mean more when they're yours, but the responsibility is far greater as well.
- You'll be all alone when you're old and have no one to take care of you: Do you know the percentage of the elderly whose children don't visit them when they're in a nursing home? If something happened to my mom right this minute, I would be one of the last people to arrive at the hospital because I live far away. I was self-sufficient for many years, but now I am almost 32 and my mom is back to helping me with money, etc. Is she glad to do it? Sure, she loves me. But I also bet that when people think about having kids, they don't hope to be financially involved with them at this age. Having kids to try to ensure you have a caretaker for your elder years is insane.
- Having kids is the only way you grow up/mature yourself: I think that there are tons of other ways to "prove" I'm an adult without having children; and what about all of those people who are reliving their childhoods through their kids--that's not super mature, now is it?
- It's one of life's greatest joys: Having kids might be a joy, but there are also many, many, many other things that bring joy, and what about all of those non joyful moments?Oh, wait, let me guess: "they're worth it!" No thanks. See above: it's different when they're yours.
- The Bible says to be fruitful and multiply: The Bible says a lot of shit. I don't really listen to that, either. Well, at least not on the basis that the Bible tells me so. (This is so for another time.)
- It's unnatural; we're biologically designed to have children: It is natural to have children; I am sure I could. (Well, I mean, I'm guess I'm sure. I clearly haven't tried.) But just because I could probably get pregnant and give birth doesn't mean I want to. And though I'm sure I will get craploads of flak for this next statement, I'll say it anyway: this "natural" thing has to go both ways. Medically invasive infertility treatments aren't natural either, but women who desperately want children typically don't get berated for that.
- People need to reproduce to keep the species going: Not every member of the species has to reproduce to keep it going. Ten percent of women being childfree won't threaten the human race. Overpopulation is already a problem, and statistically, only children are rare. Any couple that has more than 2 kids is doing a fine job of maintaining the population.
- You'd be such a great mom: Maybe I would be a great mom. I might also be an exquisite figure skater, equestrian or serial killer. Doesn't mean I have to try it out. (I hate the cold, horses scare me, and blood makes me squeamish. And, um, that morality thing.) I might also be a terrible mother and hate every second. Then what? There are some risks that aren't a lifelong commitment--trying figure skating, for example. Even buying a house or choosing a career are opt-outable. Kids? Not so much.
- Your kids would be so fill-in-the-blank positive trait (smart, cute, kind, etc.): My kids might be smart, cute and kind. I bet Hitler's mother thought her son would turn out beautifully, too. My kids might also be stupid, ugly and mean. Sure, you can argue the nature-versus-nurture theory, but lots of lovely, nice people have kids who end up being cracked-out delinquent thugs or worse.
- Don't you want your mom to have grandchildren? My mom would love grandchildren; she has told me as much. But having a kid to appease her (or anyone else) is a recipe for a disaster. After a recent conversation about the myriad health issues many of her friends are facing, I half-jokingly said to her "See, Mom? Having a divorced 31-year old daughter who has no money and doesn't want kids isn't so bad!" And she more than readily agreed with me. The world could probably use some more surrogate grandmothers, too--especially women like my mom.
- You'll change your mind: This is the one that gets me the most mad. If I were sitting here blogging about how much I wanted kids, not a soul would dare question my feelings. It makes me furious that I would to have to hunt far and wide for an ob-gyn who would tie my tubes or put in the new sterilizing coils because I'm only 31 (but I could easily find someone to fill my breasts with silicon or break and reshape my nose). And what if I did change my mind years later? Adoption is not out of the question. (I have always sort of preferred that idea, anyway.) Sure, some people might be saying that I just haven't gotten hit with "the baby bug" yet; but even if I started salivating at babies, that still doesn't mean I want to be a parent.
- You'll regret it: Here's what I think about regret. Maybe at 40, 50, or 60 I will regret my choice. But I would rather regret not having children than regret having them. And to those reading who are thinking "no one regrets having children!" I say bullshit. That doesn't mean these people don't love their children (though, um, a few incident reports from Child Protective Services confirm that) but there are, without question, people who wouldn't do it again if given the choice. I can name at least two personally, and the online world in all its anonymous glory is rife with posts and forums about this very topic. (For a great summary of some of this, go here.) And if you're thinking that those people are monstrous for feeling that way, what I think is more monstrous is creating a culture in which women (and men, of course) are vilified for expressing what is a very real feeling. I am not advocating that people go around screaming "I wish you had never been born!" at their kids--though that would keep therapists busy--but the notion that no one ever regrets it perpetuates a dangerous myth, especially for people who are on the fence about it.
I love my friends who have or plan to have kids, and I love their children, too. Aunt Hilary will babysit so you can have date night. She'll come over and rescue you from a colicky baby so you can shower for the first time in three days. I'll walk your dog while you're at the hospital with a broken leg from youth soccer. I'll take them to see the newest Pixar movie, read to them, come to their school plays, send cards for their birthdays, and dance at their weddings. I'll talk to them about sex and drugs and drinking if they can't (or don't want to) ask you. I'll come with you to an IEP meeting if your kid has a learning difference to advocate for their educational rights. Hell, I can be the person they call drunk from a party if they're too afraid to call you.
And you'll never have to return the favor. Now, doesn't that make my choice sound better?
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