Trying

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday! I didn’t intend to take so much time off from writing but you know how life can sneak up on you. Anyway, onto the post! Perhaps a little mood music to get started…

I love playing open-world video games like Red Dead Redemption 2 or GTA V. There is usually a main campaign story that you can follow along whenever you want and there’s a bunch of smaller side missions. Once you finish the single-person campaign, there isn’t a lot left to do. Well, that’s not entirely true. There is always SOMETHING to do but it usually feels repetitive. I mean, how many times can a person bring in a bounty or rob a bank? You can keep amassing funds and weapons and digital property but at the end of the day, once the main campaign is over — that’s pretty much it. There’s no more character growth. The story doesn’t end but it also doesn’t progress anymore.

For the last few years, I had been feeling very much like I’d finished the main campaign in my life. I was settled with a great partner, one who understood me and forgave my faults. We had a nice home. Cuddly pets. Loving family and friends. We were financially stable. And yet, there was an unmistakable sense that something was missing. It got especially noticeable around the holidays. What is Halloween to a child-less 40 year old, other than an excuse to eat too much candy? Sure, we could go to a party with other adults and have a few drinks but that feels fleeting. Like the candy, it’s just empty calories.

I love to cook for Thanksgiving. And even though every year we go to someone else’s house, I always make sure to roast a turkey with all the fixings. It’s a lot of food for two people so I guess it’s lucky we both like turkey sandwiches. We go over to our in-law’s house and eat a nice meal with our friends and family. And as the kids play or show off their latest artistic endeavor, I can’t help but think back to what Thanksgiving was like for me growing up. My Aunt Peggy always hosted. Our family was so big she’d have to cook two massive turkeys to feed us all. There would be bowls and bowls of mashed potatoes, stuffing, yams with marshmallows, green beans, butternut squash, rolls, and buckets of gravy. It was awesome. We packed twice as many people as could comfortably fit into her house to watch football and play outside if the weather permitted. I usually snuck off with my cousins to play School or video games. Contrast that scene with two people sitting quietly in front of a TV eating their turkey. It just isn’t the same. It’s not bad but…

Christmas is where it hits the hardest. Most of our friends have kids. And of course, they share lots of pictures and videos of them during the holidays. There’s the one where the kids are decorating a gingerbread house. Or the one where they’re opening presents. Or the one with Santa. Or the one where they’re all in matching pajamas. I love seeing all of them but it just makes the hole I feel even more obvious. Sure, I love my pets, and yes they look adorable in costumes. See?

It’s not the same. And it never will be. A dog can only fill so much of a hole the shape of a little child.

For most of my adult life, I have been staunchly anti-child. Not for others, but for myself. It’s only been in the last few years that I have taken my mental health seriously and felt stable. That was always the first roadblock between me and having kids. I didn’t feel it was responsible to bring a child into the world when I could hardly take care of myself. Let alone if the worst happened and I offed myself along the way. I couldn’t do that. But I might have. And so I dug in and ignored the pangs of yearning I felt.

Then I got used to living a selfish life. I don’t have to ask anyone anything. I just do whatever I want. Stay up until 2 am? Sure, why not. Buy a new record? Uh-huh. My life was mine and I had absolute freedom. But just like in the video games I started to feel that everything was the same. How many times can you stay up until 2 am? Or drink too much? Or do both? My life of freedom had become a prison of sorts where nothing really changed. I was done with the main story and killing time until the end.

This year was different though. I was desperate for Christmas to come. Once the Trick-or-Treaters finished knocking on our door on October 31st I started taking down all the Halloween decorations. The next morning all the Christmas stuff went up. After a hard two years, I needed a little Christmas, right that very minute. And so up it all went.

But that still wasn’t enough. No matter how many lights I put up or hung garland strands it just didn’t feel like Christmas. Again, I come from a big family. Loads of cousins, aunts and uncles aplenty. Our little house felt empty, no matter how much holiday magic I tried to pump into it. I mean, what is all this for? Myself? In some ways, yes. But after Christmas came and went it became more obvious than ever what was wrong. It wasn’t something you can buy in a store. It was something I had to make.

I think it was on Christmas day that I realized how everything tied together. I came inside the house from having a smoke (something that will also have to go bye-bye in the coming months) and made my announcement: This would be my last child-less Christmas. It was time to level up.

My partner was shocked. Of all the things she expected me to announce that one was pretty low on the list. She’s always been a little more kid-averse than me, especially the last few years. And so a negotiation process began in earnest. She wanted to be married if we were to have a kid. I wasn’t that jazzed about a wedding but really wanted a kid. Compromise is the foundation of a good relationship. And so that’s what we did. There will be a small ceremony with just our parents and a justice of the peace present on March 20th. In the meantime, we will begin“trying” as people like to say. Really, it’s a way of announcing to people you’re going to have unprotected sex, which seems weird but whatever. People seemed to be really happy for us. I’ll take it.

The text of the poem in the video above:

With Kit, Age 7, At The Beach by William Stafford

We would climb the highest dune,
from there to gaze and come down:
the ocean was performing;
we contributed our climb.

Waves leapfrogged and came
straight out of the storm.
What should our gaze mean?
Kit waited for me to decide.

Standing on such a hill,
what would you tell your child?
That was an absolute vista.
Those waves raced far, and cold.

'How far could you swim, Daddy,
in such a storm?'
'As far as was needed,' I said,
and as I talked, I swam.

I’m ready to start swimming. We’re ready to start swimming.