Ever since my dad’s ill-timed ode to parenting, I’ve thought a lot about how to enjoy the life I have. If I’m not going to experience “the best thing EVER” as far as he is concerned, what can I experience in my non-parenting state that is pretty awesome?
So last night I went to a music festival in the middle of the city. I danced. I sang loudly. I drank just a wee bit too much. During one set, a mosh pit spontaneously appeared at my feet and I pushed other people in. (No, I did not join. I’m too old for that shit, and might break a hip.) Turns out, living the life I have is pretty glorious. Shocking.
As one does, I had an epiphany in my general tipsiness. Part of the reason I’m super angsty is that I’m not creating anything anymore. I use the term “create” loosely to include everything from knitting to baking to freelance copywriting. I did all of these things and more regularly. There is satisfaction in seeing your efforts become something, anything (even if that is a burnt Bundt cake.) The truth is that over the past two years, I have cleared the path to create life, but alas that is not quite working out as planned.
No one asked me. I did this willingly a little bit over time. It’s really hard to commit to a project when in the back of your head you keep thinking “Well, I may be pregnant by then…” As I have discovered, this is a poor method of living a whole life.
It isn’t just the creating part- I’ve made a number of decisions based on the assumption that I would be having a baby soon. Everything from apartments to jobs… I kept picking the best option, not just for me and Mr. Ostrich, but for a mythical party of three.
Now comes the scary part: I’m not entirely sure what I want any more if having a family is off the table. No fricking clue.
This is weird for me. I always had a direction before. No, seriously. ALWAYS. At 10, I decided I wanted to be president. So I planned out how to get into a good college, law school, and where I would run for Senate before my presidential bid. In highschool, I ditched that idea and decided to become an editor. Plan B commenced. I became an editor after college. (I hated it, but that is another story.)
What I’m getting at here is that I’ve developed an ability to shift gears, to pick a new goal, and then go get it. Infertility makes that a bit difficult. “Going and getting it” is proving a little bit less linear than I had hoped. And I don’t really want another goal. This is “the one.”
But in the meantime, I know I can’t just sit here. Yeah, that doesn’t work either.