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Childless

The other night, we were enjoying a lovely, vulnerable, connected evening, talking with dear, childless friends. They shared about their very specific and pointed decision not to have children. One of them lamented, “I knew that by deciding not to be a parent, I was deciding not to experience the most profound experience a person can have.”


This statement pushed all of the buttons. The bill of goods that making and raising another human (or many humans) is the pinnacle of human existence and achievement is… well, bullshit. I think some people do find that to be true and to those people I say, “Godspeed to you!” And…? It’s one of the most harmful cultural stories we carry.


A woman and a man stand side by side against pink and blue backgrounds, respectively. The woman looks surprised with her hand near her mouth, while the man gestures with one hand and appears confused.

JD Vance asserted recently that “We want more babies because children are good. And we believe children are good, because we are not sociopaths.” He and the other pronatalists (Trust me. It sounds so much cooler than it is.) believe that making more people is a call to which all “good” people who care about society and the future should respond.


I participated in making another person. That person just celebrated their 14th birthday. And while my reasons for becoming a parent are as complex (and not) as just about anyone else’s, I was not motivated by social responsibility. Making more people is not your civic duty. It is a deeply personal choice that should be undertaken with so much more care and forethought than it typically is. Meanwhile, the decision to not make more people is valid and a choice that has the potential to be deeply supportive of a kinder and more sane society, with or without cats.


Stephen Levine, author of the books Who Dies?, A Year to Live, and Unattended Sorrow, among others, has taught about the importance of “completing our birth.” He suggested that most of us live as though we have one foot in the womb, never taking full responsibility for being born.


Levine is clear that this isn’t about making up for oneself, but about putting both of your beautiful, loving, embodied feet on the ground well before this life ends. You complete your birth when you understand that you are not responsible for your incarnation, but rather to it.


Can you imagine freeing yourself from the stories you’ve internalized? The fear? The doubt? The second-guessing and guilt? Your childhood traumas, disappointments, and distortions? That is work worth doing. It is, dare I say, possibly the most profound experience a person can have. I’m not saying we can’t have children and also do this. I am saying that loving even one person well and fully and clearly is a lot of work and most of us aren’t even doing that.


That’s heavy. Like it or not, I think many of us feel that weight. And we do all manner of things to escape it and distract ourselves from it. We have kids. We get married. We get dogs. We get cats. We drink. We use drugs. The list goes on. And, of course, none of these choices is inherently a poor one or rooted in escape. Intent is the thing. Sometimes an Oreo is an Oreo. Sometimes it’s edible longing.



Illustration of four people in casual clothing floating on a blue background, appearing to be mid-air.

Steven Levine felt certain that the instability of only having one foot on the ground would leave us ever-teetering and easily toppled by the suffering that is part and parcel of being a human. For some people, having children is part of completing their birth. For some people it’s an impediment, but let me be clear: making human life out of civic obligation is sociopathy of the highest order. Particularly when you’re floundering in your own internal sense of unworthiness or confusion, pinballing from balm to balm.


When you complete your birth, you decide to own your life and your choices. You know that you are not responsible for the suffering you see, but you are responsible to it. It is your civic duty to show up to that suffering in a way that feels true and relevant. That perspective is enlivening. It is oriented toward relationship rather than enmeshment.


That is our duty to each other and to society.


It is to see our lives, our choices, and our inner and outer suffering with open eyes. It is, to whatever extent possible, to help our fellow humans do the same. Some of us can and will do this alone (or with a cat… or 6…) and some of us will do this with friends, a spouse, a partner, or many such people over a lifetime, but we must do it.


Imagine a world where we’re each grounded in who we are and in feeling worthy of having been born. A world where children are born to self-actualized people who decided to have those children through thoughtful, heartfelt action that is about more than replacing themselves, the appearance of “goodness”, or having people to take care of them when they’re old. Imagine a world where there is space to feel and breathe and be truly seen, regardless of whether we have been involved in the creation of more humans.


This is the gift we can give to each other. If we have a duty, it is not to make more people. It’s to take so much better care of the people who are already here; starting with ourselves.

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