This is Not a Childfree Rant

Recently, at a family gathering, my Dad wondered aloud whether I never wanted to have children because of what happened with him and my Mom.  (They divorced when I was 11.)  I assured him that was not the case.  Just look at how I used to play.

When I was little, I didn't really play with baby dolls the way some girls did.  I had a strong nurturing instinct, to be sure, but not towards the replica baby humans.  I would invent scenarios for my stuffed animals where they needed healing and care -- a clipped ear, a twisted tail, general plushy angst -- and I would provide the care for them.  After they were "all better," they would happily go back on the pile and play with their other animal friends.

I had lots of Barbies, and I would send them on adventures -- traveling, scouting out locations for buildings and movies, hiking in the mountains.  My Barbies didn't really think about taking care of a home and family.  They had strong, supportive friendships with each other and (like child me) often had short hair that I cut myself.

So, no, it wasn't my parents' divorce that made me want to live without my own children.  It was (and is) my nature.  It is my nature to be childfree, much as it is some people's nature to love people of their own gender, or to know that the gender they were assigned at birth is not the one they live in their hearts.

Sometimes this is hard for people (usually men) to understand.  I was born with all the biological parts to grow a human.  Why don't I want to do this?  I am growing weary of explaining it.  I just don't.  It is my nature to love and appreciate children, but to never want one of my own.  This has become a litmus test when I meet men.  The reactions range from "Okay.  Cool.   What are you going to order for dinner?" to (actual quote) "But I think it is in every true woman's nature to want children."

But this is not a childfree rant.  This is a rant about nature.  In dating world, there is a lot of rapid-fire evaluation happening, most of it unconscious.  It centers around the questions of someone's essential nature, and if that could support our own essential nature.  We all walk in with assumptions, and that is where frustration happens.  The assumption that a woman wants (wanted) children.  And that if she doesn't, it is because of some fear or trauma from her past.  No.  Sometimes the answer is as simple as, "It just is."  It is my nature.  It is also in my nature, as revealed in my childhood play, to be nurturing, to want to help others heal, and to keep strong, supportive friendships.  I think this makes me as true as any human, woman or otherwise.

anx*i*e*ty

anx*i*e*ty (noun), "desire to do something, typically accompanied by unease."

That is actually not the primary definition of anxiety, but it is the one that lives with me. Remember when I thought I could smell Ativan? Yeah, that still happens. I am meeting people -- actually meeting and getting to know them as people. The common thread in every person I meet is still anxiety of some kind. It even got to the point where a friend who treats anxiety disorders has offered to form a "Survivor"-type therapy group of the men I have met. The man who makes the most progress in the group gets to date me.

This "suggestion" grew from me talking about a date with yet another man who was broadcasting anxiety.  As our conversation continued, though, I realized that I kind of want the anxiety.  I mean, I get anxious about stuff, so that's something to have in common.  And, really, people who never have any anxiety about anything are kind of ---- well ---- boring.

bor*ing (adjective), "not interesting, tedious."

I am in a space where I am actively exploring and nurturing my creative self.  A certain low level of anxiety fuels this, and I find that people without even the smallest levels of anxiety are often not understanding of this drive to be creative.  Of course, high anxiety also kills creativity, so it is a continual balance.  I need my anxiety to be a passenger in the boat with me, and I really need a partner to bring their anxiety along too.  Otherwise, we just end up with an unbalanced boat.

Our anxieties are necessary to allow us to build something new -- a work of art, a structure, a relationship -- anything.  So, I am embracing my anxious passenger as part of the whole flawed tapestry.

Take us out, Kierkegaard:

I Smell the Ativan

"I had a panic attack last week."

"I think I'm going to fire my psychiatrist."

"I just get really anxious in new situations."

"When I get nervous, the stutter gets worse."

This is just a sample of what I've been hearing on dates recently.  It has been a while since I identified that I am attracted to men with anxiety issues.  But, in addition, I think I can smell them.  To me it must smell like chocolate, because apparently I can't resist it.  

I am not trying to find this type of man.  In fact, I hope I am actively trying to avoid them. Apparently, though, I can smell the Ativan and it makes me a little nuts.  Where does one go to rewire the circuits of desire? Or at least to become attracted to the smell of emotional stability?

Rooster Hat

I called a friend after a brief coffee date and said this: "The next time I tell you I'm going out with a performer/artist, ask me if his profile picture involves clothing in the shape of an animal.  And if I say yes, smack me over the head."

He showed up wearing a rooster hat.  A hat.  In the shape of a rooster.  With little strings hanging down so it could be tied under the chin lest he lose it in the wind, god forbid.  The rooster hat had several little buttons all over it -- the kind you get at protest rallies or art openings.  He was wearing one of those itchy, striped, vaguely South American pullover hooded shirts in lieu of a real coat.  Did I mention that he was 52 years old?  And when he finally did remove the rooster hat (after ten minutes of conversation) he was almost completely bald?  I decided to just go with it and asked him about his "chicken hat" first thing.  Very politely, he corrected me, referring to his rooster hat, and his general propensity for wearing Ecuadorian hats.

Rooster Hat told me all about his music, his art, his throat singing and his MFA studies.  He asked me if I ever had the urge to perform, and I told him about my dance classes.  So, he told me about how he put together a performance piece where he conducted a group of dancers using hand gestures.  

Truthfully, a lot of his work sounded interesting. I had to admire his commitment to making art, no matter the financial consequences.  I had to appreciate the fact that I didn't have to do a thing on this coffee date -- I didn't even have to talk much because he was willing to share a lot about his own work.  

After an hour, I couldn't take it anymore, and I called the date in the most obvious-subtle way possible.  Saying that "I should get going," I shook his hand and said it was nice to meet him (it was, truly.) I walked down the street to the book store vestibule and called my friend.  She gave me wonderful advice about dating in general (enjoy, learn, have fun) and about artists specifically (they make better friends than boyfriends.) 

After we talked, I walked into the bookstore to get a coffee and write this post.  As usual, there were several young college freshman milling about.  One young woman caught my eye.  She was wearing a hat in the shape of a rooster, with little strings hanging down so it could be tied under the chin.