Courtesy of the author
A few years ago, when I was in my late 30s, my dad sent me two birthday cards with the identical message — "Have a child. It's the best investment you can make in your life!"
My dad's wishes for grandchildren weren't new. Over my adult years, I've received subtle — and maybe not-so-subtle — proddings of having progeny from both my parents. That said, they didn't stir any newfound desire in me to have children. Maybe it's the simple fact that I love having plenty of alone time and pursuing my passions, but having a family has never really been a bucket list item for me.
And while I appreciate, love, and respect my friends and cousins who have decided to have children, I've found that asking whether I want kids is like asking whether I want a peanut butter and sardine sandwich — not on my radar, and doesn't stir up any interest or intrigue.
As a proud childless cat lady, I've found that I have a greater capacity for different types of friendships.
I can say that being child-free has likely allowed me to have the time, space, and energy to make friends of all ages and backgrounds.
For example, I am friends with folks in their late 50s through 80s from my morning water fitness class. My good friends Sally and Melanie and I have co-hosted nature healing parties and other gatherings at their house, and we go out to eat when we can.
I've also developed close relationships with fellow stationery and sticker lovers. We're a gaggle of folks in our 20s to 50s who are single, married with kids, divorced, or recently separated from their partners. We try to get together in person every few months to exchange "happy mail" and engage in sticker chatter and snobbery.
For a while, I was able to trek across Los Angeles County to see my friend Marie, which would often take an hour each way and back.
When I first got to know Marie, she was newly widowed. We met at a meditation sangha when I lived in West LA. In her 80s, she had acquired a new friend: a then-late 20-something-year-old me. What started as short conversations after meditation blossomed into a decadeslong friendship. Despite our over 40-year age difference, we were kindred spirits. Over the years, we enjoyed many happy hours, meditation retreats, and camping trips together.
Despite moving from West Los Angeles to Pasadena, which meant hourlong drives to see one another, our friendship endured. And when she passed at 88 several years ago, it hit me hard.
Since I am not busy raising a family, I've had more free time to contribute to community efforts that are important to me. I'm an active participant in my Buy Nothing group, where I've been deemed "The Sicker Fairy" for delivering happy mail to the neighborhood kids during holidays throughout the year.
My mom and I also volunteer at a local botanical garden. We get to dig in the dirt and spend time in nature, and we've both made new friends through the program.
On occasion, I help out on an on-call basis at a food pantry. On a given day, 200 people wait several hours to receive their weekly allotment of groceries. In the coming months, I'll be putting together a money workshop for women in transition. Giving back to the community in different capacities has been greatly rewarding, and I hope to continue volunteering as much as possible.
Not having kids has afforded me greater space to be present for others — as a friend, daughter, partner, cousin, and "auntie." Growing up in a single-parent household where my mom worked two full-time jobs, time could be scarce. I can practice the tenets of compassionate presence and deep listening and cultivate relationships with the potential for an authentic connection.
