Today is my last day in Seattle and I'm spending it with my parents again. I never, ever, ever thought I would feel this way, but I am homesick for L.A. Either I've started to like living there, or I just really hate Seattle. Probably the latter.
I feel bad though, because I know my parents miss me and are hurt that I don't want to be closer to them. The fact is, my parents are great people and I have no problem spending time with them. My dad and I have a lot in common, so we tend to get into these long discussions about subjects that I actually find interesting. My mom spoils the hell out of me by taking me shopping and cooking my favorite foods when I'm here.
The problem is not the parents, but where the parents have chosen to settle down. I recently caught up with someone that I grew up with, and he shared my sentiments about Seattle. He has traveled all around the world and has lived in many different countries, which I admire and envy. However, there is one crucial difference between us that doesn't leave me wishing I could trade places with him: after months of living like a gypsy, he always returns home.
I asked him why he keeps coming back to a place he hates, and he simply answered, "Family."
Sorry, Mom and Dad, but I'm a little too selfish for that.
Which brings me to my next point. I'm at the age right now where many of my friends are starting to have kids of their own, or at least want to. Every time this topic comes up in conversation, I always adamantly insist that I have no interest in having children, and the person I'm talking to always responds with the same utter disbelief.
"You don't want kids? Why?"
Well, let's see. Disposable income. No 18-year leash to a man I no longer want to be with. Free time to do what I want. The ability to travel and move around without worrying about uprooting someone in their developmental years. Fewer mouths to feed. Not having to stay at a job that I abhor just to have a steady income. No PTA meetings. Being able to sleep in. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
Sometimes I think about how much my parents have sacrificed in order to raise my sister and me. (Yes, "me" is being used correctly here. Look it up.) They worked long hours, always worried about money, and had to put off doing what they wanted every Saturday in order to drive us to piano lessons. When the family took a vacation, we went to Disneyland even though I'm sure they would have preferred Italy.
The worst thing of all, though, would have to be giving up everything for a child, only to watch her grow up and move far away with no intention of ever returning.
I used to joke that my biggest reason for not wanting children was that I would never enter any relationship in which I am guaranteed to not have the upper hand. But when I examine the relationship I have with my parents, I know now that I wasn't joking.
Sometimes the narcissist in me thinks it would be great to produce a bunch of carbon copies of myself, because clearly, I'm awesome. Then again, why would I ever want to have kids knowing that they will inherit from me the tendency to be stubborn, selfish, mouthy little brats who think they're smarter than everyone and will undermine parental authority at every turn? I am many things, but I am definitely not stupid.
No, you are not stupid. You are Robin Scherbotsky! I concur with your logical reasoning here. It takes a lot to be able to admit your own level of selfishness. I think it is responsible to opt out of having children, versus the alternative of either resenting them for all you missed out on, or being selfish and providing them with less of yourself than they deserve. Pat yourself on the back, most people have not evolved to this level yet.
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