From promises through a decade, part I

It's been a while ago now, and I have promised pictures for a while, so here you go. We made it to Banff finally after years and years of trying to get there. We'll keep this nice and image-heavy with only captions for you.

Stops included Coeur d'Alene, Idaho and the wonderfully vintage Flamingo Motel:

And on to Canada:

 That's the border between those trees (really)

 Welcome!

 A real moose

 Glaciers

 An amazing rock formation

Made it!

 I love shots with the road in them. There is a sense of where we are going, a promise.

 A dog's bark made this avalanche while we were headed out. It was amazing.

Diction and imagery

While Scott was outside finishing up an errand today, he ran into the neighbor who has a toddler and an infant. The neighbor asked Scott, "Want a kid?"  Scott laughed it off, but he came in a bit fired up about the encounter.

We do not have children, and still we are not planning on having them. We, like most who haven't tried, assume we can get pregnant, but we certainly aren't game to test out this theory given the lifelong repercussions of such. There is always the suggestion that our marriage, our relationship, and ourselves are incomplete, lacking in some way, without children, though. 

Facebook, aka Fetusbook, is rife with photos of sonogram images (hello, little Skeletor!), pregnant bellies, babies, toddlers, tired looking parents, wan smiles, the endless birthdays, and all other images that apparently come with having children. I enjoy watching other people's children grow, and I love the way social media and the internet makes it that much easier to do so.

But, and this is perhaps my real point, it's the language people use, the assumptions built into the relationships, and even those photos that can actually be quite hurtful and even damaging. 

We had some friends who were quite active on the social media with the pregnancy photos, sonograms, and more, only to go into labor early and lose their son. The result was a post to their many, many friends explaining what happened. And then they have to see others' photos of children. What of those who try and try and cannot conceive? Each sonogram and newborn photo someone posts must be met with heavy hearts. Perhaps there is solace in it, but I am not sure. I am afraid I would be terribly bitter and terribly sad.

For those of us without children, each time we post something like "Exciting news!" people immediately jump to the child conclusion: "You're pregnant!" "Babies are wonderful news!" etc. I've seen this happen, and I have also been on the receiving end of this. Each post, each pin, each movement on social media is suspect. And for a brief moment, I am angry because these comments suggest that I am somehow unfulfilled, lacking, and failing because this is not my news. Never mind that exciting news could mean we bought a house, finished a degree, are going on an amazing vacation, or any other number of things.

Our other neighbors, who also have (very loud, screamy) children, complained about our noise to the landlord a while back. The property manager called with the comment that we lived in a "family neighborhood" and needed to be more aware of that because we obviously weren't a family, nor were any of the other families who don't have children (note: actually only two families on the block have children...).

When someone posts those newborn photos, there are always comments like "Your life is just beginning" or "You never knew what life was before this." They make me cringe and grind my teeth. What do those comments even mean? Your life was worthless and meaningless, but now that you have procreated (aka, now that you got randy with another person and your biological functions worked properly, whether intentionally or unintentionally) you actually matter? Or the "wait until you're my age, then you'll feel the need." Thanks for making me feel like a child, and...wait, aren't you actually only a year or two older than me?

It's not just online or on social media that this occurs, though. When we are out with others, there is that inevitable "Do you have children?"  I'm learning not to duck my head when I answer no, as though I have something to be ashamed about. It's the follow up to my negative response that can be upsetting, "I didn't want them either, but you're still young."  Stop. Just...stop.  This relies on the assumption that I want them, that I can have them, and that I plan to make the same decisions that this other person questioning me did.

Sometimes I just want to shout: Please quit making statements and suggestions that we need to have children or asking me when we're going to have them.  Perhaps you made decisions to have children; we have made decision not to have them.

We have Asher, and right now she is plenty for us.

Secret affairs (not of the heart)

Being a freelancer/adjunct is a strange existence. I have a random schedule, I work bizarre hours, and I am really all over the place even though some days I am just at home working.  I manage to work in each time zone, except Alaska and Hawaii. Each January, Scott brings home or has shipped a new Moleskine planner to help keep me on target. I'm an ace juggler at this point, although this sometimes means days of little to no sleep. I'm still working on the time management issue....

This reality of work, though, is a bit like having many relationships I shift between. Sometimes I'm with this one, but secretly fitting in covert meetings with this other one. I can't let so-and-so know what I'm up to or that the reasons I've been a bit MIA is because this other so-and-so is demanding more of my time and effort. They all kind of know of the others because they know I'm a freelancer, but they choose to pretend they are the only one (and often the most important). We have our good days and our bad days (or months/quarters/semesters), and sometimes I want to throw it all in and settle down for something boring and staid, something that is steady and promises support (benefits and pay guaranteed throughout the year). Then I think of the last relationship I had like that (and the one before that), and I cringe at the thought of being locked in again. All those promises and loss of control for that. I cried a lot, fought my frustrations daily, and it took (what felt like) forever to break up with them.  I ended up in the same place each time: on the brink of going crazy, we hatched some insane plan, packed everything up, and ran away. (If I could figure out how to embed a gif, I would, but I haven't, so you should just pretend that I provided an animated gif of Julie Andrews running through the Austrian mountains in The Sound of Music.)

The truth is, I just do better with many jobs and doing many things. I'm more productive when it's my time. So what if it takes me two hours to complete and project and then I can write or read or go out? So what if I piddle my time away and then work until 5:00AM to get a project done? (not really a fan of this one, but it happens frequently...again, that whole time management thing) I don't have to be chained to my desk or in my office for eight or nine hours because I'm paid to be there. It's not productive for me. In those jobs, I stared at the internet. A lot. I had to ask before I could go away or needed to leave early. I had to justify everything to someone else. I found it stifling.

Now, lest you go thinking this kind of "relationship" is rainbows-and-unicorns magical, it's not. It's unsteady, unpredictable. It can be cruel and relentless. Sometimes I'm staring down the tunnel praying that the light isn't an oncoming train racing to take me out; actually, sometimes I hope it will take me out and just put me out of my misery. I sleep weird hours because I'm anxious about this or that. I question myself and what I do constantly--so much self doubt and an unhealthy amount of self-loathing, perhaps, because I "can't be normal," because I don't want to be "normal". I even fret over how to explain what I do--am I a teacher, a writer? Does simply saying freelancer cut it? There are so many rules and requirements to sift through, to make sure I'm where I should be, that necessities are taken care of because if I don't, it means I don't get work for months; even if I do have all of my ducks in a row, it still doesn't mean I won't be without paying work for months. I have to travel with work always; it's never not with me really.

When people tell me, "I want to do what you do," I inwardly groan and think, "No, you really don't. Play it safe for your sanity and that of your partner."  Yeah, maybe I make it look easy (I don't know how; maybe they aren't really looking), but I don't know if they notice the strange tension I carry in me, or those dark circles under my eyes, or that twitchy way I always reach for my phone to check email and messages because they come from so many different places, or that wistful way I talk about mid-December like it's the promised land (it is).

But I have a fierce pride, too, in what I have done and cobbled together. So I'm going to go get that extra cup of coffee now and check in on my eight relationships to see who needs me.