I’ve been reflecting on two choices that seem to sometimes stir up...something in others: my desire to do nothing and my decision to not have children. Both of these occasionally prompt others to question my intentions, and before I know it, the people-pleasing part of me rushes up and out to explain or to soften my stance with reassurances like, "Of course, I'll still do things like [insert act of exertion here]," or "I've got lots of time, so, maybe one day," even though what I really mean is, "Yes, I said nothing," and "No, really, I'm good on that." I feel pulled to make others feel better about my "nothing" and my "no kids," even though these choices feel deeply authentic to me (for now, which is all we have anyway).
I'll admit, it is worth asking: What is the purpose of my nothing?
What if, instead of being viewed as a void, both of these choices are actually full of meaning and intention?
When I tell people my dream is to do nothing, sometimes their eyes widen in shock, other times they squint with disapproval. "Surely, you don’t mean NOTHING, right?" The concept of doing nothing challenges the idea that equates productivity with value. The notion of "nothing" is often dismissed, minimized. When I say I want to do nothing, it means I'd like to stay a while in a space of rest, rejuvenation, imagination, possibility. It also means, I'm tired. Who isn't, these days?
Yawn. Sigh. Stretch. Another yawn.
I know people mean well. Unless they don't. Either way, it's not my business. I very recently had a conversation with the CEO of one of the places I work (so much for doing nothing), who kept finding different ways to let me know that it’s not too late for me to have children. There are quite a few reasons I, for the foreseeable future, am not interested in birthing or rearing children, though I don't believe we as women need any justification for what we choose to do or not do with our bodies, or whether we choose to change our minds on these choices. We went back and forth a bit, yet she (yes, this was a woman) stuck to her guns, implying (gently, I'll give her that) that my feelings might change once I actually had children. That may be, of course, but it feels a pretty significant gamble to undertake something I don’t feel a deep (or any) longing for.
What’s striking, too, is how comfortable people feel suggesting that one's life is somehow unfulfilled without children. Imagine if we reversed this—if I were to say to someone with children, "Eek, are you sure you want to do that? Your life is now, and will be, forever, over. It will be too fulfilled, stifled even. Worse yet, you'll still be unfulfilled.” It sounds absurd, doesn’t it? Yet, that’s the flavor of judgment I've faced at times, simply because my choices don’t align with the mores of the century.
Consider, too, the one who might want children but is unable to have them. It seems people often overlook the possibility that someone may want children but is unable to, or is otherwise too uncomfortable or heartbroken to share the truth of their decision to not have children. It's unfortunate, this disregard for individual circumstances, when approaching a woman and making assumptions about her choices regarding her body, her womb.
It’s curious and, especially given the current political environment, frightening, that there are those who may feel such a strong need to comment on what goes in and out of our bodies, and the choices we make about them.
If only conversations, both individually and more broadly, felt less like attempts to coerce the other to agree with a particular viewpoint or change their stance, and more like a genuine allowing for the sharing of different perspectives. I love those kinds of conversations, the ones that are truly rooted in beloved community.
I wonder at what age people might stop asking me about what I’m going to do with my body. I've got a stinking and sneaking suspicion that the questions will only change in tone or focus, will shift rather than disappear. Oh, well. Swaha, swaha, only 90 more years of certain moments like this.
In Buddhist teachings, the concept of Sunyata, or "emptiness," isn’t about lack or absence. It’s about potential, a space where all possibilities exist. It’s in this emptiness that we find the freedom to shape our lives according to our true nature.
Similarly, in the Baha'i faith, there is an emphasis on the individual’s journey to find purpose and fulfillment, encouraging us to live a life that is true to our own path rather than one prescribed by great expectations.
In Islam, there’s a concept known as niyyah, which refers to the intention behind an action. It’s a reminder that what matters most is not just what we do, but why we do it. When I choose to rest, to embrace "nothing," or to live child-free (aside from my own dog-child and the children in my life whom I adore and am also admittedly happy to return to their parents), I do so with the intention of living true to what feels right for me.
Everything, everyone is a mirror, and in these beautifully ornate mirrors, I see a reflection of the pressure we all feel to live up to certain standards, rather than an indication that something is wrong with my choices.
So next time someone questions my "nothing" or my "no kids," it will act as the meditation bell bringing back to my awareness that these choices are not voids, but spaces filled with potential, peace, and authenticity.
--
1 Mantra:
In the stillness of nothing, I find rest, rejuvenation, freedom.
2 Journal Prompts:
- How does embracing nothingness contribute to my growth and well-being?
- What possibilities emerge when I allow myself to fully experience doing nothing?
1 Art Prompt:
Create a visual representation of "emptiness" or "nothing" using colors and shapes that evoke feelings of calm, rest, and potential. Experiment with negative space to symbolize the idea of potential and renewal within stillness.
2 Books:
- It’s Okay Not to Look for the Meaning in Life: A Zen Monk’s Guide to Living Stress-Free One Day at a Time by Jikisai Minami
- How To Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy by Jenny Odell
- As always, with love and thanks,
BROOKIE
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