Stepping Through Oneself—The Beauty of the Out of Control Life

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I’m a control freak. At least, I like things to be in their proper places. Like the beloved Auri in, The Slow Regard of Silent Things by Patrick Rothfuss, often I find that things inside of me aren’t right unless things outside of me are.

Most of my young life I had a plan, and for the most part, those plans worked exactly as I wanted. Sure, people would upset me or let me down, or maybe I missed out on an award, a kiss, or an opportunity, but with a plan, I could rush through the pain of failure, get back on my feet, and still be…me.

Twenty years ago, when my birth control failed, I got my first taste of a plan crumbling to the ground with no way to put back the pieces, no matter how hard I tried. Until that moment, I saw the future clearly—I would work in a Fortune 500 tech company, rise to the top as a female leader, and live in a condo on Lake Shore Drive. Then my son was born, and I discovered that the feminist promise of “having it all” had obviously been created by someone not like me. For I couldn’t handle “it all” and after two years of trying to be the perfect working-mom-wife-in-tech, I was far from leaning in, rather I fell out, and into my home, trying to raise two children, with no plan.

At first, I made new plans. Lots of them. Plans were my way to survive, but as the children’s needs began to grow and change, I found my plans being foiled, time and time again. The darkness set in. Hormonal depression is common after giving birth, but few mention the identity crisis that birth brings the modern woman. From a young age, we told that we’re more than mothers, that caregiving is for other women, those who can’t, and that in this unfair world we women must fight, break through that glass ceiling, and focus on nothing else. The world of breastfeeding, diaper changing, and toddler discipline doesn’t fit in that narrative. The mother is not only demonized in this modern myth, she is forgotten. As such, I was lost.

I spent the first four years of my children’s lives trying to figure out who I was with them. Twenty years later, I’m still not sure who I am with them, except that once I let go of plans, once I stopped leaning in, and learned instead to weave in and out of the various callings in life, my identity became, well, meaningless.

As my sons leave me, I’m entering yet another phase that modern feminism has no place for—middle aged with at least another 40 years left before my sons bury me, filled with a desire to work in the world in a new way. The home has no meaning without children to raise, and while I’ve worked many part-time jobs, none have become my focus, because in each phase and stage, their needs changed, and I changed with them. I’ve been a school-teacher, a blogger, a novelist, an Airbnb hostess, a dance company director, a CTO for a startup and a novelist. But mostly, I’ve been a woman, weaving in when need be, and out when the time calls for it. To live with my sons in peace and satisfaction, I’ve had to let go of any real plans, for the plans of life are always changing.

That’s not to say I don’t have plans now. Oh, I do. I’m in school, retraining to re-enter tech. My time as a CTO taught me that I wanted to be a part of the world of technology, just as I had when I was 18 and starting out at Purdue in CS. However, unlike my 18 y.o. self, I’m no longer sure exactly what this plan will bring. Meaningful employment, yes, but where, or how, or what? I have no idea. And honestly, I like that. Not because it will hurt less if the plan goes awry, for midlife is full of pain and change, but because I’m ready for that pain and change. Knowing that I’ll never truly know myself, because I’m ever changing, is fine with me.

What is the purpose of a middle-aged woman? One whose children have left her? What is the purpose of marriage at this point? What is retirement when you’re just getting started again? Who am I, now that they’re gone? Feminism doesn’t answer this, because it focuses on power dynamics and the acquisition of that economic power. This, my friends, is about love, and no ism can help me here.

As my sons wonder what their next steps are, I too, share that anxiety. Yet it’s okay. In the tapestry of life, there’s a new row to begin, a new color to add to the pattern I’ve been creating. I have a novel coming out in the fall, a trip planned to France to celebrate my 21^st wedding anniversary, and something to add to the tech landscape. Beyond that, anything is possible, and I can see no further than each stitch I make.

Who am I? The one who watches all the plans come and go, who delights in the patterns that emerge, as this little life unfolds.

Sex is Fun! The Future of Family Planning

"Sex is natural sex is good, not everybody does it, but everybody should..."

~ George Michael

 

I’ve been thinking lately a lot about sex and family planning in the age of genetic testing, IVF and other advancements. It all started with a conversation I had a few months back with a beautiful, young, Silicon Valley startup founder who is female and fast approaching thirty-six years of age. She told me that she had already frozen her eggs once and was considering doing another round as insurance to her future as a mother. “Right now is not a good time to have a child,” she’d said. “We’re about to consider another round of investment in the company and that means more hours in the office for me.” I thought about it and agreed—to birth a brand new business and a baby at the same time seems like setting yourself up for failure. When I was a young professional though, women didn’t talk like this. We didn’t have the option to freeze our eggs for the future, and even though I’m only five years older than the lovely executive, I entered the realm of professional motherhood long ago, before such technology was considered mainstream. 

Next, I ran across an article about Apple and Facebook, which have begun to offer the benefit of freezing eggs to female employees. Wow! How times change. I began to wonder, what would I have done if this had been an option when I was just getting started? I’m not sure. Would I have saved my eggs for later, in exchange for investing myself in my career back then?

This past week, the idea of saving off your eggs, and sperm, was in the news again. Carl Djerassi, the “father of the pill” has been quoted as saying,

"Women in their twenties will first choose this approach [in vitro fertilization, IVF] as insurance, providing them with freedom in the light of professional decisions, or the absence of the right partner, or the inexorably ticking of the biological clock…For them the separation between sex and reproduction will be 100 percent."

The article continues by giving the reasons for this family planning choice, that both men and women will opt to harvest their eggs and sperm in their twenties, before sterilizing themselves. Then, later in life, they’ll use genetic screening combined with IVF to begin their families when the time is right.

I understand the career aspect for women, but why would men do this? I’ve spoken to several twenty something males who’ve answered in a very similar manner—they really can’t afford children. Combine their high student debt with a poor job market and this generation can’t afford a house, much less a child. So saving off their sperm and getting a vasectomy allows them to have a girlfriend, without the fear of brining a kid along for the very bumpy financial ride called Millennial life after college.

Thus it appears that the current generation is all for this idea. IVF is working fairly well for infertile couples, why not wait and use the technology in this way for fertile couples? I think that this is mostly a good idea, but it also lacks the realities of those who’ve found themselves in their 40’s longing for a child, but unable to conceive. IVF takes a toll on the female body, and it doesn’t always work. Miscarriage is painful to the heart and the entire process can suck the joy of living right out from under you. Until it works, and then the pain was worth it. But sometimes, it doesn't work and the couple finds themselves out $40,000 and looking at other options.

Yet I can still see this as our future. With the technology to screen for disease, we’re already running down the path of normally fertile couples using IVF as a means to conceive. Add the fact that both male and female Millennials are interested in postponing parenthood for financial reasons, and it’s not crazy to imagine a world where sex is 100% for fun.

And here’s one more thing to consider…the ectowomb. As author and Transhumanist Zoltan Istvan wrote in his highly successful article on the subject, “So, here’s a prediction: Instead of adapting our jobs to accommodate the demands of biology, we will adapt our biology to accommodate the demands of our jobs. The fact that only women can give the gift of life is an enviable distinction, yet it is also a burden that can make it harder for working mothers to reach the pinnacle of their professions. One way to ease this burden would be to move away from pregnancy as we know it and toward a reliance on artificial wombs.”

Wow! Can you imagine it? Known as ectogenesis, this technology would allow women to be as old as they wanted when they started their families, and avoid some of the hardships of IVF. In addition, men could start a family with a new sense of freedom as well. This is still in the realm of science fiction, but IVF and designer babies were once myth as well.

Many people are against these sorts of technologies and I understand that. Raising children is seen as sacred, why change the way it’s been done for millions of years? But I’m not in the business of maintaining the current moral standards, instead I’m one who looks into the future, asks “what if?” and follows the line of thinking right down the rabbit hole. I myself will not partake in these family planning adventures. I’ve had my children and am in the homestretch at this point in time. But who knows, maybe my “grandchildren” won’t arrive in the traditional way at the traditional time. Perhaps instead they’ll come from an ectowomb when my son is 60 years old himself? Would I love him, or the child, any less? Hell no! Life is life and precious to me, regardless of the path it has taken to get here.