Lore, thank you for your honesty and vulnerability in writing about this subject. Reading this, I was reminded of poet Donald Hall's reference to the "third things" in marriage, particularly in reference to his marriage to poet Jane Kenyon.
He writes: "We did not spend our days gazing into each other’s eyes. We did that gazing when we made love or when one of us was in trouble, but most of the time our gazes met and entwined as they looked at a third thing. Third things are essential to marriages, objects or practices or habits or arts or institutions or games or human beings that provide a site of joint rapture or contentment. Each member of a couple is separate; the two come together in double attention. Lovemaking is not a third thing but two-in-one. John Keats can be a third thing, or the Boston Symphony Orchestra, or Dutch interiors, or Monopoly." (https://www.themarginalian.org/2022/07/13/donald-hall-the-third-thing/
Hall and Kenyon did not have children together, and their marriage was strong and deeply enriched by the many "third things" they shared, most especially of course, their poetry. As I read your post, it seemed that you and Nate are similarly enriched by shared passions.
Oh my. I love this quote! I've loved Hall and Kenyon for a long time, each in their own way, and missed this Marginalia piece. Thank you for sharing it =)
As always, thank you for this Lore. As an older woman I sometimes think about the stretch of life ahead, shorter now than the life behind. The tender pain I feel now is not about the absence of marriage or children but the feeling that the larger portion of my life has gone unwitnessed. All the ordinary, quirky, mundane bits that make up a whole life.
I know this piece was not intended for me with my sticky-faced, gap-toothed preschoolers, but the last paragraph made me cry. Thank you for reminding me to see the monotony of my own days—pack the lunch boxes, switch over the laundry, respond to the emails, meal plan, and grocery shop and sing the same 3 songs at bedtime again—as delight. Honored to witness what the monotony looks like for you. 🤍
This is a deeply heartfelt and honest article. My husband and I met when I was 37 and got married a year later. I had a miscarriage earlier this year and it was unequivocally the most awful experience of my life. And it was very hard on him as well. We are debating whether it makes sense to try again given the risks with our ages, or whether to explore foster care, or just to be very involved and helpful with my sister's kids. He would be the most amazing dad. We truly are a good team, whether it's packing up the car for a road trip, or chasing my niece and nephew around the house for an hour in an elaborate game of freeze tag, or helping his dad host Christmas dinner for the family. We went hiking in a nearby national park last weekend, and it was spectacular. I don't really believe in soulmates, but he makes me think there's something to it. And yet, I still have many moments where I think, "Is this going to be it for the next 40 years?" Thank you for giving voice to this.
I am so sorry for your loss. Truly. And for the ache that comes along with needing to sort through all the future imagined losses by being in your position. Love to you.
Your comment about doing projects together made something occur to me that I am still just playing with. My husband and I don't necessarily actually do many projects together, but a huge part of our relationship is built on talking out our ideas for projects and supporting the other in them. Projects aren't children, of course, but there is some overlap in the creation of something, including a legacy, and also in unexpected chaos, delight, novelty, struggle, problem solving. It's interesting to tease out.
I had not thought through that this was a childless thing as such - I just thought my future life just looked boring. But I suppose if you have children there is endless living for them, which means you have a different purpose.
I wonder, is it wrong to look at the many years that may come and wish that they may be shorter? Is it wrong to wish that there won't be another 30, 40 years to come?
Jemima, I want to say two things, the first is that I share your sentiment that I don't wish for 40+ years more of certain things in my life and world (and in the US!), but I don't want to ignore your last question and, I confess, it concerns me a little. I’m not a mental health professional, but I do hope there is someone trustworthy near you to share that thought with. Much love to you.
Having read this again, I may have inadvertently suggested I was thinking of unaliving myself... I was not thinking of this, and I'm sorry to cause concern unnecessarily.
I was thinking about our culture's drive to live as long as possible, and whether it's OK to say no to (e.g.) all the screenings etc.. plan was a bad word to use, even doing this you might just live for ages anyway!
Oh I’m so relieved! That last sentence threw me. That makes total sense though and I share your sentiment. What if we just let the body do what the body is eventually meant to do?
Your words soulfully articulate the life my husband and I are tending to. We both say that there is no one else we would have wanted to pursue the hope of children, and now carry the sorrow of childlessness. Thank you, Lore. My heart really needed this.
I'm sorry that this is the life you're tending to too. We need a support group =) I just did not have ANYONE in my life when I was in my twenties who was living this life and no role models for what it could look like. I've been grateful for Karen Prior's example through the years for me. She's helped me see goodness is possible.
I can definitely relate to much of your words, though I do not know what it is like to be married and childless. When I am angsty about my life (namely, singleness), I think I shouldn't feel so emo, because much of my life I truly love and would not change. I wonder if what I am squirming at is a sense that my life would be more exciting, less mundane, if this void were filled in the way that, I think, makes most sense. It is hard to see the beauty and goodness in the unfilled, unexciting emptiness. In the words of Rafiki, I'm trying to "look harder."
I think those like you get it for sure. The void is a void. I once wrote about the barrenness of singleness and I maintain there is overlap here, more than we talk about. Looking hard with you ♥️
By the age I am now, everyone else in my family has had kids. Hope of children is not lost for me yet (I hear it endlessly: "You are still so young.") but I have begun to contemplate what life will look like without them. These days for some reason, whenever almost any of my friends or siblings have babies, I happen to be on my period, doubly reminded of my childlessness. Very few people are willing to acknowledge the grief of this, especially because there is still hope. This post was a safe place for my heart. Thanks for that ♥️
Platitudes just don't work on me anymore (i.e. You're still so young or You're a mother even if you don't have living children, etc.). I want to live in the full-bodied truth of my life, not pretending anything. Contemplating life without children is one of the ways we do this. Because this IS our life right now. It's a good place to be, maybe in my old days I might have called it contentment.
You beautifully summed this up, giving words to all the feelings I’ve recently had being in a very similar place in life as you. I always appreciate your thoughtful words, thanks for sharing them!
So glad you decided to write on this. Saving this one for the days I know I’ll need the reminder that it is a delight to experience each day, whether holding something mundane or new, with my husband. It’s us.
Lore, thank you for your honesty and vulnerability in writing about this subject. Reading this, I was reminded of poet Donald Hall's reference to the "third things" in marriage, particularly in reference to his marriage to poet Jane Kenyon.
He writes: "We did not spend our days gazing into each other’s eyes. We did that gazing when we made love or when one of us was in trouble, but most of the time our gazes met and entwined as they looked at a third thing. Third things are essential to marriages, objects or practices or habits or arts or institutions or games or human beings that provide a site of joint rapture or contentment. Each member of a couple is separate; the two come together in double attention. Lovemaking is not a third thing but two-in-one. John Keats can be a third thing, or the Boston Symphony Orchestra, or Dutch interiors, or Monopoly." (https://www.themarginalian.org/2022/07/13/donald-hall-the-third-thing/
Hall and Kenyon did not have children together, and their marriage was strong and deeply enriched by the many "third things" they shared, most especially of course, their poetry. As I read your post, it seemed that you and Nate are similarly enriched by shared passions.
Oh my. I love this quote! I've loved Hall and Kenyon for a long time, each in their own way, and missed this Marginalia piece. Thank you for sharing it =)
As always, thank you for this Lore. As an older woman I sometimes think about the stretch of life ahead, shorter now than the life behind. The tender pain I feel now is not about the absence of marriage or children but the feeling that the larger portion of my life has gone unwitnessed. All the ordinary, quirky, mundane bits that make up a whole life.
Of course. It is a tender pain for sure. The lack of a witness, of being witness to, it's tender for sure.
No one writes about this. Thank you for doing so. It really blessed my husband and me.
Thank you for reading it, Julie.
I know this piece was not intended for me with my sticky-faced, gap-toothed preschoolers, but the last paragraph made me cry. Thank you for reminding me to see the monotony of my own days—pack the lunch boxes, switch over the laundry, respond to the emails, meal plan, and grocery shop and sing the same 3 songs at bedtime again—as delight. Honored to witness what the monotony looks like for you. 🤍
Amen! This is true for me! To seek and find God and goodness in the mundane....
We've all got it, even if it shows up in different ways =)
This is a deeply heartfelt and honest article. My husband and I met when I was 37 and got married a year later. I had a miscarriage earlier this year and it was unequivocally the most awful experience of my life. And it was very hard on him as well. We are debating whether it makes sense to try again given the risks with our ages, or whether to explore foster care, or just to be very involved and helpful with my sister's kids. He would be the most amazing dad. We truly are a good team, whether it's packing up the car for a road trip, or chasing my niece and nephew around the house for an hour in an elaborate game of freeze tag, or helping his dad host Christmas dinner for the family. We went hiking in a nearby national park last weekend, and it was spectacular. I don't really believe in soulmates, but he makes me think there's something to it. And yet, I still have many moments where I think, "Is this going to be it for the next 40 years?" Thank you for giving voice to this.
I am so sorry for your loss. Truly. And for the ache that comes along with needing to sort through all the future imagined losses by being in your position. Love to you.
Your comment about doing projects together made something occur to me that I am still just playing with. My husband and I don't necessarily actually do many projects together, but a huge part of our relationship is built on talking out our ideas for projects and supporting the other in them. Projects aren't children, of course, but there is some overlap in the creation of something, including a legacy, and also in unexpected chaos, delight, novelty, struggle, problem solving. It's interesting to tease out.
It is interesting to tease out =) We love talking about the projects and then doing them with gusto!
I had not thought through that this was a childless thing as such - I just thought my future life just looked boring. But I suppose if you have children there is endless living for them, which means you have a different purpose.
I wonder, is it wrong to look at the many years that may come and wish that they may be shorter? Is it wrong to wish that there won't be another 30, 40 years to come?
And if so, is it OK to plan to make it shorter?
Jemima, I want to say two things, the first is that I share your sentiment that I don't wish for 40+ years more of certain things in my life and world (and in the US!), but I don't want to ignore your last question and, I confess, it concerns me a little. I’m not a mental health professional, but I do hope there is someone trustworthy near you to share that thought with. Much love to you.
Having read this again, I may have inadvertently suggested I was thinking of unaliving myself... I was not thinking of this, and I'm sorry to cause concern unnecessarily.
I was thinking about our culture's drive to live as long as possible, and whether it's OK to say no to (e.g.) all the screenings etc.. plan was a bad word to use, even doing this you might just live for ages anyway!
Oh I’m so relieved! That last sentence threw me. That makes total sense though and I share your sentiment. What if we just let the body do what the body is eventually meant to do?
Beautifully said. Thank you.
Thank you for reading =)
❤️
Your words soulfully articulate the life my husband and I are tending to. We both say that there is no one else we would have wanted to pursue the hope of children, and now carry the sorrow of childlessness. Thank you, Lore. My heart really needed this.
I'm sorry that this is the life you're tending to too. We need a support group =) I just did not have ANYONE in my life when I was in my twenties who was living this life and no role models for what it could look like. I've been grateful for Karen Prior's example through the years for me. She's helped me see goodness is possible.
Yes to a support group and to be voices for others so they have guideposts (like Karen Prior)!
I can definitely relate to much of your words, though I do not know what it is like to be married and childless. When I am angsty about my life (namely, singleness), I think I shouldn't feel so emo, because much of my life I truly love and would not change. I wonder if what I am squirming at is a sense that my life would be more exciting, less mundane, if this void were filled in the way that, I think, makes most sense. It is hard to see the beauty and goodness in the unfilled, unexciting emptiness. In the words of Rafiki, I'm trying to "look harder."
I think those like you get it for sure. The void is a void. I once wrote about the barrenness of singleness and I maintain there is overlap here, more than we talk about. Looking hard with you ♥️
This was so beautiful.
Thank you for reading it =)
Right there with you ❤️
I know you guys get it. ♥️
By the age I am now, everyone else in my family has had kids. Hope of children is not lost for me yet (I hear it endlessly: "You are still so young.") but I have begun to contemplate what life will look like without them. These days for some reason, whenever almost any of my friends or siblings have babies, I happen to be on my period, doubly reminded of my childlessness. Very few people are willing to acknowledge the grief of this, especially because there is still hope. This post was a safe place for my heart. Thanks for that ♥️
Platitudes just don't work on me anymore (i.e. You're still so young or You're a mother even if you don't have living children, etc.). I want to live in the full-bodied truth of my life, not pretending anything. Contemplating life without children is one of the ways we do this. Because this IS our life right now. It's a good place to be, maybe in my old days I might have called it contentment.
You beautifully summed this up, giving words to all the feelings I’ve recently had being in a very similar place in life as you. I always appreciate your thoughtful words, thanks for sharing them!
Thank you for reading here =)
So glad you decided to write on this. Saving this one for the days I know I’ll need the reminder that it is a delight to experience each day, whether holding something mundane or new, with my husband. It’s us.
♥️