There’s an old adage, or parable. Or maybe it’s an urban myth about a couple that lived in a very humble home. This couple’s happiness was always tempered by their meager surroundings; they simply spent too much of their time thinking, “I wish I had a bigger home.”
Then, through fate, or divine intervention, or at the advice of a wise man – depending on the origin of this tale – their humble home came to be very crowded with many things – either more furniture or houseguests or barn animals or outdoor gear dumped by an irresponsible sibling fresh from a closeout sale at REI.
At any rate, they endured this overcrowded home for some time until one day, all of the animals or houseguests or coffee tables or alpine canoes were removed from their home, and they were left with an abode of palatial status.
“We have such a spacious and beautiful home!” they cried with joy to each other. And they lived happily ever after.
This story always kind of bugged me. I mean, they’re still in the same shithole. Okay, so they’ve learned to be thankful for what they’ve got, but is that a good thing? I think so, but it’s still a bit frustrating when you think about it.
I was reminded of this when I was putting Asher down after singing an abbreviated version of “Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall” to him, and thinking what an amazing life I had now – with a truly loving son who’s sucking up knowledge at a furious pace, who maintains a cheery disposition, who plays, eats – and most importantly, sleeps very nicely when called upon to do so.
Then I thought, “Wait a second… I’m still stuck here every night after he goes to sleep instead of being able to catch a rock show in Manhattan. I still have to wake up at 6am every day. I still am not able to go biking, or do any serious hiking. And I’m still limited to just a couple of drinks, lest I be called upon to be responsible at a moment’s notice (Not that I used to routinely get crocked… at least not since living in Chicago. But to have even the option removed is cause for a head shake)."
Was I thinking this only because Asher finally goes to sleep with absolutely no crying any more? Or because he finally acknowledges my presence and my position instead of treating me with only slightly more emotion than his drool-puckered plastic toys?
Did someone just come and take the barn animals out of my living room, and I’m staring at the same tiny living quarters with a new perspective?
Should I be up in arms about this?
Or, am I truly happy with having created this new boy who is now able to coo along with me when I sing him songs from The Queen is Dead, who looks at me like I am Everything, who is sponging up all information, insight and experience I can provide, who is objectively cute as hell, who loves bok choy but hates green beans, and who will enrich my life more and more as he grows into his own?
I think I know the answer to that question. But it’s still hard for me to say goodbye to my old existence.
Then, through fate, or divine intervention, or at the advice of a wise man – depending on the origin of this tale – their humble home came to be very crowded with many things – either more furniture or houseguests or barn animals or outdoor gear dumped by an irresponsible sibling fresh from a closeout sale at REI.
At any rate, they endured this overcrowded home for some time until one day, all of the animals or houseguests or coffee tables or alpine canoes were removed from their home, and they were left with an abode of palatial status.
“We have such a spacious and beautiful home!” they cried with joy to each other. And they lived happily ever after.
This story always kind of bugged me. I mean, they’re still in the same shithole. Okay, so they’ve learned to be thankful for what they’ve got, but is that a good thing? I think so, but it’s still a bit frustrating when you think about it.
I was reminded of this when I was putting Asher down after singing an abbreviated version of “Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall” to him, and thinking what an amazing life I had now – with a truly loving son who’s sucking up knowledge at a furious pace, who maintains a cheery disposition, who plays, eats – and most importantly, sleeps very nicely when called upon to do so.
Then I thought, “Wait a second… I’m still stuck here every night after he goes to sleep instead of being able to catch a rock show in Manhattan. I still have to wake up at 6am every day. I still am not able to go biking, or do any serious hiking. And I’m still limited to just a couple of drinks, lest I be called upon to be responsible at a moment’s notice (Not that I used to routinely get crocked… at least not since living in Chicago. But to have even the option removed is cause for a head shake)."
Was I thinking this only because Asher finally goes to sleep with absolutely no crying any more? Or because he finally acknowledges my presence and my position instead of treating me with only slightly more emotion than his drool-puckered plastic toys?
Did someone just come and take the barn animals out of my living room, and I’m staring at the same tiny living quarters with a new perspective?
Should I be up in arms about this?
Or, am I truly happy with having created this new boy who is now able to coo along with me when I sing him songs from The Queen is Dead, who looks at me like I am Everything, who is sponging up all information, insight and experience I can provide, who is objectively cute as hell, who loves bok choy but hates green beans, and who will enrich my life more and more as he grows into his own?
I think I know the answer to that question. But it’s still hard for me to say goodbye to my old existence.
posted by isaacjosephson at 8:53 PM
2 Comments:
I like that photo - it's a fitting punctuation mark on a very thoughtful post.
When I contemplate the possibility of being a father, my head fills up with many of the same questions you are asking. (Although at the moment they are purely theoretical questions for me.) I'm 31, my wife is 30, and it seems like our lives are already full to capacity with doing our own stuff. How could there possibly be room in there for another person, one that needs us totally? And of course there isn't room - we would have to give a lot of that up - and it makes me sad to think about that.
But then I think... you know, as much as I enjoy my life as a cool guy doing my own cool guy stuff, I would be really disappointed if I missed out on the opportunity to share that with someone else, a cool little guy or gal. I don't know if it would seem like an even trade at first, but my guess is that in the end I would come out ahead.
Some nice writing/thinking, Ike.
And the pic is the perfect sidecar.
Everything is choice and sacrifice. I think the first time I really felt like an adult was when I finally embraced the idea that I couldn't have everything...and, at just about the same time, my sense of gratitude (about what I have) began to radically overwhelm my sense of regret and longing (for what I didn't have).
Post a Comment
<< Home