Via analytics and general social trends, I don’t think many people read what I write anymore, which is OK because it gives me the general freedom to talk about things I feel like talking about, as opposed to being beholden to some type of SEO-driven calendar schedule to jack my personal brand through the roof. In reality, I think my personal brand is “off-task 40 year-old male who sometimes gets stuff right about work, but is generally disagreeable and has problems he’s working on,” and that brand doesn’t sell tummy teas on The Gram, so I mean, I dunno. I’m out here just being me.
I’m exactly the age of “I’ve now masturbated into a cup twice in six months,” and that number might actually be three times, and that’s scary that I potentially blocked out one of them.
Well, the first two thoughts I have are not deep, and then some of the later ones might be deeper, so read on if you want.
They need to stop putting recliners in these collection rooms: These places are always poorly-lit, with a selection of 1974 pornography when dudes are entering with their phones (which contain a much greater selection of pornography), and it’s just not very easy to get in any type of vibe or mood in a disgusting, possibly not-recently-cleaned beige recliner from the late 1970s. There’s no way to make this work as it should. The last time I did it, I just used the floor, which is probably even worse, and makes the actual collection harder, but the process easier. I’m a savant.
Does it make you think differently about the usefulness of pornography in society? I think I used it 66.7% of the time I went in there. Cancel me for that if you want. I know tons of couples (well, six or so) that use porn in their intimate lives. I think we race to cancel porn, and elements of the industry are awful, but it’s actually a more ingrained, potentially useful part of the social ecosystem than we realize.
OK, now onto broader topics.
I’m in this weird life spot around kids, because I’m from the Northeast, and my ex-wife is from Miami but most of her friends were/are Northeast (I don’t really know her current friend composition, honestly), and in the Northeast you tend to see kids happen a bit later. I was 36 when my ex and I split up; I was two weeks shy of 40 when I got remarried to someone who, at the time, was a few days shy of 32. If you followed any of that math, what happened is … at the time I was getting removed from my ex and I’s friend circle, there were a few newborns and a few pregnancies; those things were happening later. When I entered my now-wife’s friend ecosystem, there were seemingly a million pregnancies, and now there are multiple newborns and still more pregnancies. Through it all, I have exactly nada.
Now, this is not to say woe is me or paint me as a victim, because some of my own issues with slow swimmers and whatnot are tied to my own health concerns and lack of prioritizing some things I should have earlier in life. So, no. Not a victim. Not asking for empathy or sympathy. Just explaining out a contextual situation.
What’s that social science deal where, when you want something, it seems like everyone else has it already? It might be called mimetic desire, although that’s more about jealously, and I don’t know if I’m really jealous of people with kids, although fuck, maybe I am. Just yesterday I learned my across-the-street neighbor is pregnant, and sadly my first thought was “I need to keep this from my wife for a minute.” So maybe this is some hardcore mimetic shit.
We ain’t even been married a year tho, so I’m still semi-hopeful. In the meantime, though, here’s a couple of observations that pop as you go through all this:
- Why can’t people be more honest about their own fertility journey? I know a small ecosystem of people who are, but I also know tons of women (well, not tons, but dozens) who tell their girlfriends “For us, it happened the first time!” or “It was an accident!” These are actually very dangerous narratives, because other women believe them or co-opt into them, and then you have entire groups of girlfriends that tried for 11 months, got it once, and tell everyone “It happened the first time!” Lies and agendas. No bueno. Be honest about what’s happening.
- The left-out narrative: I’m 40, 41 in November, and my friends from college started having kids when I was probably 28. I’ve been on this Merry-Go-Round for a minute. Now, I have friends all over the USA (HUMBLE BRAG!!!) who don’t have kids, and that’s common too. But in general, you can end up feeling very left out in the 28-to-50 pocket of life, where child-rearing is happening more. You’re on a group text and someone sends a kid picture; 90 responses and hearts. You send an article you found interesting. Sits there like a brick. It doesn’t help that a lot of parents almost use parenting, especially newborn parenting, as a crutch to avoid doing anything else except their income source. I have friends who had a kid, and literally for about three years they won’t respond to a text message. I mean, I get kids are work, but it takes 11 seconds to respond to a text message. You don’t have 11 seconds? Feels like crappy parenting, from afar.
- The provider narrative: When the “issue,” such as it exists, is more on you, you just feel like a piece of shit that can’t deliver what someone wants, and that’s emotionally very taxing, and — paradoxically, no doubt — it often drives you into the same habits that don’t help the whole thing in the first place.
- Why do people have kids? You start thinking more about this in the context of everything, especially with how many unloved children there are in the world. There’s a noble answer to this question, for sure, but the main thing I always come back to is relevance. I think people have kids for their own personal relevance, and/or “It’s what you do” and/or “The biological purpose of life” and/or “My grandparents told me this is the role of a woman.” (Cancel me.) We know the planet is overpopulated, and we know climate is a concern. Fertility rates are dropping, sure, but people do continue to generally have children. You gotta think it’s a lot to do with personal relevance.
- “When” becomes “if:” I spent most of my growing-up years just kinda assuming I’d be a dad someday, but I’m probably halfway through my life and I’m not. Makes you think about other “when” to “if” transitions.
- Fertility announcements: These types of posts are usually a massive train wreck, and because the important thing to the poster is them being acknowledged and cherished, the poster often forgets “Oh hey, shit, I have a bunch of friends trying to do this who haven’t yet, so maybe I should approach this differently.” It’s a void of empathy and people think about themselves — “Shower me with attention because I had sex for 2 minutes and 27 seconds 12 weeks ago!” — more than anything else. In short, it’s literally the perfect type of social media post, because it underscores more than anything else what social media really is. And no, if it ever happens for me, I do not plan a fertility post.
What else you got on the journey and the feelings? Holler.
