Ordinary affects […] pick up density and texture as they move through bodies, dreams, dramas, and social worldings of all kinds. Their significance lies in the intensities they build and what thoughts and feelings they make possible. The question they beg is not what they might mean […] or whether they are good or bad […] but where they might go and what potential modes of knowing, relating, and attending to things are already somehow present in them in a state of potentiality and resonance. (Stewart, 2007: 2-3)1
I had just stopped the recording, and she immediately wanted to know, “Can I ask you something?” “Yeah, of course”, I replied.
She: How is it for you to not have children?
We had been talking about her life for hours. Her relationship of 7 years. Cultural differences between her as an Iranian who grew up in the Netherlands and her husband who moved from Iran to the Netherlands only 5 years ago. The years of unsuccessful IVF treatments. Managing familial meddling from both sides. FOMO. Past lovers. This was her chance to ask an intimate question in return.
Me: Honestly, I don’t know how to answer the question. I receive it from time to time. Usually I say something like “I’ve never felt a strong need to have children. Fortunately, my partner feels the same.”, which is true. The part that I am less sure about is when people want to know how I think about the consequences.
She: Oh yeah, they always want to know that. The consequences! The future!
Me: “Are you sure you won’t be lonely when you get old?”
She: Yeah.. This makes me question my happiness. I have a lovely husband and a great life. We are healthy. We have lots of friends who we love dearly.
Me: Exactly! Sometimes you feel how people are sad for you and try to comfort you. Recently an interlocutor told me, “Don’t worry, children are not that great.” He had just been talking about how his children and grandchildren are the most important thing in his life.
She: Yes, the pitying is the worst.
Me: He meant well, of course. I caught myself reassuring him that my life is meaningful. As I was doing that I started to feel like a fraud. I didn’t entirely believe what I was saying. Not because my life isn’t meaningful, but because I have no idea how life will unfold. I don’t know how I will feel in retrospect.
She: We can’t know.
Me: Right? People with children probably don’t know either.
Our eyes interlocked briefly, and we smiled. I felt a sense of relief. I wonder if she did too. Our different biographies brought us to this moment of resonance. The not-knowing. Time will tell! We sat there in silence for a few more seconds, enjoying the precious, golden autumn sun in her sunroom before we picked up the conversation again.
References:
- Stewart, Kathleen. 2007. Ordinary Affects. Durham & London: Duke University Press. ↩︎
Rhythms of Love 