This summer has been a season jam-packed with a rapid succession of family reunions, road trips to visit far-flung loved ones, and hosting what a friend impishly refers to as “house pests.” As a non-parent introvert, I’m saturated.
The extended immersion in family gatherings involves everyone else’s children. Doesn’t matter if the kids are absent or in attendance. They’re still omnipresent, mentioned frequently as a main topic of conversation.
I sit largely on the sidelines as witness to the importance of family. Without my own kids or living parents, I listen much more than I talk. I feel more like window dressing than clan member. It’s been this way for years.
Granted, it can be interesting to watch how the different family units interact with one another. The parents with young children operate much as they do when at home, focused almost exclusively on overseeing, entertaining, and managing the movements of their kids. The older children occupy center stage, with nary a question posed to the rest of us; we make up the adoring audience that eggs them on. Some performances are charming, while others, I confess, can bore or even annoy.
Adolescent cousins band together, stealing away from the family to share hot new games, funny TikTok posts, and important influencers the rest of us have never heard of. Parents lure their teen scion to the dinner table and prompt them to share accomplishments and key events with the rest of the family. We “ooh” over academic and/or athletic feats and “aah” over budding romances.
I hear many parents have trouble adapting when the children leave home. I know some hover over the kids’ budding adulthood, seeking information to regain the social capital they’ve lost control over, as well as the friends they used to hang with in multi-family clusters founded through their youngsters’ friend groups. The role of parent is, for many, a lifelong, immersive commitment.
As we gather, it’s like we’re all nested together in a pan full of yet-unpopped corn. When the oil heats to temp, one kernel pops up with a story, which jostles the next to burst forth with their own. Over and over again these story kernels pop, until the pan is full of conversational snippets with little cohesion or depth. I don’t enjoy a constant diet of popcorn.
While I get the appeal of sharing family anecdotes, my attention span quickly wanes. Some popcorn stories recycle year after year anyway, forming a familial legend we all come to know. I really don’t have much to offer at these family-centric gatherings and usually feel like an alien.
By contrast, given the opportunity for one-on-one interaction, I navigate very well. As an intimacy junkie, I enjoy conversing in dyads and small groups, posing questions and offering my own perspective. I reap community sustenance from these small encounters, where questions are launched and ideas considered. Everyone has a voice and airs it as they’re moved. They also actively listen, as evidenced by their often-provocative questions.
These are the kinds of interactions that matter most and add vitality to my life. From these interactions I’ve garnered friends over the decades, many I now consider as my chosen family. They populate the community in which I thrive.
I connected with a few during our teenage years, and I crossed paths with the others at work and in shared interest groups. They range in age from 40 to 91. Many, like me, are not parents.
However, a subset has children; some even have grandkids. But for myriad reasons, their kids are rarely the topic of conversation, and they like it that way. Some have offspring with lifelong troubles they don’t enjoy discussing. Others have experienced familial rifts and are estranged from their kids. Some enjoy interests other than parenting, and they appreciate the space to talk about topics outside family matters.
This got me thinking that maybe the basis of the friendships I enjoy has little bearing on whether we’re parents or not. Rather, it’s what we choose to share and when we choose to do so. It’s being open to exchange discoveries and delights as we travel the course of life.
We non-parents follow life paths we’ve travelled since childhood. Some of us stay put and run in the same lane we did in high school, presumably more mature now than we were then. Some of our paths branch along the way as we explore different interests, geography, and/or careers. But none of these paths include the experience of having kids.
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What if having children or not isn’t what creates the distance between us? What if the main differences are topics we’re inclined to engage in when we meet with others? What if the separation occurs, not because of the kids, but because of how we experience life’s opportunities and demands? Maybe the point is to cultivate ever-evolving interests that create meaning for us. Then we share those interests with others, who can choose to join in or pursue different endeavors.
Maybe we just need to get more curious about those we come in contact with, even when their lives are organized around priorities different than our own. It’s not hard to seek other perspectives and initiate a range of topics that don’t include parenting. Like those in my delightful friendship circle do regularly. Even when they share popcorn with relatives.
