One of the morning’s headlines read, “COVID-19 is linked to more diabetes diagnoses among kids, CDC study finds.” My first thought was, I’m so glad I’m not raising kids during this pandemic. It was a selfish thought, but I can’t imagine the stressors… Parents have to worry so much more about the health of their kids. They have to worry about the emotional toll of isolation. They have to worry about the mental and social developmental delays. I’ve been in some meetings with school administrators who talk about behavioral delays – high school students who haven’t grown out of their middle school behaviors because school has been anything but normal. And it’s not just the pandemic. We’ve had significant civil unrest (a summer of protests) and an attempted overthrow of the government – all of which parents have had to explain to their kids. This feels like the type of thing that will impact, and perhaps fracture, an entire generation.
But because I’m selfish, I also turned my thinking back to me and trying to figure out where and how I fit in. In my previous post, I wrote a post script about our shared experiences of isolation and loss in this pandemic. I have to admit, that’s me being a bit of a flower-child optimist. That’s me hoping that if any good comes out of this, it’s this notion that we might be in a better position to connect with each other. That’s me, a somewhat disconnected person, turning my personal deficiencies into global hope. I doubt that’s how it will play out. For decades, we’ve been cruising towards greater and greater isolation and division. With so much choice in the world, and so many ways to keep to ourselves, common experiences are becoming increasingly rare. As a species, our history is one in which we’ve confined ourselves to smaller and smaller spaces. We went from communal living, to individual homes, to riding around in cars, to cubicles and personal computers, to a four-inch handheld with earbuds and a bent neck. We’ve developed countless thresholds to keep the threatening world at bay and keep us safely inside. When fewer books were published, more people read the same things. When there were fewer TV shows, more people had seen the same things. When there were fewer “news” channels, we had a better understanding between fact and opinion and there was a sense of shared history.
As a bit of a nomad, finding ways to connect with people is important to me. Though sometimes I wonder if that’s driven by selfish motives too – are we all just looking for a sympathetic audience? Ways to sing our one sad note, our beginner’s song, over and over again until we learn another? On a superficial level, connecting is pretty easy. When I listen to people, I can usually find a point or two of commonality, a similar experience that can become a conversation. But on a deeper level, I think connecting is becoming harder. There’s a reason couples without kids hang around other couples without kids. There’s a reason we talk about dog people and cat people. There’s a reason people with similar ethnic and cultural backgrounds form communities with each other. Opposites attract because of the newness, but where do they go if they can’t relate on a deeper level?
If my initial thought was I wouldn’t want to be a parent in today’s world, my second thought was, I guess I probably can’t date anyone with kids… I was a parent once (still am, but now that she’s grown it’s in a different way). I’m not sure I could relate to a current parent. That is a closed-minded and premature approach, but I began to wonder if raising kids in a pandemic has created a type of cultural divide. In the dating world, there used to exist, or at least I think there did, this logic that raising kids (currently or formerly) created a shared understanding of sacrifice. The trips to the orthodontist or extracurricular activities, the late night feedings, the last minute homework assignments, the tantrums in the store, the juggling to get out of the house on time… A lot of those things may still exist, but they’ve been complicated: online learning, mask mandates and guidance, daycare shutdowns. It’s the type of thing that unless you’ve dealt with it, you just don’t know.
How many of those “other things” exist? The “unless you’ve been there, you just don’t know” types of things… and are how big are those barriers? I began to wonder if relationships work better when certain deep experiences or traumas are shared. Parents date parents, recovering addicts date recovering addicts, widows date widows, pet owners date pet owners. I began running through the handful of relationships I’ve had in the past five years (those that lasted more than a few months) to see if I could find patterns. Only one woman had ever had kids. None of them had cats. Most were from small-ish families. Most were independent. Almost all were politically left-leaning. Almost all were somewhat artistic. Several had dealt with infidelity, several had abusive or alcoholic parents, one or two had abusive partners. Not surprisingly, I think I had deeper connections with those who shared more of their past… but we also experienced deeper disappointments. It was if the more we tried to understand each other, the more we became convinced (entrenched) that our story was unique and the other person couldn’t possibly understand. They might even threaten our individuality. I remember in one instance, I had said something along the lines of I can’t possibly imagine what that’s like, but I can try. It wasn’t received well. I was told nobody could understand and that’s why they don’t share…
And this is the landmine of love on which so many of us step. We want someone who “gets us” until of course, we realize they don’t quite get us (no one can). We fiercely guard our independent self while also wanting to share. That’s when I begin to think that maybe we’re going about this all wrong (or at least I have been). Maybe instead of trying to find points on which to connect, we (I) would be better off just listening and appreciating the openness. Not everything has to be understood or empathized with. Maybe the point of connection is the sharing and not the finding ways to relate. I am, by nature and avocation, someone who wants to help. Most of those relationships were with people who were also helpers of some type. Sometimes, I think, offers to help and efforts to relate can have the opposite effect of what was intended. Sometimes, people are protective of their burdens. Sometimes, I think people just need to say these things out loud as a way to process and figure out what they might need. I suspect we could all stand to be better listeners – which might mean not trying to prove or show that we’ve been listening… it’s a different type of being present and a different way of seeing others.
I don’t have to worry about my young child getting COVID and then diabetes. I won’t ever know what it’s been like to juggle career and daycare and isolation all at once in the midst of a pandemic. Reflecting on the post script from the other day, it’s not so much that I want all of us to have the same shared experiences. I want us to find the language and patience and courage to connect when our experiences are shared and listen when they are different … and to have the wisdom to know when to do which.