Last week, my partner and I spoke openly and at length about having children for the first time in our six (SIX!) years together. We’d both been indifferent toward the idea, too preoccupied with our lives, our careers, our art. Sometimes we flip-flopped positions from one year to the next—sometimes together, sometimes separate. But as I approach my mid-thirties, the question seems to toll louder and louder.

We were walking to our favorite grassy patch when he pointed out a shadowy storm cloud rolling in. As we sat cross-legged, settling into conversation, a light rain began to fall. We decided to stick it out and continue our talk beneath a dense canopy of nearby pine trees. Our agenda included children in general, infertility, adoption, views on family, climate change, domestic labor—you know, the usual light fare.

In undergrad, I studied policymaking at the intersection of environment and economy. I learned about the concept of counterfactuals—an alternate universe that our current one is compared to as an attempt to measure “what if?”

Like policymaking, life offers no true counterfactuals. There is just the decision one makes based on intuition and imperfect information and then commits to. While we still haven’t landed on anything definite, the picture is more clear. Clearer, like the sunlit sky that emerged after we concluded our conversation and started our walk back home.

Jamie

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