I didn't choose travel over children; I just don't want any

I didn't choose travel over children; I just don't want any

I recently came across a friend's Facebook status that made me laugh because it reflected conversations with my own family.

old=““>Posted with permissionA friend's Facebook status

The pressure to settle down comes not only from family, but often from friends, colleagues and acquaintances. Sometimes the nagging is lighthearted. For others it's annoying. Occasionally it's downright offensive.

One of the most insulting questions anyone has ever asked me is, “Are you traveling to fill the void of not having kids?”

There were so many annoying assumptions in the question that it took me a minute to unpack them all: the idea that I was incomplete without children, that I traveled not because I found it interesting but to fill a yawning gap in my life, that I was dishonest or somehow obtuse when I said I didn't want children, that I didn't know my own mind.

It was a double-edged insult that I could neither confirm (it wasn't true) nor deny (because then I would protest too much).

Since then, almost every friend my age has had children, but I have remained childless - not because I lead a 007 life full of wonder and intrigue, but simply because I never wanted children.

It's not that I'm selfish, as I once thought; It's not that I haven't found the right man; it's not because I'm afraid I'll lose my figure; and it's not because I can't afford it. That's because I don't want children.

Since I was 18, friends and family have told me that one day I would change my mind, so I stayed open to the idea, but the need for children never arose. Over the last few years I have asked myself objectively and pragmatically several times whether I want a child - and the answer has always been no.

old=““>Atlas & BootsWith 20 nieces and nephews, I spend a lot of time with children, but never wanted to have one of my own

I have held newborn children in my arms and looked at their beautiful little faces and seriously asked myself, “Do I want one of you?” The answer is always no. I thought about the loneliness of old age and questioned whether having children is justified. The answer is always no.

As I approach the crisis (I'll be 35 next year), I've asked myself the question again, and the answer I find is still no. A small part of me worries that one day I'll change my mind and it'll be too late. The other part knows that the only reason I'm even thinking about this is because of the rhetoric surrounding the topic: Women who don't have children are supposed to feel not only remorse but also "sadness." Those who have children say it is the “greatest thing in the world.”

I'm sure it is and it doesn't depend on who you are and what day it is, but this promise of greatness hasn't influenced me yet.

When Peter and I went on our first date a few years ago, I mentioned in conversation that I didn't want children, but that everyone told me I would change my mind.

He said: "I don't buy it when others insist that you change your mind about such a big thing. I mean, people don't wake up one day and suddenly decide they're fascists."

We laughed and then ate dessert and talked until the end of the day. Years later I haven't become a fascist and I still don't want children.

So, no, I'm not traveling to fill a void in my life. I travel because I enjoy it. That's pretty much all there is to it.

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Mission statement: Atlas & Boots

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