A Future I Can't Unsee

On realizing I wanted a family

Photo by Hanna Lazar on Unsplash

I was halfway through a winter walk when the image appeared. The air was cold and quiet around me.

Walking has always been where my thinking settles. My strongest realizations tend to arrive when I’m outside and moving.

During my mid-twenties, I often found myself outside walking on my own, listening to the sounds of the world.

So, during this walk, like every other, I didn’t force myself to think about anything specific. I let my thoughts wander and simply enjoy the moment. This time was no different in that regard. Then, without warning, my thoughts formed an image.

In the image, I am older. Surrounded by people my emotions tell me are my wife and children. How happy and warm it feels. The comfortable sofa under me. My adult children sit on both sides. A decorated Christmas tree in the background on the left. My wife is handing me a cup of coffee. And then a young child runs into the picture and jumps into my lap. Somehow, I know it’s my grandchild. And now the image zooms out a little more, and inside the frame, I can now also see my children’s partners in the kitchen talking, as well as a few grandchildren playing with a wooden train set on the side. The house is warm and full.

My legs started to feel unsteady. But the image stayed. I couldn’t put it back where it came from. Something in me already knew what it meant.

I had to sit down for a bit. And I chose to revisit that scene.

I kissed my wife on the cheek. Then I patted my grandchild’s head while they started complaining that I’m messing up their hair, and they ran off. I took a sip of the coffee while smiling. I shifted slightly on the sofa to make room for others, feeling the weight move around me as people settle and resettle without asking. Someone calls my name from the kitchen, asking where something is. I answer without getting up.

I continued sitting there in the image for quite some time more. Not really thinking about what it meant, or what would come next. I enjoyed staying with it while life moved around me. Nothing required my attention.

Sitting there in that imagined room, something else slowly began to surface.
Memories of how I had always thought about children.

While growing up and becoming a young adult, I had the typical parents and grandparents, who often pestered me with questions about children. I had obviously thought about having kids, but saw them as a “maybe in the future” or “maybe with the right partner”. It never felt settled one way or the other.

At that point, my life had already started to slow down, at least compared to the years before. I was balancing a part-time job with my third year at university. I wasn’t restless in the same way I used to be, but I wasn’t settled either. My days were full but no longer frantic. I had stepped down from the hyperactivity of earlier years, yet I hadn’t quite arrived at anything resembling a normal pace.

There was a sense of being in between things. Busy, but with more space than before. Focused, but not anchored. I was on the verge of launching my own company, carrying that quiet pressure that comes when something new is forming but hasn’t yet demanded its full weight. Life felt open, but when I looked ahead, most futures remained abstract and uncertain, possible but slightly out of reach emotionally.

Eventually, something tugged me back.

I started to notice the cold creeping in. First faintly, and then insistently. My legs were stiff, and my ass was uncomfortably cold. Only then did I realize I had sat down in the snow.

I stood up, brushed the snow from my coat, and continued my walk, carrying the image with me.

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