I recently read Mary Louise Kelly’s book, It. Goes. So. Fast., which details how she has navigated an incredibly demanding career with NPR while parenting for the past eighteen years. In the middle of the memoir, where she recounts her trip to the Ukraine just before the war officially began, it hits me. I could have written a similar book (instead of the ones I’ve written about marriage) had I made different choices.
While in my twenties, each assignment shot for a top publication increased my ambition. I was steadily moving toward my goal of taking photos for The National Geographic.
But then, a non-profit reached out and asked if I would be willing to sign on for a year. I said yes. Shortly before my departure date, one of Boston’s major dailies invited me to interview for a staff position. They too offered me a job. After several weeks of agonizing about my options, I turned them down and honored my initial commitment. (The woman the paper went on to hire, who is a friend, still holds that job thirty-five years later. She is an exceptional photographer. I both respect and envy her.) An offer of this caliber never came around to me again.
“We lose things and then we choose things.”
After my year of making photos in six different countries, I returned home. I then said yes to a remarkable man who has been by my side for thirty-two years. (Hence the marriage books.) We choose to become parents.
I continued to chase my professional dreams but the cost seemed to escalate month by month. I stretch, and stretch, and stretch some more, trying to stay relevant, keep up with my peers, and mother my boys.
Around the time our second son turns two, he begins to wake up screaming as if someone is inserting nails between his toes. He refuses comfort. Sleep evades us. We feel like (and probably were) horrible parents. Photography no longer feels quite so innervating.
In that same year, two memorable assignments influence me to make a different choice than Mary Louise Kelly. Both male subjects (famous in their own fields) direct unwarranted ire and frustration towards me during their sessions (both understandable given that one man’s wife recently died and the other’s recently left him). The second time, after being verbally abused in a public setting, I drove home and walked up the stairs to our apartment in tears. My toddler offered me his beloved binky and a lispy litany of why he loved me. That mundane moment brings clarity.
I cannot have it all. I cannot be a world-class photojournalist and a loving, present parent. (I’m not suggesting that others can’t do this well but based on my limitations and peculiarities, it was beyond me.) I realize that though there are photojournalists who can produce the caliber of photos that I do, there’s no one else who can (or who wants to) mother my sons. The proverbial dye has been cast.
We choose things and then we lose things.
We decide to have another child, and then surprisingly, to teach our sons at home. I continue to shoot, but mostly on the sidelines. Unlike Kelly, I am not anchoring a national news show and have the freedom to watch my sons play soccer. (And basketball. And baseball, possibly the most tedious sport to watch as there’s no clock involved.)
I don’t regret my choices. And yet…
When I think back to the jobs that my husband and I said no to so that we might remain rooted in one place, offer our sons stability, and support our aging parents, I do sometimes wonder how different my life might have been.
I recognize the sadness that Kelly experienced during her sons’ school years only for me, it’s the reverse. It’s not about the birthday parties and sporting events that I missed but what my career might have been. The countries I might have visited. The stories I might have told. The prestigious awards I might have won. (The 401K I might have had!)
I do not have, nor will I ever have, the kind of professional success that Mary Louise Kelly enjoys. I will never share a byline or stage with her. It’s too late for me to retrace my steps.
We do share something though. As moms, we are both vulnerable to guilt and holding ourselves to impossible standards. It’s almost second nature for us to make highlight reels of our perceived failures and then constantly re-watch them while giving ourselves harsh performance reviews.
The older I get, the more I long to abandon that narrative. I want this for my sisters too. I want us to extend more grace and compassion to ourselves—and each other. To trust that though we have, and will continue to make mistakes, most of us are good-enough parents and our sons and daughters will find their way.
When we’re in our twenties and thirties, we can’t see far enough ahead to understand where our yeses and nos will take us. Our youthful dreams and aspirations rarely play out the way we imagine. (Just read Joseph’s story in the Old Testament book of Genesis. His literal dreams did come true but the cost was exorbitant.) Forty years ago, I could not have predicted how challenging, disappointing, fulfilling, exhausting, meaningful, and yes, average, my life would be.
The title of Kelly’s book is spot on. Parenting and life do go too fast. And we don’t get any do-overs. That’s why regret can be so powerful.
My third act is well underway. My choices seem much more consequential now. The stakes are higher. More people depend on me. I’m writing the narrative in real time and to be honest, I’m not sure how it’s going to end. But I’m believing, in faith, that there will be joy. And hope. And lots and lots of yeses.
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As I embark on writing my third book, tentatively titled Love the Women, which focuses on misogyny, I am looking for readers to join my team. You can do that through Patreon, or by singing up for the paid version of Substack. Thank you for stopping by.
The line “We lose things. And then we choose things” is from Sunday in the Park with George.
It. Goes. So. Fast. is a terrific book and I highly recommend it.
Header photo by Katie Moum on Unsplash.
So true, Dorothy, and I too have wondered what my life would have been like if I had chosen differently. I realized I couldn't do it all when my youngest was about a year old and left my career with the intention of returning in a few years. That didn't happen. I said other "yeses" that meant "no" to a traditional career. I wouldn't be the person I am today if I had stayed taken the other path. Not better or worse, but different. I like who I am today, and I trust that I am becoming the individual God created me to be. Great post, Dorothy. Thank you!
I loved this article. I completely agree with you. I wonder too about my choices, but as I am making a child's bed to get ready for her to return home from college, I give thanks that I have the time to prepare for her. It really is not about me anymore and has not been for the last 20 years. I don't get paid for parenting, but I think I would have paid for it in many ways if I had not been present. P.S. I also agree about the baseball. Lol.