How to reconcile the condition of having children with the precepts of minimalism?
Consider that in most parts of the world children are no longer needed for their physical labor (or cannibal flesh). It seems that in the developed world people have children either because it is "what people do", or because it is the natural biological extension of their hoarding instincts, so finely tuned in this consumerist purgatory. In having children, they are quite literally to be "had", like the acquisition of perfect ornaments to complete the suburban mansion.
From this derives the litany of that ancient and cosmic crime: mis-parenting. The mistreatment of children by contorting them into extensions of one's own ego, to force a sovereign child to realize all of the frustrated ambitions of the parent, as though the child were a new life with which to replay a level in Mario Brothers, so as to acquire all of the trinkets one ineptly failed to acquire the first time.
As a new parent who was not that long ago a rebellious child, my mind is freshly imprinted with wariness -- and fear of the questionable motivations of parents. In that eternal rebellion of children against rules and curfews, I will always desire to take their side, cheering them on in the search for their own epiphany and the forging of their own path.
To me, the project for this life of parenthood is one of self-mastery, of resisting the siren call of selfishness disguised as love. How much mistreatment has been excused by the unjustifiable lie of "it is because we love you"? The question is how to leverage parenting as not the inevitable extension of the acquisitive life, but a touchstone in the intentional life.
If parenting is not spiritual practice, is not the daily act of devotion, is not the elation of domestic mysticism, is not the abnegation of pride, is not the hourly uttered centering prayer, then surely it is a deed gone to waste, a misuse of effort.
In this life (la lucha, the struggle, "the awful rowing toward God"), we desire nothing more than to have our experiences be witnessed, to create memories with loved ones and especially our children. How sad to lose sight of ultimate questions, to waste this gift on the futile jousting of tiger mother and fathers.
Long ago I strove to create masterpieces of writing, one mediocre blog entry at a time. In the domesticity of present, I have not forgotten those dreams. I wish to bring old intuitions to bear on this new venture, to raise a child intensely and passionately (the way I once desired to write). Not through the brute force of cram schools, but the sustained rhythm of a creative, playful, and intentional life -- in short, the institutionalization in my very own home an Enlightened Kumon.
