The urge to nest is a common compulsion, especially if you are a human of the female persuasion -- and pregnant. But the overwhelming urge to clean, organize, and decorate is not limited to pregnant women alone. I should know. I’ve felt it, and continue to feel it a couple times a year, despite never having been in a family way. And I rarely ever admit it. Many of my single and female friends, who themselves have never been expectant mothers, are overtaken by the nesting instinct in a powerful way, and more than just a mere week or two out of the year. Many of these women have jobs/careers, and possess strong desires for professional success. So how does one harmonize the desire for career advancement and the hankering for a cozy place to nurture, if not a child, one’s own dreams and goals?
Metaphor time. Have you ever walked by a Kentucky Fried Chicken on an empty stomach? (or a pizza place, or a Chinese restaurant, or a hot dog stand) and suddenly imagined holding a bucket of golden deliciousness with a side of mashed potatoes + gravy, and a few biscuits, and satiating yourself silly in solitude so that no one can hear the animal-like scarfing, or witness the smears of grease and loss of pride? And then being called back to reality upon hearing your stomach growl, so that you run home to make yourself dinner because a KFC meal does not align with your objective to fit into that dress you plan to wear for that New Year’s Eve occasion you don’t have scheduled yet, but you know you will? Imagine that once you’re home you find the fridge empty and the cupboards bare. So you settle for some leftover Halloween candy at the bottom of your bag and a stale bag of Sun chips -- for dinner. Unsatisfying. So what happens when nestiness sets in and you suddenly start thinking of painting borders in your bedroom, or get teary over the itty-bitty cuteness of the holiday toddler outfits at Target, and you don't do anything about it? This is why women go on chocolate binges and buy expensive handbags, purchase animal-shaped cookie cutters, engage in RomCom* marathons, go crazy buying up succulents in plant stores, and make ambitious proclamations about making homemade gnocchi.** They are trying to fill that empty nesting hole with either some form of domesticity or mask it with new slouch boots and a faux reptile clutch.
Fighting hormones is like fighting the Taliban in the peaks and crevices of Tora Bora: difficult. A friend of mine recently brought up that she is feeling nesty. She dismissed it with a figurative wave, and labeled the phase “stupid”. I can understand the instinct to apologize. Nesting instincts aren’t exactly encouraged in single women lest they be branded clean freaks for washing walls or just plain freaks for buying label makers. But, I say to women everywhere: give yourselves permission to feel your nesting instinct to the maximum! Explore the heart of it -- all the way to the outer reaches, without shame, without apology, and with the pride that your body can produce such a beautiful urge to build, protect, and nurture.
What follows is a bit of a stretch, but…
At the core of South African culture is the concept of Ubuntu. It's a bit tricky to explain, but the fundamental idea is that "I am because you are." In other words, I am OK if you are OK. If you don't have your good, I will provide. And, if I don't have enough, you will help me, because in doing so we help each other and our community...and by helping each other, by nurturing our communities, we make a better world. I think at the nucleus of the nesting instinct are some of the basic tenets of Umbutu – to nurture, to provide, to comfort, and to create a safe place. What if we all took spoonfuls of Ubuntu on a daily basis? If we subscribe to the idea that we hold in ourselves a microcosm that reflects the macrocosm, what a beautiful move it would be for us as women to lay out our nesting instincts proudly like a string of sacred blankets and offer up their warmth and comfort to the world.
*Romantic Comedies
**Don’t do it. What a m+&^%$f@@@ing nightmare.
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Update: I was recently schooled by my friend Nathan that his wife Allison, also my friend, makes some pretty freaking fantastic homemade gnocchi. I stand corrected, to the fact that preparing homemade gnocchi from scratch is both a motherf%$#ing nightmare, and an endeavor that will be automatically met with failure. Some of us, most notably myself, teeter on the brink of culinary failurehood, and it is erroneous for me to dismiss the renaissance women in the world who can bring home the bacon/potatoes, and fry it up in a pan/make potato dumplings, and present everything on a nice serving platter -- all while juggling careers and children and keeping up to date with the latest issue of The Economist.
So Allison, you go on with your bad self! And next time I visit can we have gnocchi?
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