In the name of the father

US psychologist, Martin Seligman, says there are three portals to happiness: hedonism, "flow", and service. On the latter, I was musing recently about how much unsought, unexpected joy I've had being a parent.

Having children led me to a host of decisions that altered my life in fundamental ways: work, career, income, where I lived, and, my relationships: with myself, spouse, parents and extended family.

Fifteen years after conceiving our first child, I've enjoyed a lot of pleasure from trading one life for another. Mind you, my spouse and I had never wanted to raise children but 10 years into our marriage, she changed her mind. She wanted children.

Much discussion followed. Why change the great life we had, I asked? After all, our life in the city gave us all we wanted, right? Freedom, travel, double incomes, cars, a trendy inner city house, an investment property near the harbour, and a rich social, intellectual and cultural life. In the short term she wanted me to trade that for chaos and the end of civilisation: morning sickness, birthing classes, birth trauma, one billion shitty nappies, colic, mastitis, broken sleep, baby talk, baby showers. Fuck, no! Becoming a father was not one of my fantasies. Not remotely. But motherhood had become important to my spouse, and I acquiesced. Why? One reason only: I loved her.

Needless to say, fatherhood changed my life. It was a revolution. The full telling of that story, and the changes to my home, career, economic and social circumstances, is for another time. But Seligman’s thesis that what some call “sacrifice” was for me a pathway to unlikely pleasures. I traded my former life to become a co-creator of children’s lives. Today, this experience continues to be a privilege, a self-revelation, a sometime pain in the ass, and an unparalleled joy.

Being in relationship with, and jointly responsible for the physical, emotional and intellectual development of a child is to become more fully oneself. More human. I’d never expected to learn this lesson. In my early days of parenting, I was asked to forego, abbreviate, suspend, and alter my interests, hobbies and pursuits. At the same time, I was invited to receive and hold many unexpected and undeserved gifts.

There was a time when my daughter used to miss me because I was spending long hours away from home commuting to a day job in the city. I was in the habit of leaving our new home in the blue mountains before dawn and returning again in darkness. Because of this, she sometimes missed the opportunity of seeing and speaking to me, as she'd be sleeping when I left in the morning and in bed again by the time I returned home in the evening.

One morning, determined to speak to me and hug me before I left for work, she rose early without my knowing and sat beside the front door, waiting for me in her dressing gown. I rose, showered, dressed, and breakfasted, not seeing the sleeping child slumped beside the front door, as I quietly left the house in darkness. I learned of her efforts to share a moment with me when I returned home that evening. The memory of her loving deed, and our missed encounter, still brings me sadness and tears.

I'll soon become a divorcee - a designation that awaits two thirds of people who marry. Today I live 70 kms from my children. I see with greater clarity how parenthood has changed me. I realise how much pleasure I’ve taken (sometimes for granted), merely at hearing the sounds of my children's boisterous, laughing, fighting voices in the house. Recently, I was awakened by a conversation in the street between a young boy and girl. For all the world, they sounded like my son and daughter: the tone of their voices and the music of their laughter came swimming to me as if I were still living with them at home. It was a bitter-sweet moment.

I'm living in the city again. Come nightfall, wailing sirens, barking dogs and babbling drunks play the sound track to my dreams. It's a time to re-engage with an urban life and a career that I’d paused 15 years ago. There's a rack of old suits, shirts and ties to dust off. But it feels like going three steps back to go two steps forward. And there’s a nagging thought that maybe I’m a bit a bit behind/beyond the business of re-establishing a life and career in Sydney town.

Am I?