Recently, I was looking around local nurseries for my daughter. Then, last weekend, I curiously found myself at a university open day with her. It turns out, what felt like “recently” was actually 16 years ago. Time has gone by a little quicker than expected.
Earlier in the week I’d read how Michelle Obama was in therapy to cope with that transitional moment in her life – her children leaving home. In an interview on the lifestyle podcast On Purpose with Jay Getty, she confessed: “I’m in therapy right now because I’m transitioning... I’ve finished a really hard thing in my life with my family intact.” She then explained: “I’m an empty nester. My girls… they’ve been launched.”
My very first launch – that moment my oldest will “fly the nest”, as the saying goes – is one year away. But as this point on the horizon draws closer, I’m trying to avoid seeing it as an event that will put me in therapy, for this life milestone is desperately in need of a rebrand. Tell someone they’re going to become an empty-nester and of course they’ll be an emotional heap at the thought. A beautiful little bird’s nest, all warm and cosy, full of cute fluffy chicks is suddenly empty, so silent you can hear every twig snap. The idea of it is utterly heartbreaking.
But, in truth, by the time the brood is ready to fly, those chicks are no longer cute and fluffy, they’re big loud birds, who drop their feathers all over the floor, need constant feeding and make a whole lot of squawking noise – and encourage a load of other birds to invade the nest, drinking the last drops of whatever sustenance there is. Feeling better about this yet? Also, from what I can gather, the nest is usually only part empty. It takes most birds about a decade to fully vacate. So it’s more of a short-term migration than a full-on change of habitat – to milk the analogy for all its worth.
Greenaway's eldest on her first day at nursery school[Missing Credit]
Greenaway and her first-born today[Missing Credit]
The thing is, it’s going to happen so it would be helpful if we weren’t primed for it like an illness that we’re destined to catch. It’s not just that emotive empty nest language – it’s been turned into a syndrome, too. No wonder we approach it with dread. But what we can learn from Michelle is her excellent use of vocabulary, for the right words matter. She talks of a launch, which to me conjures up a ship setting sail and leaving the harbour. If we called it empty harbour syndrome, I bet it would cause less mental anguish. Who could possibly get emotional about that? Especially if it leaves space for a fabulous yacht to take you on some sunny adventures – during term time.
When your kids move out, there are other wonderful things to look forward to. First, off-peak holiday rates. Second, less crowded hotels. OK, maybe these are all just one point, along with that yacht, but I’m sure there are more too. Less washing. Less noise. Fewer shoes in the hall. Fewer of your favourite £6 Exalt smoothies being drunk by someone else.
And nowadays, the great thing is that if you start to feel down there are wonderful, caring souls such as Mark Zuckerberg to look after your mental health. In a podcast interview earlier this month, Zuckerberg suggested that his company’s AI chatbots now proliferating the internet on his platforms could help people tackle loneliness. Just as Michelle was lamenting her daughters leaving on one podcast, Mark was offering the perfect solution on another: AI chatbot children, or birds, or ships, or whatever you want them to be.
One does wonder, however, if you can totally trust him, because last year he told us we’d all be living in the Metaverse, but it turns out people like living in the actual world. Perhaps Zuckerberg missed a trick with that one. If he’d only branded it the Mumverse and marketed it to Jewish mummies missing their bubalehs it would be a highly populated corner of cyberspace by now. He may also have prevented £120 billion being wiped off his company’s share price, but even Zuckerberg can’t get everything right.
This is what all that parenting has been for, preparing them to be mensches in the real world without your needing to nudge them and mouth ‘thank you’ behind someone’s back
If AI bots can become our very best friends, presumably they can replace your children too. You can certainly train an AI bot to respond to you just like your child would – even using their incomprehensible “peak” teen language.
Ask the AI bot to tidy their room and it could reply just like your own. Obviously it couldn’t then actually tidy the room, but that may, in fact, make the interaction all the more authentic. But there’s also a lot else AI chatbots can’t do: they can’t give you hugs, they can’t make you eggs for breakfast, they can’t tell you you’re “slaying” in your outfit and give you a boost before you walk out the door, or jump into bed with you first thing in the morning, or fill you to bursting with nachas, joy or love. But let’s not go down that path.
The moment is coming whether we like it or not. And, in truth, we do like it. This is what all that parenting has been for, preparing them to be mensches in the real world without your needing to nudge them and mouth “thank you” behind someone’s back.
Over the next few weeks, as I visit other university open days with my daughter, I’m going to do my best to keep that in mind. I won’t dwell on nests or syndromes, but instead think: ships, harbours and sunny (term-time) adventures ahead – and, of course, that there are another two birds still leaving their feathers around at home.
Naomi Greenaway is Deputy Editor of the Telegraph Magazine and Long-Reads. She lives in London with her husband and three children
@naomisamuelsgreenaway
