The guy who's actually living that life you'd imagined for yourself before you got married, had a couple of kids, and strapped in to that desk job.
The text is clever and sometimes funny, but what I want to talk about is the basic premise: that having children is a failure. If men were true to them(our)selves, we would "play in a band, live in California, wake up at ten, and surf before noon."

What happened?
First of all, I want to insist that I am as much a victim of this delusion as was the author of the piece in GQ, and many (most?) educated men in my generation. These last two years with Helena have been wonderful, powerful... and often deeply depressing, not so much because of her as because of the challenge that she implies to my self definition. So my interest in this problem isn't just academic, because it may give some insight into the dark night of the soul that I have inhabited more than I would have liked since she was born.

Maybe that's a part of it... but there's also the population issue. Ever since Malthus wrote her famous essay almost 300 years ago, some people have lived in fear of overwhelming the carrying capacity of the planet. There are too many of us, we all know (in spite of the fact that the evidence has proven Malthus completely wrong, everyone still believes him), so we shouldn't reproduce. For ethical absolutists like me, having a kid requires rethinking this story.

Even so, I don't think I understand this change, where children, once the condition of the possibility of happiness (to use Lacan's phrase) have become the conditions of its impossibility. I'd love ideas, if any readers have them!