The Priceless Gift of Being Part of Someone’s World

 

I am sharing a photo from December. These are the little Christmas and New Year gifts I bought for my nieces and the other children in my family. I love buying small, useful presents for them.

More than once, friends of mine (all parents themselves) have said: “It’s so clever that you invest in the children’s lives. This way, you’ll have someone to look after you when you’re old.”

But that is not why I do it.

I do it because I love them and because I want to be a small part of their world right now.

I already know they will not be there for me when I am old, and I am perfectly at peace with that.

How do I know?

I had many aunts, but there were two whom I loved dearly from the time I was a little girl. Technically, they were my mother’s aunts, but the age difference between us was very similar to the age difference between me and the children in my family today.

Both of them were always there whenever I came to visit. One greeted me with biscuits and hot tea; the other with a home-cooked lunch. Both listened with genuine interest to whatever I had to say.

They passed away many years ago — one twenty years ago and the other fifteen. Yet hardly a week goes by without me thinking of them. I will always be grateful for their kindness, their love, and the time they gave me.

When they became ill and there were ways I could have helped, I didn’t (and  I am not proud of that). At one point, I was busy travelling around Argentina. With the other, I was so heartbroken after multiple failed IVF treatments that I could barely take care of myself, let alone anyone else.

That is why I already know that when I am old, all these children will be busy living their own lives. Just as I was back then.

And that is exactly as it should be.

What remains are the moments we shared and the love we gave one another. Those stay with us for good.

And that is priceless.

 

Happy News: A new blog: PJ

 

I am so happy to share this brand new blog with you.

https://pjmakessense.blogspot.com

 

Dear PJ,
I am happy to see your brand new blog! I have missed you so much! I am so glad that you are back!! 

I am sharing a photo of the most beautiful place we have seen together—simply priceless, just like our friendship.

Klara 

 

Seeing My Story Reflected Back

 

I entered some information into ChatGPT, and this is how it represents accepting childlessness.

I quite like it!

 

Tasmania by Paolo Giordano

 

I spent 8 hours on a train yesterday and finished reading a novel by Paolo Giordano. I have read all the novels he has written, and I loved them all.

Infertility, childlessness, and accepting life without a biological child are not the central focus of this book, but the theme is always present.

This is the first novel I have read written by a man who writes about these topics.

Here are some quotes from Paolo Giordano:

“A different future opened before us.”

“The absence of a child filled the house.”

“We learned to inhabit another possibility.”

“Our life adjusted to a missing presence.”

“Not all lives follow the same design.”

“The future no longer required a child.”

“We rearranged our expectations.”

“The imagined child slowly faded.” 

 

I do recommend reading this novel. 

Snowflakes bouquets

 

There is something precious my mother taught me when I was a child: you don’t need to buy gifts—you can make them yourself.

This morning, before starting my workday, I went for an early walk through the forest. The air was quiet and fresh, and the ground was covered with delicate snowflakes. I picked some of them and made five small bouquets.

One was for a friend who can no longer walk because of MS. One was for her mother. One was for my mother. One was for my granny. And one was for my uncle’s wife.

In two days it will be International Women’s Day, so I told them this is my small gift to celebrate it.

I love this holiday because it doesn’t divide women into categories. It simply celebrates women.

Crocus haiku

 

Side by side we grow,
like two crocuses in the sun—
enough, just us two. 

💜💜

Snowflakes haiku

 

Snowflakes in the wood
Slow steps on a quiet path
I breathe and I live

Twenty Years Since the Glacier Taught Us to Breathe Again

 

Today marks exactly 20 years since my husband and I visited Patagonia and its breathtakingly beautiful Perito Moreno Glacier. It is quite literally the most beautiful thing we have ever seen.

Visiting Argentina was not just an ordinary trip.

It came after our first failed IVF treatment, which had seemed so promising — I was so sure everything would go perfectly. It didn’t. The disappointment that followed was so overwhelming that there are no words to describe the darkness.

The only thing that helped to heal my broken soul was buying two plane tickets to Buenos Aires and starting to plan our journey. It helped us find joy in our lives again.

Of course, travelling is not a magic cure. The trip ended and we returned to our real lives. But the happy moments healed us, at least a little, and made us stronger to face everything that followed.

Kindness

 

I received this quote from Elaine a few weeks ago, and it meant so much to me.

So I’m using it together with a photo I took today during our walk through a picture-perfect valley in the Julian Alps.

 

I didn't give up, I let go. How I came to terms with not having children

 

First of all, a very happy New Year to all my readers!

I came across a beautiful article on BBC News and wanted to share it with you.

https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cvgj8x7e12ko 

How I wish there had been more articles like this during the darkest years of my infertility!

 

PS:I had a lovely December, with plenty of long walks, including one around a beautiful alpine lake, as well as several New Year parties and get-togethers with friends and colleagues. It felt good to be able to truly enjoy December again.

 

My Christmas Wish

 

I have the same Christmas wish as I’ve had for the past ten years.

I would like to receive an email from you.

To know who you are.

Where you come from.

Why you read my blog.

What my blog means to you.

Has it helped you in any way?

I promise I will not publish your email or misuse it in any way.

And I promise to write back!

My email: klara.soncek (at) gmail.com

I’m looking forward to Christmas :)

 

PS: In the photo: Brixen/Bressanone, Bozen/Bolzano

When Life Gives You Little Moments—Take the Apfelstrudel

 

I returned from another work trip, this time to the beautiful region in northern Italy, Südtirol / Trentino–Alto Adige. I was traveling with a coworker a few years younger than I am, and we talked about many things. It turned out that we both used to love watching Dr. Gregory House. She told me her favourite quote of his:

“People don’t get what they deserve. They just get what they get. There’s nothing any of us can do about it.”

So very true.

What we can do, however, is fill our days—whenever the occasion appears—with something special. Like eating the most delicious Apfelstrudel you can imagine.

 

On the Road with Those Who Get It

 

We spent an amazing road trip with Pamela and her husband in October. I’m sharing a few photos from the Pula Roman Amphitheatre and from Rovinj, Croatia.

It’s just wonderful to be with friends who truly get you — who understand without words and would never say anything that could hurt. There’s such comfort in that kind of connection, where you can simply be yourself and feel completely at ease.

Travelling together reminded me how precious it is to have people in your life who share not just experiences, but understanding — the quiet kind that comes from having walked a similar path.

                                                                   *****

I’m sharing Pamela’s latest interview. I feel honoured to be mentioned in it.

https://www.populationbalance.org/beyond-pronatalism-podcast/pamela

 

 

 

Just priceless

 

We’ve got everything ready for our friends who are coming to stay with us for a few days.

Fresh vegetables from the garden are picked, and I’ve baked a (hopefully) delicious traditional walnut potica.

It’s such a joy when penfriends from our life-after-infertility community turn into real friends.

Just priceless!

Mirabelle Plums and Memories: The Strength of Friendship

 

I enjoyed picking mirabelle plums for a friend of mine; I have known her since we were seven. She loves them.

She has an autoimmune disease and has already lost the ability to walk and move her hands.

I visited her yesterday, and we were talking about all the exciting road trips we took together (with two other friends) in our late teens and twenties. She said that all those memories help her get through her long days – she visualises the things we did together.

She often says to me and our other two friends: “Girls, you must walk as much as you can! Walk also for me.”

I have learnt so much from her. And I am grateful that I can, in small ways, brighten her moments and bring a little joy to her days.

The Only Thing I Truly Need: On Grief, Health, and Gentle Words

 

I’ve been feeling unwell throughout July, so I’ve spent quite a bit of time in doctors’ waiting rooms. It’s nothing too serious – just a virus and a viral eye infection. But still, once again, I was reminded of the one thing I truly need: health.

Yesterday, while waiting for a medical examination, I was reading a book when I overheard two women in their early seventies. They had gone to school together and hadn’t seen each other in a decade. I wasn’t intentionally listening, but one of them was speaking so loudly that I couldn’t help but hear parts of their conversation.

One of the women had sadly lost her husband three years ago. The other asked her about his illness and how long it had been since he passed. The widow’s voice was filled with sorrow – I could feel that he had meant the world to her.

Immediately, the other woman began offering advice: “You have to be strong. You need to find new activities to fill your days. You must keep busy.”

She then asked how many children and grandchildren she had. (The answer was two and four.)

And with that, she concluded: “Oh, that’s good. That means you’re busy.”

But who knows? Her children may live far away, busy with their own lives, while she sits alone with her grief.

It made me think about the profound lessons infertility, suffering, and countless thoughtless comments have taught me over the years.

That sometimes, the most precious thing you can say is simply:
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I can only imagine how hard this must be.”

 

 

P.S. In the photo: I picked some early white apples from my husband’s family garden, and a few early red apples were a gift from my granny. I turned them into the most delicious apple and cinnamon jam you can imagine.

No children. Just us. And it was more than enough.

 

I visited my granny yesterday. My uncle and his wife happened to come by as well. It felt good, at first — being with family, chatting about summer plans, soaking in the warmth of familiar company.

Then, without warning, my uncle began to speak about their seaside holiday. “It was wonderful,” he said, beaming. “Especially because we brought the granddaughters along. A husband and wife on their own — that’s just not enough. You need grandchildren to truly enjoy the holidays.”

His words were matter-of-fact,  cheerful. His wife chimed in, eager to recount all the joyful things they had done with the little ones — the laughter, the games, the simple happiness.

And me?
I did nothing.
I sat in silence, struck by the sheer thoughtlessness of it all. How wrapped up people can be in their own joys, blind to the quiet sorrows seated right beside them. How carelessly words can fall, without the faintest thought of who might be catching them.

I’ve always believed in thinking before speaking. Sadly, many seem to prefer the opposite.

It’s been 24 hours. The remark still lingers — like an echo that won’t fade.

What helps me now is this:

a) Writing it down.
b) Holding onto a happy memory. I want to share one of mine with you — a beautiful Matsumoto castle. More info: https://www.matsumoto-castle.jp/eng

How I loved travelling through Japan. How we both did — my husband and I.
No children. Just us. And it was more than enough.

 

Japan, Castles, Shinkansen trains—and a bit of me I thought I’d lost

 

I have just returned from travelling around Japan. It was the first visit for both of us, and we absolutely loved it.

I'm sharing the most beautiful sight I saw: Himeji Castle. It is quite literally breathtaking.

More information: https://www.himejicastle.jp/en/  

I could write for hours about what we loved most about Japan.

What impressed me the most was how kind, gentle, and hardworking the Japanese people are – and how incredibly safe Japan feels.

We bought a 14-day Japan Rail Pass and took many journeys on the shinkansen. We really enjoyed riding them!

Before this trip, we hadn’t travelled long-distance for over ten years (for various reasons), and I was a bit nervous – the world had changed since our travelling days. But we were absolutely thrilled to discover that the spirit of adventure is still very much alive in us.

Din veg / Your way

 

I’ve just read a book by Erling Kagge called Walking, and I really enjoyed it.

So, when I had the opportunity to visit the Slovenian seaside with my husband, who had to work there all day, I decided to spend the whole day walking. It turned out to be an absolutely perfect day. At first, it felt a bit strange – I was almost the only one walking alone. There were so many families with children, couples, and groups of friends.

But once I embraced being on my own, I truly began to enjoy it. I walked nearly 20 kilometres along the seaside. 

Here are a few photos I’d like to share with you.

Do you see the signpost on the first photo? Translation: White Rocks (to the right) and Bay of the Moon (to the left). I love the names of those places so much. The town to the right is beautiful Izola. City in the distance: Trieste.

 

***

In the book Walking I came across the Norvegian poet, Olav H. Hauge and his poem Din veg / Your way. Here is part of the poem (translated by deepl). I love it a lot!

 

Din veg

Ingen kan varda den vegen
du skal gå
ut i det ukjende,
ut i det blå.
Dette er din veg.
Berre du skal gå han.  

Your way

No-one can tell you the way
you will go
into the unknown,
into the blue.
This is your path.
Only you will walk it.

A haiku and a walk in the forest

 

Birdsong fills the morning,
I walk on soft forest ground,
Step by step, toward a new day.

 

 

I am sharing with you my very first haiku, and I hope you like it.
The photos were taken during today's morning walk.

I recently read the book Shinrin Yoku: The Art and Science of Forest Bathing, and I loved it. I realized that I was already doing everything recommended, except writing haikus.

So I decided to write one. While I was writing it, a beautiful black kite flew very close to me—it was a magnificent moment.

It was a moment that felt just perfect—I was exactly where I wanted to be.

Without any regrets and without any sadness. 

Living fully in the present, caring for both body and soul.

It’s not the life I once planned, but over the years I’ve learned to love it just as it is.