No, I've never wanted kids. But I do read about parenting a lot.

Hear, O seekers of truth, the paradoxical words of Fiona Apple, who confesses: “No, I’ve never wanted kids. But I do read about parenting a lot.” In this declaration lies a striking duality—an acknowledgment that one may have no personal desire for the role of parenting, yet still feel drawn to study its depths, to learn of its struggles, and to understand the shaping of the next generation. This is not contradiction but curiosity; not rejection of children, but reverence for the sacred labor of raising them.

The origin of her words arises from the tension between choice and empathy. Apple openly admits that motherhood is not her chosen path, yet she still immerses herself in the wisdom of child-rearing. In this, she demonstrates that one need not be a parent to honor the importance of the work, nor to seek wisdom from it. Indeed, history shows us that the study of family life often yields insights not only for parents, but for all who wish to understand the human condition.

Consider the example of Leo Tolstoy, who, though at times a distant figure to his own children, wrote profoundly of family, morality, and the struggles of love and responsibility. His novels reveal the intricate challenges of household life, even though his personal role in it was flawed. In the same way, Fiona Apple’s interest in parenting is not about practice, but about perception: she learns, she contemplates, she reflects on how the raising of children shapes both individuals and societies. Her confession acknowledges that knowledge of parenting enriches one’s understanding of humanity, whether or not one has children.

The emotional resonance of Apple’s words is profound. For in her honesty lies a broader truth: parenting is not merely a private matter but a universal one. Even those who do not choose the role are touched by its outcomes, for the way children are raised shapes the world we all share. Thus, reading, thinking, and reflecting upon it is not wasted effort, but a form of communal awareness. To study parenting is to study the roots of compassion, discipline, and moral development—the very forces that sustain societies.

In practical terms, her reflection teaches that wisdom can be drawn from domains beyond our personal experience. One need not be a soldier to learn from the lessons of war, nor a parent to learn from the challenges of child-rearing. What matters is the openness to observe, to empathize, and to seek understanding. This truth encourages us all to read, to study, to contemplate the experiences of others, for such reflections broaden the soul and strengthen our capacity for compassion.

There is also a heroic humility in her confession. In a world where many claim authority without reflection, Apple admits her distance from the role of parenthood while still honoring it. This stance is neither boastful nor dismissive, but deeply respectful. It models for us the virtue of acknowledging limits while still valuing the importance of what lies beyond them.

From this emerges a clear lesson: let all who hear these words remember that wisdom does not always require direct experience, but it does demand humility, curiosity, and reverence. Even if one does not walk the path of parenthood, let them still learn from it, reflect upon it, and honor those who carry its burdens. For in doing so, they share in the great labor of humanity, ensuring that the next generation is raised with understanding, and the present generation remains united by empathy.

Thus, the teaching of Fiona Apple endures: you may choose not to parent, yet still learn deeply from parenting. Let future generations take this to heart: that every role, even those not lived directly, can teach us wisdom. To study with reverence, even from afar, is itself a form of participation in the great unfolding of life.