Badass women, barred from work, found alternate ways to f’ing take care of business.

Plenty of writers have tackled the classic “Can Working Women Have It All?” premise (yaaaaawn), but this Atlantic piece came at the question from a different, historic angle I appreciated. Instead of looking at how hard it is to be a parent and a spouse and a successful professional, it asks who has time to run civic organizations (historically done by non-working women), when everyone’s so focused and busy running their own careers and households in tandem?

That’s not to indulge in nostalgia for a period of American history when women primarily led clubs rather than companies. Women frequently organized to fight for rights they had been denied by men, and they often aspired to lead charitable organizations because they were prevented from pursuing other paths. But ironically, in winning fuller equality with men, some women lost a share of the meaning and purpose that comes from life outside of productive labor. This is not a story about women’s failures, or a polemic against their advancement. It’s a cautionary tale for men and women alike. The corner office isn’t always the pinnacle of leadership. Often, the most important leadership happens in local communities.

So if we’re all busy working 40+ hours a week and trying to squeeze in family and friends in the time that’s left, what’s left to devote to causes or groups that move society forward?

Have we squeezed out time to be citizens of our communities in chasing the perfect work/life balance for both men and women?

How might we carve out more space for public life among personal ambitions?

If we don’t, who does the work that needs to be done in society?

For your sake, let’s not imagine the biological implications too vividly here.

Once women — and by extension, their partners — reach a certain age, the procreation question becomes inevitable. Should we? Can we? When? How many? How will this affect our careers, our finances, our lifestyle, our happiness? (And this obviously doesn’t even have to be a “we” and “our” conversation; it can just as easily be a “me” and “my” one instead.)

But what if, in the name of equality, this was a less one-sided conversation? What if through some breakthrough, the burdens and privileges of childbirth could be shared equally by both genders, and it was up to each parent to choose who carries each child?

If male, would you want to have this experience?
If female, would you be willing to give it up?

What would the societal side-effects be?
Would there be a weird “favorite child” effect?
Would people fight or even litigate over who gets to, or has to, carry a child?
How else would families work differently?