In the end, all of these second thoughts—public versus private schools, the suburbs versus the city, careers versus family—are merely expressions of something deeper. Even the most driven working parents are recognizing that the costs of having it all may be too high. Rethinking where to live, or how to balance kids and work, sometimes makes these couples feel another, less tangible hunger—one they can't always define precisely.

That hunger helps explain why, when they see the movie Witness, they respond so passionately to the scene in which a community of Amish men, women, and children come together to build a barn for a neighbor. Or why many young parents felt uncharacteristic—sometimes even uncomfortable—stirrings of patriotism as they watched the Olympics last summer. Or why they latched on so quickly to Gary Hart's presidential candidacy last year, when he seemed to be appealing to their best and brightest instincts—pragmatic and ambitious, but also caring and concerned. And why they fled from Hart when he came to represent the side of themselves they liked least—a willingness to put success ahead of principle, ambition ahead of compassion.

"For several years now, this generation has been preoccupied with getting ahead, with winning, with success," says Florence Skelly, president of Yankelovich, Skelly and White, a research firm that monitors social change. "They haven't had any compelling ideological goals or moral concerns, and I think that's created a void. These same people who led us into this strategic, competitive age will, I think, lead us into the next wave. And I think that wave will have a much more moral, ideological cast."

Indeed, Patrick Caddell, the pollster, argued recently that baby boomers retain "a powerful, deeply embedded instinct for community, for activism, and for change."

"I love what I do," says Laura Popper, a 39-year-old East Side pediatrician with two daughters of her own, "but I can't stand what it does to me." Recently, she attended the funeral of a family friend. Her parents came, and so did scores of their friends. "I realized that my parents have this incredible, extended social and political network," says Popper. "The women nurtured these relationships. Many didn't have full-time jobs, so they had time. And they worked together on causes. They became connected through the meaning in their lives. Where's the time for me to do that? I see my friends by giving their children the last appointment on my calendar. My whole life was focused on being a doctor. I'm about to turn 40, and I've been working all these years, and my kids are starting to experience all this stuff, and I'm saying, 'Hey, wait, I wanna be there, too.' I go to all the school plays and functions, but that's not enough. I want to be there when they don't care if I'm there."

For James Atlas, 36, A writer, the hunger is to be freed from devoting so much time and energy merely to getting by. Atlas is married, has a two-year-old daughter, and lives in the West Seventies.

"You think you have the freedom to choose, only to discover, living in New York, that certain values choose you," he says. "Sometimes I feel almost imprisoned by their ubiquity in the culture—that I have come to want things just for the sake of wanting them. It scares me to work so hard, buy so little, and yet have nothing. Not to play this game would be a tremendous achievement."

Carol and Howard Kirsch are trying to do just that. They live now with their two daughters in Washington Heights, near the Cloisters, at the northern tip of Manhattan. They have a large river-view apartment that they were able to buy three years ago for the same price they got for their tiny dark apartment on Central Park West. The move seemed to solve their key problem: space.

But during the past several months, Carol, 37, who works in employee relations at Time Inc., and Howard, 40, who works as a technical manager for NBC News, have been reconsidering their priorities—again.

"I want to have more time," says Howard, "more time to listen to music, be with my kids, to do housework, which I happen to enjoy, to play racquetball." Carol, too, would like more time to be with her children and with her husband. She also yearns to live in a community where she could feel more involved. Carol is motivated by what she sees happening to her eight-year-old daughter, Rebecca, who attends Hunter, one of the city's most prestigious public schools.

"The atmosphere is so competitive that my daughter feels she's not smart," Carol explains. "And she's on a track so filled with things to do that she has no time to play. Childhood is too short for that."

The Kirsches doubt the suburbs are the solution. Howard has no interest in commuting. Carol sees little likelihood that she'll find the sense of community she seeks in a suburban bedroom community.

For the short term, the family is considering a three-month European trip with the children. But Carol's long-term hope is that she can convince Howard to move to a small town—say Burlington, Vermont—even if it means a substantial loss of income.

"I'm ready for a real life change," says Carol.

The Kirsches aren't out to lead a movement from the fast lane back to the calm of the country. They're looking for alternatives, not answers, and they're willing to give up some things in order to gain others.

But perhaps that's the new wave—the notion, as Rebecca Murray puts it, that the pieces don't all fit. Perhaps the best hope is figuring out what really matters most, factoring in some sacrifice and compromise, and finding solace in the fact that there's no law against living a life that blends the selfless and the selfish.

Making that accommodation, however, would force a generation of baby boomers to accept a prosaic fact of life they have skillfully managed to resist for nearly twenty years. It can be summed up in two words: growing up.

Related:

• Archive: “Features”
• Articles by Tony Schwartz
• From the Jul 15, 1985 issue of New York