DATING
Recently a friend sent an article to me about women over a certain age dating and the troubles they are experiencing in finding a decent bloke. In the article, the writer stated that there are seven women for every man in this over forty age range, so the men essentially have the upper hand. They can pick and choose at their leisure, but many of them want and choose younger women for reasons only they can explain. My initial thought was, I'll bet six out of seven of those women are trying their hardest to look 25 years old again. We've all seen these women with the permanent expression of surprise in their eyebrows and skin so preternatural it can only be described as something out of an Anne Rice vampire novel. I remarked that the Botox injections and time required were not worth the effort to get the attention of a middle aged man who most likely needs Viagra. No thank you. I'll pass. (Let me make something perfectly clear before anyone gets their knickers in a twist and I get accused of body shaming, or whatever. I'm not. I'm making a observation based on my own personal experiences. It's what people do. I'm not judging. I'm musing.) Back to dating
As I've stated in my introductory post, I was married for 20 years. It wasn't always good but it wasn't always bad, and he became my best friend. At 29, I married the only man with whom I could ever have seen myself spending the rest of my life. He was a musician, very well read, incredibly intelligent and articulate, thoughtful on matters regarding the bigger picture in life, had been a swimmer like me, loved horses, hiking, going to the beach, cooking, Woody Allen movies, watching sunsets, and he was Jewish. He was quite literally the man of my dreams (I'd had a dream when I was 12 years old about a tall man with long curly hair who in my memory looked exactly like him and it haunted me until the day I met him. I'm weird.) I couldn't have found someone better in the personals if I tried and I would have stayed with him until death do us part. After all, we were building a life together and making plans. We had two children together and a home. We had become part of each other's extended families, which were quite extended owing to the fact that both of our sets of parental units had divided, with the male parts of said units remarrying. I loved him more that I had ever loved anyone in my life, until we had children (but that's for another blog.) Yes, I would have stayed with him despite all the problems we were having, and I would have continued to try my hardest to make it work, to make him happy, to make him love me, had it not been for one thing. He decided that shtupping his cousin's girlfriend in exchange for guitars lessons was better for his self esteem (his exact words) than his wife and children, and he decided he wanted a divorce. So, in a fit of pique, I tossed him and his belongings to the curb (actually the driveway), told him we were done, and I've never regretted my decision. Especially when, after moving back in with his mother, he told me he wanted to go to counseling to work out our relationship, but said he wouldn't give up the girlfriend because he loved her. Yep. I made the right decision. Besides, once the ice cream has melted, you don't want to refreeze it and eat it. So what about the dating?
Well, I dated quite a lot after we separated and divorced, and I met a lot of really interesting men (please note the sarcasm in my voice.) Most of them were either separated from their wives, or had been divorced, sometimes more that once, and by and large they all seemed to just want to have someone there to listen them complain about their ex wives over and over and over again. I even briefly dated a guy from high school who was always trying to get me to open up about my ex husband as if I owed it to him because he had shared endless details about his first two ex wives, the problems he was having with soon to be ex wife number three, and his tumultuous and sometimes violent relationship with his on again and off again yoga instructor girlfriend, even though I would tell him I didn't want to talk about my ex. News flash for all you newly divorced guys out there dating again: we don't want to hear about your past relationships because we don't care. I certainly didn't. I don't know a woman who does. And complaining about your ex on a date is a huge red flag. I'm 100% certain that you were at least 50% responsible for the problems in your marriage. Go away.
So where am I now on the dating scene? I am sure you are all dying to know. Well, I'm not on the scene anymore. It's not because I don't want to have a relationship at this time in my life. Obviously I did at one time, or I would never have gotten married in the first place. I just didn't think I was going to be single at this time in my life. It's not because I'm lazy and don't want to spend the time going on date after date after date trying to find yet another Mr Right (again, please note my sarcasm.) There's probably another one out there, it's just a matter of time, right? It's simply because I don't want to date anymore. I did my dating back in my 20s and now I am done. I don't want to go in search of someone new just because the someone I married decided that he needed to find someone new. I'm still essentially the person I was when we married, and when we had kids, and when he left us, and maybe that's my problem, but I can not revert back to that unmarried, carefree single girl dating for the fun of it just because I'm once again single. I wish I could be, and I've tried, but my brain and my heart just don't work that way. And just because my ex decided to go from our home back to his mommy's home and then on to his girlfriend's home should not mean that I have to start looking for someone to begin that whole freaking process all over again. I'm busy, my ability to trust anyone is non-existent, and I haven't the patience required to sit and listen to another middle aged man tell me the saga his divorce. Call your mother. Anyway, with what I experienced in my marriage, I am psychologically and emotionally depleted when it comes to giving any attention, affection, enthusiasm, passion to another intimate partner relationship. Any love that I have remaining to give to another living being is exclusively for my children, my mother, my good friends, my companion animals, and mother nature.
Perhaps if I was in my thirties or forties, and still partially driven by those uncontrollable hormones that make your body crave to partner up, I might feel differently, but at 54 the well is dry. The sands of time are slipping through my hourglass shape, which is becoming much more pear shaped with every dropping grain, and soon I will be in my Croning phase of life. Now, my maternal grandmother did remarry at 77, but she was one those eternally youthful women, full of love and joy, a mother earth goddess who spent her days in her garden, never giving a thought about her age, and who lived to be 102 years old. She was also fixed up by two friends of hers who had another friend who was recently widowed. I think they dated for five minutes before deciding to get married. But at that age, can you blame them? I'm much more cynical about anything romantic, and the thought of becoming legally bound to another person ties my stomach in knots. Sure I miss having someone to come home to at the end of the day. Sure I miss having someone to snuggle into at night. Sure I miss having someone to share lox and bagels with on a Sunday morning. Sure I miss having someone to watch Woody Allen movies with, or watch sunsets, or cook meals, or walk the dogs, or share stories about the children, but that someone is gone now. I gave all of my good years to someone in a selfless act of love and he never fully appreciated what he had been given. And while there is nothing I can do to change that fact, it still affects me, and I'm honest enough with myself to know that only an idiot would attempt to re-gift a broken heart. So those six other women in my particular focus group can breathe a sigh of relief and go a little lighter on the Botox and Spanx because there's one less gal in the dating pool. I wish them all the best of luck.
Recently a friend sent an article to me about women over a certain age dating and the troubles they are experiencing in finding a decent bloke. In the article, the writer stated that there are seven women for every man in this over forty age range, so the men essentially have the upper hand. They can pick and choose at their leisure, but many of them want and choose younger women for reasons only they can explain. My initial thought was, I'll bet six out of seven of those women are trying their hardest to look 25 years old again. We've all seen these women with the permanent expression of surprise in their eyebrows and skin so preternatural it can only be described as something out of an Anne Rice vampire novel. I remarked that the Botox injections and time required were not worth the effort to get the attention of a middle aged man who most likely needs Viagra. No thank you. I'll pass. (Let me make something perfectly clear before anyone gets their knickers in a twist and I get accused of body shaming, or whatever. I'm not. I'm making a observation based on my own personal experiences. It's what people do. I'm not judging. I'm musing.) Back to dating
As I've stated in my introductory post, I was married for 20 years. It wasn't always good but it wasn't always bad, and he became my best friend. At 29, I married the only man with whom I could ever have seen myself spending the rest of my life. He was a musician, very well read, incredibly intelligent and articulate, thoughtful on matters regarding the bigger picture in life, had been a swimmer like me, loved horses, hiking, going to the beach, cooking, Woody Allen movies, watching sunsets, and he was Jewish. He was quite literally the man of my dreams (I'd had a dream when I was 12 years old about a tall man with long curly hair who in my memory looked exactly like him and it haunted me until the day I met him. I'm weird.) I couldn't have found someone better in the personals if I tried and I would have stayed with him until death do us part. After all, we were building a life together and making plans. We had two children together and a home. We had become part of each other's extended families, which were quite extended owing to the fact that both of our sets of parental units had divided, with the male parts of said units remarrying. I loved him more that I had ever loved anyone in my life, until we had children (but that's for another blog.) Yes, I would have stayed with him despite all the problems we were having, and I would have continued to try my hardest to make it work, to make him happy, to make him love me, had it not been for one thing. He decided that shtupping his cousin's girlfriend in exchange for guitars lessons was better for his self esteem (his exact words) than his wife and children, and he decided he wanted a divorce. So, in a fit of pique, I tossed him and his belongings to the curb (actually the driveway), told him we were done, and I've never regretted my decision. Especially when, after moving back in with his mother, he told me he wanted to go to counseling to work out our relationship, but said he wouldn't give up the girlfriend because he loved her. Yep. I made the right decision. Besides, once the ice cream has melted, you don't want to refreeze it and eat it. So what about the dating?
Well, I dated quite a lot after we separated and divorced, and I met a lot of really interesting men (please note the sarcasm in my voice.) Most of them were either separated from their wives, or had been divorced, sometimes more that once, and by and large they all seemed to just want to have someone there to listen them complain about their ex wives over and over and over again. I even briefly dated a guy from high school who was always trying to get me to open up about my ex husband as if I owed it to him because he had shared endless details about his first two ex wives, the problems he was having with soon to be ex wife number three, and his tumultuous and sometimes violent relationship with his on again and off again yoga instructor girlfriend, even though I would tell him I didn't want to talk about my ex. News flash for all you newly divorced guys out there dating again: we don't want to hear about your past relationships because we don't care. I certainly didn't. I don't know a woman who does. And complaining about your ex on a date is a huge red flag. I'm 100% certain that you were at least 50% responsible for the problems in your marriage. Go away.
So where am I now on the dating scene? I am sure you are all dying to know. Well, I'm not on the scene anymore. It's not because I don't want to have a relationship at this time in my life. Obviously I did at one time, or I would never have gotten married in the first place. I just didn't think I was going to be single at this time in my life. It's not because I'm lazy and don't want to spend the time going on date after date after date trying to find yet another Mr Right (again, please note my sarcasm.) There's probably another one out there, it's just a matter of time, right? It's simply because I don't want to date anymore. I did my dating back in my 20s and now I am done. I don't want to go in search of someone new just because the someone I married decided that he needed to find someone new. I'm still essentially the person I was when we married, and when we had kids, and when he left us, and maybe that's my problem, but I can not revert back to that unmarried, carefree single girl dating for the fun of it just because I'm once again single. I wish I could be, and I've tried, but my brain and my heart just don't work that way. And just because my ex decided to go from our home back to his mommy's home and then on to his girlfriend's home should not mean that I have to start looking for someone to begin that whole freaking process all over again. I'm busy, my ability to trust anyone is non-existent, and I haven't the patience required to sit and listen to another middle aged man tell me the saga his divorce. Call your mother. Anyway, with what I experienced in my marriage, I am psychologically and emotionally depleted when it comes to giving any attention, affection, enthusiasm, passion to another intimate partner relationship. Any love that I have remaining to give to another living being is exclusively for my children, my mother, my good friends, my companion animals, and mother nature.
Perhaps if I was in my thirties or forties, and still partially driven by those uncontrollable hormones that make your body crave to partner up, I might feel differently, but at 54 the well is dry. The sands of time are slipping through my hourglass shape, which is becoming much more pear shaped with every dropping grain, and soon I will be in my Croning phase of life. Now, my maternal grandmother did remarry at 77, but she was one those eternally youthful women, full of love and joy, a mother earth goddess who spent her days in her garden, never giving a thought about her age, and who lived to be 102 years old. She was also fixed up by two friends of hers who had another friend who was recently widowed. I think they dated for five minutes before deciding to get married. But at that age, can you blame them? I'm much more cynical about anything romantic, and the thought of becoming legally bound to another person ties my stomach in knots. Sure I miss having someone to come home to at the end of the day. Sure I miss having someone to snuggle into at night. Sure I miss having someone to share lox and bagels with on a Sunday morning. Sure I miss having someone to watch Woody Allen movies with, or watch sunsets, or cook meals, or walk the dogs, or share stories about the children, but that someone is gone now. I gave all of my good years to someone in a selfless act of love and he never fully appreciated what he had been given. And while there is nothing I can do to change that fact, it still affects me, and I'm honest enough with myself to know that only an idiot would attempt to re-gift a broken heart. So those six other women in my particular focus group can breathe a sigh of relief and go a little lighter on the Botox and Spanx because there's one less gal in the dating pool. I wish them all the best of luck.
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