I have a very good friend, a widow who's in her early seventies. She swims and walks daily. She still works, part time. She's in great shape physically, mentally she's sharp as a tack, she's attractive and funny, and she loves baseball as much as I do, a rarity amongst my female friends. She's been observing my dating trials for years. I asked her if she was interested in dating, sex, companionship, etc. She answered without hesitation, "Nope. I'm done with all that stuff." Did I mention that she's also quite outspoken and opinionated? She has pretty much despised everyone I've ever dated. I guess the "right one" will have to pass the litmus test of her approval, no easy feat.
Love still happens when you're older, it's just different. I recently met the father of a man I was dating. I found him quite charming, since he kept telling his son how great I was; who wouldn't like that? Obviously, being older had just honed the man's sense of taste and discernment. At one point he looked at me and said, rather sternly, "There are more important things than sex." Hmm. All this during a first meeting. It did get me thinking, however. What is more important than sex in a relationship?
Companionship. Conversation. Comfort with each other. Ability to be silent together. And, let's face it, sex is important, if not for the act itself, then for the intimacy that the act brings. Because once the intimacy is gone, you may as well hang it up. So I guess that even if you are as comfortable together as a pair of old slippers, there better be some heat between you, or the relationship probably won't last.
A friend of mine was telling me about her mom, who's got Alzheimer's. The woman can't remember what she had for lunch yesterday, but she can remember twenty years ago in minute detail. This woman and her husband divorced acrimoniously about 45 years ago. The woman was a real tartar. Mean, nasty, vicious, scathing, violent temper. Until she developed Alzheimer's. The chip in her head switched over, and she became, with the onset of dementia, the sweetest, kindest, nicest person in the universe, albeit one who can't remember what day of the week it is or whether or not she took her pills. Her ex-husband visits her weekly. With dementia, she found herself falling in love with him all over again. "You know," she confided in her daughter the other day, referring to her ex-husband, "he's just so handsome and charming. I think I'm just going to go ahead and ask him to marry me. After all, I'm not getting any younger."
If only it were all that easy. Blink, wipe away your past and all the mistakes and all the lessons learned. Start over.
Being older means, I have a past. It's not always good, in fact there are some huge mistakes there. But I just keep moving ahead, hoping to do a little better each time. The nebulous Mr. Right, no doubt he has baggage as well. Hopefully our baggage goes together.
Really, the truth of it is: when I find the man that my swimming/walking/baseball friend approves of, I'll know I've found the right one.
Love still happens when you're older, it's just different. I recently met the father of a man I was dating. I found him quite charming, since he kept telling his son how great I was; who wouldn't like that? Obviously, being older had just honed the man's sense of taste and discernment. At one point he looked at me and said, rather sternly, "There are more important things than sex." Hmm. All this during a first meeting. It did get me thinking, however. What is more important than sex in a relationship?
Companionship. Conversation. Comfort with each other. Ability to be silent together. And, let's face it, sex is important, if not for the act itself, then for the intimacy that the act brings. Because once the intimacy is gone, you may as well hang it up. So I guess that even if you are as comfortable together as a pair of old slippers, there better be some heat between you, or the relationship probably won't last.
A friend of mine was telling me about her mom, who's got Alzheimer's. The woman can't remember what she had for lunch yesterday, but she can remember twenty years ago in minute detail. This woman and her husband divorced acrimoniously about 45 years ago. The woman was a real tartar. Mean, nasty, vicious, scathing, violent temper. Until she developed Alzheimer's. The chip in her head switched over, and she became, with the onset of dementia, the sweetest, kindest, nicest person in the universe, albeit one who can't remember what day of the week it is or whether or not she took her pills. Her ex-husband visits her weekly. With dementia, she found herself falling in love with him all over again. "You know," she confided in her daughter the other day, referring to her ex-husband, "he's just so handsome and charming. I think I'm just going to go ahead and ask him to marry me. After all, I'm not getting any younger."
If only it were all that easy. Blink, wipe away your past and all the mistakes and all the lessons learned. Start over.
Being older means, I have a past. It's not always good, in fact there are some huge mistakes there. But I just keep moving ahead, hoping to do a little better each time. The nebulous Mr. Right, no doubt he has baggage as well. Hopefully our baggage goes together.
Really, the truth of it is: when I find the man that my swimming/walking/baseball friend approves of, I'll know I've found the right one.
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