Dating While Old

Where I'm not Open

It used to be aphrodisiacal for me if a guy had a motorcycle. Now it's just the absence of a colostomy bag that gets me going. 

Kidding, not kidding. 

The last date I went on was with Nate, who felt 'woozy' before our food came. He laughed it off, blaming it on my great physical beauty, which was like an assault on him. 

"I know; I'm stunning, right? It's not fair." I joked as I helped him across the street to his car to get his meds. 

That is the way of it these days. 

The date before that was with Stephen, who let me know he preferred dating much younger women but that they were not interested in him anymore. I love the honesty —I guess. I love honesty, but now he could add older women aren’t interested in him either.

Before that, it was another Stephen, a Mensan who writes right-wing op-ed pieces. Some of you would see red flags already, but I was trying to be open. I mean, could I kiss a Republican?

Stephen number two ended up writing me an op-ed text about something LBGTQ+, and my only response was, "Sounds authoritative" -not a compliment. 

But here's where I suspect I'm not open: 

It's too much fun complaining about this. I like rolling my eyes at the unenlightened, boorish ones who buy me a coffee. I'm practically writing stand-up about it during the date. 

Also, I've become too 'ok' by myself. My dear friend, Mike, asked me if I thought I was ever going to let someone in or if I was going to continue to have arms-length friendships, and I noticed that stung a little. 

"I have great friendships with men," I said. 

"They're not arm's length. They're quite profound!" -which is true. They're also platonic. 

If I was open to the magic of what is possible, I could perceive fewer peccadillos and more connections. I could be less judgy, more compassionate, and more slack-cutting. I could relinquish some of my independence and be 'gentled' like a horse. Not tamed, but gentled. 

I could leave the driver's seat and ride like a princess. What would that be like? I see myself waving to pedestrians now. 

And because older men usually slow down in the pokey-pokey dept., I'll bet I could finally enjoy the intoxicating physical connection not driven only by his need to penetrate but by a love for the dance of sex. 

What's possible is an embarrassingly intimate, fun, and funny sharing where we dare to be ourselves 100%. We could laugh at each other's emotional crustiness. We could partner in what makes our hearts sing, whether saving the planet or Worldle. 

Also, if I was open, I could see red flags as actual red flags. I wouldn't be inventing them.