Is the moon in a weird phase? I’ve also been up at night having all kinds of “roads not taken” meltdowns and stuff.
Robot Arm, I’m there with you. I’m confident and reasonably attractive (I don’t frighten children, even if I’m not wearing makeup). I’m funny. I’m smart. I have a good job. I have hobbies I enjoy. I bathe. Still get a “thanks, but no thanks” or “you’re really great, so cool, buuuuttttt…” all the time, then the guy goes on to date some basic chick who (sorry, ego here) is kind of plain and average. It does wear on the heart.
My curse wins (I say, half-jokingly). My last relationship ended when my fiance’ died of a heart attack in his sleep. He was 45. No one dies of a heart attack when they’re 45. Well, unless they are a doctor who has type 1 diabetes and is the worst patient ever. (Yes, I told him that.)
So anyway, three years of feeling physically ill at the idea of dating anyone else pass. I start dating again.
And I realize that it’s really hard to find “your person” when you’re in your mid-40s. I’ve had maybe…three? Three “my person” finds in thirty years of dating. One in college (the one who got away), one in my early 30s (the one who saved my sanity), one in my late 30s (who was supposed to be my forever person). And by “your person”, I mean the one who gets your weird sense of humor, the one who has your back, no matter what. The one who handles your quirks with grace, and whose quirks you handle with grace. The one who tells you that you’re beautiful when you’ve got a migraine and are hoping for a quick death. The one who you can bicker with without fighting. The one who you can just be with, each doing a hobby or reading. The one who you won’t kill if they come into the kitchen while you’re cooking. The one who has a hobby or passion that they spend time on, not just being a passive watcher in life (to me, that is sexy, YMMV).
Yeah. Hard to find. Not easy when you are 20, really hard over 40.
I often wonder if I’ve had my limit of great matches for this lifetime. But then I see my dear friend and his new wife, both over age 50, and I have hope.
Dating as a grownup is a numbers game, and we puny humans are not on the side of the numbers.
That date at a pizzeria with sci-fi memorabilia would get points from me for originality, even if I didn’t enjoy some sci-fi. I think it’s light, fun, and amusing, and gives you something to talk about. (I could yammer on about 10th-Doctor Doctor Who for hours). You just didn’t go there with the right person.
Keep going. It beats being alone at 75 and wondering what if you’d tried harder, just a few more times.
I’ll keep those YouTube videos in mind for the next time I can’t sleep and all kinds of horrible thoughts (like Spice Weasel) are rattling around my head and won’t leave. Wish I had thought to look for something like that a few nights ago when I was having a weird meltdown about the One Who Got Away. (Jesus, Rabbit, it’s been 20 years. Let it go!) Some incisive logic and Brit snootery got me through last night (Dawkins on Bill Maher), followed by some giggles. And an Ativan.