What’s Love Got To Do With It?

In an earlier piece, The Memory of All That, I shared glimpses into past romantic ideas and encounters of my life. I am writing this blog to talk more about being single. Compelled by a stream of curiosity from well-intentioned people I meet, I am continually asked, “Why are you still single?” or “Do you have a boyfriend?” or “Have you given up on finding love?”. I have a repertoire of responses from funny (at least in my opinion) to idealistic to caustic…depending on the mood and the recipient. I am aware that to many people, I am an anomaly. The poets speak of love. The authors write of great affairs. The world historically couples. Understandably, it begs the question of what is wrong that I cannot find love? But like everything in life, the real answer is complicated.

All I can do is share what I have learned after being single for almost 25 years now…clearly from the perspective of well-earned lessons on loving and living.

First of all, it is different for everyone. There are those whom, so it seems, simply turn around and VOILA, they meet their partner. There are those who, due to the bitterness and pain of their last major relationship, have shut the door completely to any possibility. I have seen this to such an extreme that these people still speak of an ex in the present tense—when years have passed. They are stuck and my heart breaks for them. There are those who simply just want to keep it casual and lower the “results” bar accordingly. And there are those who just love being by themselves and do not need or want the companionship, the complications.

What am I? Where do I fall in this spectrum? Again, it is complicated. I am intrinsically an incurable romantic who, no matter how I try to be cynical, has faith in the power of loving. Perhaps I’ve read too many fairy tales and seen too many Meg Ryan romantic comedies, but I'm a believer. When I became single at age 40, that damn romantic side of me skewed my expectations. I now understand why. I came from a community of married people; I was raised in a culture that defined marriage as a required and desired passage of life. I honestly felt that Mr. Next was simply around the corner; that I would remarry again. I see now how naïve I was.

But I am also realist - not by nature but from experience. And I have come to accept my lifestyle of alone-ness. I’ve had to learn a lot of things about solo living. I had to slowly (and we are talking years) learn to go to a movie, a restaurant, or vacation by myself. Today I do each without thought—though I admit it is still difficult to solo in Italy – a country so full of romantic possibilities. And, on my last trip to Paris, I stood alone in the Rodin museum, amongst the life-sized, dramatic sculptures locked in seductive embraces. I had to leave and I vowed that I would revisit one day with the man of my dreams. Clearly, I have not returned.

For, you see, living alone does not preclude loneliness, which I have come to understand is an emotion from the heart, not the reality of one’s surroundings. It embraces those times when you miss the warmth of a touch, when you wish you could share a special feeling or moment, and, yes, when you simply miss the conversation.

It’s not that I haven’t tried to meet someone. When I first became single, a friend once me: “You have to learn how to date.”

So I dated…and I dated and I dated. I am not sharing this as a badge of honor. The contrary. When I started out, it was a time when Match.com came upon the scene and people used this new tool as an accessible way to meet people. I did not go to bars and set-ups by friends fell short, so I embraced the challenge of multiple meetings with strangers.  But it soon became apparent that it takes more than an algorithm to make a match. Even with the chemistry of attraction, there had to be similar interests, values, and, yes, senses of humor—all had to come together.

I went through years of actively seeking. There were the handsome schmucks only interested in sex. There were the nice guys whom I dated to prove to myself that I was not shallow. But it could never work if there was no “there there”. There were the rich men who offered security but with a price of arrogance and disrespect. And there were the ones who simply did not match.  Dating was not fun.

The stories go on and on. Not because I was popular or exceptional. Rather because I believed in the possibility and hoped for the ultimate connection. There were, amongst this procession of possibilities, a few who were impactful. They were glorious, painful, and, ultimately, doomed.  I never thought, in my wildest imagination, that it would be so hard and so disappointing.

Ultimately, I came to learn a lot about myself. I confronted the harsh realizations of my own “faults”. I had to acknowledge a deadly propensity in my nature to be attracted to narcissistic men. No matter how they guised themselves with a great sense of humor, deep intelligence, or a handsome face, the ultimate truth reared. I also found that I fall hard and I become, for lack of a better term, foolish in love. My friends grew tired of the sagas. They grew impatient and critical. That was tough. Now, when a friend is struggling in a relationship or even celebrates the finding of love, I listen and support. For I know how sad it is to be judged in love.

So, I have had to face my vulnerabilities and ultimately realize that relationships are for those who are a bit lucky, less picky, and wiser. I am not one of those. I am smart but I am not a rare old soul who simply knows.

Perhaps the hardest realization to face—and the most recent-- is the aging process. Most men my age date younger women. Much younger. I accept but I do not understand it. When I was in my 20s and 30s, 40 seemed near death. Ultimately the men who discriminate do so because of their insecurities masked in arrogance. And because there are those young women who, either because of father issues or the desire to financially secure their futures, or both, look to older men. Bottom line, after age 50, it is shockingly challenging to meet men.  I struggle with that. When once, men approached, I have become a dating dinosaur. 

So, I decided to stop the madness. I accepted my alone-ness. I have actually grown accustomed to it. I have acquiesced to the reality.  And, you see, naming my blog series, "Solo In Sacramento", is not only a titular choice. It is a lifestyle inevitability. And naming this entry "What’s Love Got To Do With It", makes perfect sense and is tellingly appropriate. 

Finally, after all these years of seeking love, this is what I humbly know… Love is a private world made of moments of acceptance and gratitude.  It is embracing my grandchildren with unquestioned adoration. It is proudly and unconditionally seeing my daughters as the independent women I raised and hoped they would be. Yet I can still savor the moments when our connection is so deep that nothing else matters. Love is looking at your dog and doing everything you can to keep him by your side—in thanks for his friendship and in honor of his loyalty. Love is laughing with a friend who generously finds a moment to listen with caring. Love is sitting silently amongst your personal treasures and old photos and realizing it has, indeed, been a damn good and full life.

And then…I concede that I am getting older and I find humor in my laugh lines. I know in my bones that I will always love a city that offered the adventurous joy of living --and I am determined to return one day. And I realize that, as I make my way through yet another change, I am facing the solo challenges as best I can.

For, deep in my soul, I will always, no matter what, believe in loving.

This is a lovely song that captures my feelings on loving. Note: If you are getting notification via email and the videos below do not show up on the body of the mail, please click on the title of this blog and it will take you to the site to view the movies. Enjoy!