Let's Go, Jane!

I’m in love. It’s a fragile love, new and tender. My heart is exposed. It feels different than in my 20s, when finding love was all about marriage and cohabitation and children. Love in my 50s is about quality time. About companionship. It’s about finding someone who wants to do things with me and explore the world. Get behind the wheel and just drive. We’ve had some random adventures, for sure. A taxidermy convention, an eclipse, amazing roadside margaritas. 

I don’t know where this relationship is going and somehow, I don’t feel the need to know. I can imagine a future with him, but I can also still imagine a future without him. It’s only been seven months. In some ways it feels like less, in other ways more. 

Some women get divorced and breathe a sigh of relief because they can be alone, be single, be independent. They don’t have to agree on what shows to watch, what to have for dinner, or where to go on vacation. Not me, I love having a person. I love exchanging good morning texts and saying good night every night. I love having a co-pilot, someone who knows where I am and what I’m up to. Someone who knows what I’m worrying about, and what I’m looking forward to. Life is better in two player mode, in my opinion.

We met on Bumble. I had just moved out of the house the previous month. Things were still very raw. On our first date, we shared a delicious long hug that brought me to tears. It’s generally not a good practice to cry on a first date, but that’s where I was emotionally. The comfort of that hug brought up all the rawness of the previous months. The pain of ending a 20-year marriage, the effect on the kids, the act of physically removing every trace of myself from the house I’d called home for 15 years and raised my children in. Leaving the garden I’d invested so much of myself in. 

In the months that preceded our date, at least once a day I would find myself in tears. The reasons behind them were small. One time in the grocery store I looked at all those salad dressings and decided to pick a new one, for my new life. The thought made me sob. At least once a day I had a thought that made me laugh out loud. And sometimes the laughter triggered the tears. It was like all my emotions were just under the surface, waiting for their cue. I knew there was no way past them except through them. So I laughed, I cried, I put one foot in front of the other until I had walked all the way into a new life.

I feel so much lighter now. There are days when I can’t contain my happiness. I don’t know how long this relationship will last. Could be a year, could be a lifetime. This love is a different creature than my last love. At 52 I’m a bit more set in my ways than I was at 30, as is he. I could imagine living in neighboring apartments, or buying houses next to each other. Going back and forth into each other’s homes, but maintaining our own spaces. 

The beauty of love at this age is it doesn’t have to conform to anyone else’s idea of what it should look like. We are the architects of our own lives. He casually remarked in the first couple months we were dating, “let’s be a good influence on each other.” I find that those words often ring in my head. I am grateful to have found love again so soon (I think he was only the 6th or 7th person I went on a date with). 

We just had our 50th date. Nothing fancy, he picked up take-out and brought it to my apartment to eat. Some of those dates were hours long, others were entire weekends. Between each of the dates we’ve spent many hours on the phone. We are still getting used to each other, learning about the ways we are similar and the ways we are very different. I have learned a lot about myself in the process, about who I am today. As a woman, as a parent, and as a partner. 

It was exactly a year ago that I asked my husband for a divorce. As painful as this last year has been, I wouldn’t change a thing. I am so hopeful about the future, and can’t wait to see where life takes me next!