I am one week into year 3. Not what I expected at all. When John died I told my therapist that my goal was to not become a widow stuck in grief. Silly me, I had no understanding of the complexities and power of a broken heart. No concept of the devastation losing my love would cause. The havoc and destruction of my entire life. The pieces strewn around like a massive hurricane, tornado and tsunami that struck simultaneously.
All the books I read promised new beginnings, second firsts, a way out of the darkness. Hope. Healing. Acceptance. Peace.
They were all wrong. There is no way out. Believe me, I’ve tried. There is no way around grief, only through it. I thought by now I’d be reaching the end of the tunnel, but the light I sometimes glimpse looks more like an oncoming train.
I ran into an older widow acquaintance yesterday while out walking. A year ago I wrote about how bitter and angry she was, an example of who I did not want to become. Yesterday she was like a different person, full of life and glowing. She told me all about her recent online dating experiences . As happy as I was for her I cringed.
I’ve looked at those sites, done a bit of window shopping. I don’t want to be alone forever.
BUT —–( always pay attention to the words after BUT ) here’s my issue:
Judgement.
The first step in online dating is creating a personal profile. Beyond choosing a cute and catchy user name, a woman over 55 must market herself to have an edge over the inevitable younger, slimmer, prettier, curvier competition.
As Gypsy Rose Lee said, “You gotta have a gimmick”
And therein lies the first stumbling block.
I’m too old for gimmicks. At 58, I know exactly who I am, and I don’t take criticism kindly.
Popeye put it best:
Confident enough to put myself out there. Secure enough to accept that I am not everyone’s cup of tea.
The online dating scene reminds me of a department store. Lonely people shopping for love. You get in your car and drive to the mall, (go online) because you need a pair of pants. (companionship, whatever) You begin browsing through the dozens of racks, hoping to find what you came for:
Size:You have an inkling of what size you need, but maybe you’ve gained a few pounds so you adjust those parameters.
Style: You know what looks good on you, what you are comfortable with, so you skip past those you wouldn’t be caught dead in.
Length: Your short or long legs lead you to either the petite or big and tall section.
Purpose: hiking, dress, casual, sweat, shorts, cargo, jeans —– so many choices ! What do I really need ? What do I really want ? Maybe I should try a new style, break out of my comfort zone ? No, wait, that’s scary, I’ll just stick with what I know.
Next stop, dressing room. (online chatting or texting) You try the pants , check the fit, the length. Chances are you got it wrong, so you quickly rip them off and try the next pair.
Wrong again, ouch those hurt. Can’t even sit down in those.
Another pair, you can’t even get your ankle through the leg. Throw them on the floor.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
Surely the next pair will fit, they are 2 sizes too big and even though you would never dream of actually wearing them, you need pants god damn it. So you put them on. They are baggy, ugly, and hide your body in a way that’s hideously comfortable. You could throw these in the dryer and even if they shrink, it’s ok because they are too big anyway. They don’t go with anything else you own but so what, maybe you need new shirts and jackets and shoes anyway. Of course, a whole new me !
Exhausted, you return all your hope to the rack outside the dressing room, and settle for just one pair of ugly pants. And you rejoice that you can stop for ice cream on the way home because of the huge waistband.
You throw the pants, still in the bag, on the bottom of your closet at home. Disgusted with yourself, you know you deserve better. Maybe you’ll return them. No, wait, it will be good to have a pair of fat pants this winter, just in case.
Meanwhile……………………………………
There is someone similar to you, shopping for the perfect pair of pants.
They know exactly what they want. Something flashy, adorable, colorful and form fitting. Something that will make them look and feel younger, slimmer, more attractive. Something they would be proud to be seen in, something they could wear to a party and receive approving glances from friends and strangers. Something people would stop and stare at, wondering how he got so lucky.
Something he could wear hiking, or on his speed boat, or his Mercedes convertible, or his yacht. Something that would show off his perfect teeth, his investment portfolio, his hair plugs. His fake tan.
You are not those pants.
You are you, faded, comfortable, patched, and worn. Waistband is stretched. You are proud to be you. You don’t care if you aren’t stylish, hip and flashy. Your greatest accomplishment is not coming apart at the seams after years of rough wear. You are content to be left on the rack.
A Widow's Walk 