I confess that I had concerns about turning fifty. Could that be the turning point? Would all dating dry up? I’m well aware of online dating search engines. The searcher can input an age range—some lower number (possibly ridiculously lower) and an upper limit of, say, 49. The 50s? Ancient times. Aren’t they the guys that sit at home in vintage “Cosby Show” sweater, waiting for the latest issue of AARP and repeatedly listening to cover songs by Bette Midler. (Okay, I confess to pining for the Divine one. Click on the link and tell me you’re not hooked.)
Maybe my fretting over fifty comes from my own search habits. I cannot recall specifically—a sign of aging?!—but I believe there may have been a time not long ago when I didn’t look beyond fortysomething. A half century just sounds so plaque-worthy. And nobody wants to see you pull a plaque from your backpack on a first date.
Well, the good news is that, almost a full month into fiftysomething, I am still dating. Three dates. Yes, each man is in his fifties as well. (I don’t fantasize about helping some young thing cram for a Psychology 101 midterm.) These men have been 51, 54 and—gasp!—58. By golly, each man remains dating-relevant. Each one is fit, attractive and interesting. Two are avid paddleboarders, two ski regularly, one runs and swims and all of them continue to go to the gym. Each one is well settled in a career. Each has varied experiences and each proved he can participate in that ever elusive two-way conversation.
Coffee with the 54 year-old from South America was pleasant, but the connection wasn’t there. That happens. Glad to have met him.
Coffees with the other two may actually lead to second dates. (One never really knows until that actually happens.) I head to Seattle in two weeks to see Evan again. He’s taking care of friends’ kids next weekend. Uncle Evan. That’s way sexier than a boy toy flitting around in Lycra undies with a glow stick necklace and a plastic water bottle. Evan is genuine and responds promptly to messages. No game playing, no early signs of flakiness. Lovely.
I am perfectly content to see how far things may go with Evan. But, there was unfinished business with Wyatt. He’d messaged me back in September and we just couldn’t seem to find the right time to meet in Vancouver. I sensed he was eager to meet and disappointed that our schedules couldn’t mesh. I headed over today to do some errands and thought I’d message him one last time just to tie up loose ends. If we didn’t meet today, I felt it would never happen. And that would be fine. (In my book, one out of three ain’t bad either!)
Wyatt messaged back. He was busy with plans to go hiking in the woods near Whistler. Ooh, so outdoorsy. On a rainy day, no less. (I’m a fair-weather hiker. I’m not fond of mud. Not even for facials.) But Wyatt planned to head back mid-afternoon. Coffee was on.
Turns out he’s a government lobbyist who advocates for policy and programming that specifically promotes men’s health and physical fitness. Clearly, he lives his life consistent with his beliefs. We chatted freely about the idiosyncrasies of local politics, the differences between Canadian and American federal governments, healthy and unhealthy components of long-term relationships and the continuing importance of libraries in supporting the social and intellectual wellness of a community. The conversation was engaging and still relaxed. As we parted, he was the one to say he wanted to meet with me again. Definitely interested. And, yes, I shared the sentiment. But that next date will have to wait until his return from a holiday in Israel and Lebanon.
Yes, these men are more than pretty packages. They have depth. By golly, it’s early, but as first impressions go, I thinking I’m liking my fifties!