ARE RELATIONSHIPS POSSIBLE IN YOUR NIFTY FIFTIES?
It seems like we are put on this planet to grow up and
procreate. It is relatively easy to find
someone to share this journey with you when youth and optimism and unbroken
spirit is on your side, where even if the whole process goes belly up after
the stresses of spawning the inevitable
offspring that follow, you can pick yourself up, dust yourself off, shrug off
the pain and soldier on. Besides, they
say second time around is the result of knowing what you didn't like the first
time, and making sure you don't fall into those pesky patterns of constantly
choosing partners that are wrong for you, in order to learn the lessons our
friend the Universe deems you need to digest.
What for, heaven knows, because we're a long time dead. Or so I'm told.
So why is it so difficult to stay related in middle
age? I use the term middle age
carefully, flesh willing I'm going to
hit the hunj and therefore I am indeed at the centre of my own journey at this
time. Dead centre in fact, clinging on
to that invisible line, with still all my nails, quite a few teeth and some of
my mental faculties intact. It's a balancing act being a Nifty Fifty, that's
for sure.
I've been pondering this particular titbit of life experience
for a while now. My romantic life
generally teeters between the passionate to the downright ridiculous, and this
can be all within the space of an hour.
Lucky me, and whoever gets to ride the gain and pain train with me. My friend the Universe clearly thinks I'm
backward in learning the lessons it has been trying to jam down my unwilling
psyche for the better part of 30-odd years now, with little success. If Brigid Jones was trying to avoid perverts
and fuckwits, my mission apparently is to befriend and fall in love with
financially strapped alcoholics, but only those in denial of their
circumstances. I do however diligently try to save them (isn't that what all strong
women are meant to do with these slim pickings) but who's going to save them from
me...!
I've even done a workshop on this particular topic, and a
hell of a lot of blogging and journaling, so I do consider myself somewhat of a
dodgy expert in this field. But just in
case I still have something left to learn about poor selection of mates, I'm
considering placing a personals ad something along these lines:
WANTED: I'm seeking a genuine addict who will
promise to treat me badly, but also have the commitment to stick around forever,
no matter what. Alcoholism, chain
smoking, gambling, unsolicited sex & cheating, the more the better. These fine traits will make you financially
irresponsible as well, and always broke, and I just love that because I'm a
hard worker and I just live to prop up your lifestyle. No home, no problem --- I have a lovely home
I'm working my guts out to pay off, and I really want to share it with you for
free, so you can live here and control me - because that's what I need. A car and a licence isn't important, because
I want a man I can drive around, especially to the bottle shop, and at least
daily. I'd prefer also that you had no
friends and are willing to alienate mine, so we can be alone in our sick little
love cocoon. Your sex addiction will be
welcomed with open arms (and legs): there's nothing I love more than being
woken up at least twice a night for a quick root with a tiny little dick. I'll hardly notice it, but for the tired
feeling I wake up with every day, but the bonus of looking at your red shiny
face and listening to you endlessly cough your lungs up all night is reward
enough for me! If you're untrustworthy,
lie and cheat, that's an added bonus because I love surprises, especially when
your women knock on my door. Anger
problems and violence is welcomed also; I just thrive on the drama, especially
when it can be fuelled by alcohol or drugs, to add that element of real
dangerousness to it, because I do so like to live on the edge. Basically, if you can provide the
rollercoaster, I'll ride it with you forever, because you're my man!
The biggest
problem with placing an ad like this will be getting inundated with
offers.
On a more
serious note, it's curious to note that all around me there are single people
of around my age group, who get into relationships and then get out of them
twice as fast. You hear the usual
platitudes: "Oh all the good ones are taken," or that one I
personally love: "There's no available men. There are four women to every man in this age
group." Yeah, right. Well, all you need is one, and that can't be
too hard a number to shoot for, one would think.
Because it
seems to go a little like this. You meet
a possibility and you feel hopeful when he's (a) employed, (b) isn't homeless
and (c) seems sociable and of course (d) has that oh so important sense of
humor. Because God knows you need one
when you're trying to find a partner at this age. A little further down the track, things
aren't looking quite so rosy. You're a
fair chance first up to jump into bed with the at least 50% sexually dysfunctional,
or the 48% that are in denial about it….
which doesn't leave much of a pool to work with. Thank heavens that women's libidos tend to
dry up just as fast when partnering these types, and obviously some cunning planning
went into that. You then find out other
challenging, less than obvious pearls of knowledge, such as he's not quite
homeless but he should be, as he spends more time at the pub than anywhere
else, and the only sharing he's going to do with you is offer you a fag, that's
if it happens to be dole week and he's feeling flush and generous. And tragically,
while you realise he's starting to seem seriously awful, his single mates are
even worse.
Then there
is the matter of hair and teeth. I
personally subscribe to both, as I do supply my share in this joint venture,
though I can't insist they are mandatory in a partner. Because I'd seriously rather a dentally
challenged, folically sparse but kind and decent man with no addictions, than a
hirsute Uncle Dan's fixture with a short fuse and an even shorter dick, but a
full set of Siamese choppers and a few good ladyboy tales to regale me with, from their annual visits to the Land of Smiles and Happy Endings.
As you can
glean from this piece, my own sense of humor is abundantly and gloriously
intact, but I'll rein it in for now and try and get to the point - and I do
have one somewhere in here. Be patient.
My own verdict
on all of this: I firmly believe that the technological age we live in, and our
wholesale embrace of anything but actually talking face to face with people, partners
included, has led to this crazy vapid texting/sexting/Tindering/Facebooking
style of relationship which really on all accounts is hopeless. If you're not finding out he's friending his
exes on Facebook, then he's reading your texts because they happen to have
popped up via that great invention, The Cloud, onto your iPad which you
wouldn't consider needs to be under lock and key in your own home, but
apparently does. Make that a safe, and
with three locks.
And don't
even get me started on the Friendzone, a mostly male affliction from which
commonly the more decent men of this age seem to suffer from, purely because
they're not trying to throw their tongues down your throat or their leg over you
on every first encounter, and thereby suffering the consequences of
women assuming they are one of the abovementioned 50/48% and to be avoided at
all costs. At least you can never have
too many friends.
Quite aside
from all these new age problems, you're also dealing with the old age issues of
multiple exes, some of which a person can still be stealthily entangled with, the
hedging of bets, and sitting on fences, as uncomfortable and splintered as that might sound. Then of course there's the ultimate minefield
of children, his and yours, and how they fit into the whole messy stew of
resentment and shattered dreams.
Lastly
of course you're dealing with old age, or encroaching geriatrica, and all its
related health problems. There's that
good old spare tyre around your ribs, even worse if it's around your chest
because then you can look forward to heart disease and stroke with a bit more certainty. It's not the kind of stroke most men are
hoping for either. There's the multitude
of cosmetic issues women face in trying to remain somewhat attractive as they
battle the ageing beast: droopy boobies, hail damage to the thighs, wrinkly
faces that don't unwrinkle anymore when you stop smiling (or yelling at each
other). Then of course you've got the
aching limbs, the creaking dodgy joints, our Lady Di Abetes, and our rampant friend,
Jack the Dancer to contend with. No
wonder most of us are addicted to something which enables us to leave our minds
behind, even for a short time. By the
time you've hit 50, often your mind has taken all it can handle. Or so it seems. Mine went AWOL years ago but I'm expecting it
back someday soon, and I will keep checking for it. But it's enough to make you
want to pull your knickers up over your head to give yourself an instant
facelift, go to the RSL and pretend you can find yourself a partner there.
But maybe,
just maybe something wonderful can happen.
Maybe, just maybe, you can connect with your inner self in a way that
you haven't been able to in your first half century, and stop hunting
externally for the ultimate cure. Perhaps
we can learn to love and nurture ourselves.
And maybe the only truly pressing thing is to follow your dreams, in the
time you have left. Maybe that's what
puts the biggest grin on your face, and makes your spirit soar, when you're no
longer looking for ladybugs.. and then one day you wake up, and they're
crawling all over you...
(to be
continued when I hit Sixty and Single)...
Cazhow Productions ©
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