Dating in Middle Age

I find myself wondering--what are the rules of dating? Who, if anyone, makes them up? In the gay male "community," (and I use that term loosely), there's a wide-ranging fear of aging. Now that I'm (just slightly) past 50, I've been splashing around in the dating pool, but the water isn't very inviting.

It's not like I was more successful back in the days when I fit the preferred demographic. When I was in my early-mid 30's I had little self-confidence and rarely seemed to get noticed. Now that my self-esteem is closer to sea-level, my prospects seem to have decreased. I notice this whenever I go to Provincetown, especially in summer. This past August I spent a week on the Cape, and saw literally hundreds of handsome men, none of whom seemed to be looking at me.

Of course, many of them were ten to fifteen years younger than me, but not all. But they were all fit, verging on buff. It's a weakness--I'm attracted to smooth muscular men, and yet those men seem to find me as interesting as yesterday's newspaper. Women seem to be much more forgiving; I often see good-looking women with out of shape, shlumpy straight men. (I also am drawn to men who are honest, creative and kind, but preferably in a worked-out physique).

Reading this, you might think I sound superficial (and to some extent) you might be right. But I am a man and I believe we--straight or gay--are wired to look for beauty. Still, some of my gay friends have more flexible standards, and are more willing to look beyond the surface to find the beauty within their prospective dates than I.

Over the last few years, as my youth receded over the far horizon, I've tried to do the same--widening my standards of who and what makes up an attractive man. But there are certain things I cannot give up--like a pulse--along with some element of attraction. Lately, I've learned that I don't need perfection or anything close to it. Instead, if I can find some physical attribute, like a tight chest or strong hands, I can focus on those other qualities I'm craving, like being with a man who can share his feelings, keep his word, and laugh at himself.

Recently I've had a near miss with a man who was single and seemingly available. In hindsight, a lot of the connection, on my part at least, was fantasy, my wish to have a handsome, somewhat younger man to spend time with.....

So now I'm starting over, wading in, and hoping I won't drown.

It is what it is......

is my new mantra. I try to breathe, and just experience what's happening, even if it is not, in any form, what I would have ordered from the International Male catalog. Certainly, at the end of the old year (on the Jewish calendar) and the opening of a new one, life is not going according to my plans. During the summer, I met a wonderful man--kind, sensitive, cute, and initially involved with someone else. When that didn't work out (for him), and as we spent some time together, our "hanging out" turned into a few dates. Finally, I was able to express the feelings I'd kept carefully penned up inside me.

Until, over the past few weeks, it became clear that my friend has no time for relationship, and little time for me. Until it became obvious, when he did have time, that spending it with me wasn't a priority; (his former crush is coming down for a 3-day weekend). Finally, I thought I'd actually connected with an available man, where the attraction was mutual, where we could explore dating, and possibly a significant relationship together. Now, he just wants to be friends. I have a number of good friends and what I really want and need is a boyfriend/man-friend who is available, and why is that so hard to find?

If I just wanted someone--anyone--I could find 'him,' but with C the chemistry was there, along with many of the personal qualities I'm looking for: humor, kindness, sensuality, warmth, decency.

The rest of my life isn't going smoothly, either. On Wednesday morning, after spending a good three days in NYC over Rosh Hashanah, visiting with two friends, I was driving over to my office in Porter Square, Cambridge. As I was waiting at a light, a young man plowed into the back of my (new) car, pushing my Nissan Versa into the small Ford pick up in front of me.

The driver, who was piloting a Mazda SUV, must have been literally asleep at the wheel. He wanted to make a deal (and avoid reporting the accident to the police). But I declined his offer, and quickly learned he had only a Lebanese driver's license--and his insurance had expired. My car is at the body shop, I filled out the accident reports and filed a claim. This is my second accident (neither were my fault) in less that 4 months.

I'm starting to feel like there's a black cloud floating over my head. I guess the good news is that with all this tsuris, I have to write, or I'll lose what's left of my mind.