Dating While Old

Dating while old is pretty terrible. When it happens at all!

Recently I met a man on a flight back from LA* and it was notable enough that I tweeted about it.

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Meeting new people and having the interest be mutual doesn’t happen for me as much as it used to.

If you met me when I was in my twenties, I probably would have tried to tell you dating was terrible then too. Fresh out of college and living in NYC, I seemed to meet guys who were either too serious OR the precursor to this. I craved something in between the dude who just wanted to hook up and the man who planned overly formal dinner dates that felt like something real grown-ups (i.e., not me) did. Given my relative immaturity, I was weirdly more comfortable making out in the corner of dark bars than straining to make conversation over dinner at Provence.

In retrospect, I don’t know how I managed to cram so many crushes, love interests, boyfriends and friends with benefits into the six years I dwelled in NYC the first time. I must have been exhausted.

In my thirties, between a long relationship, career stress and living in DC, there was a dramatic drop-off in dating opportunities. Why didn’t anyone warn me this would happen?! I probably would have ignore anyone who tried, and I was too dumb to come to that conclusion on my own. So if you’re young and no one has warned you, let this serve as my personal PSA to you.

Now, I recognize that I’m not OLD-old. But I’m also not really young, either. The only people who say “you’re still young!” to me are over seventy and/or have serious vision issues.

And the reality of not being young anymore is that a lot of those fun, carefree things have largely evaporated. I have fewer crushes and opportunities to feel excited about love interests. And that’s a big bummer.

One thing about Dating While Old that’s good is that you’re able to spot warning signs early–and ideally you’re mature enough to act accordingly. One of my recent crushes – gainfully employed, handsome, fun in an up-for-anything kind of way – revealed himself to be a guy who habitually talks over other people and is a terrible listener. He’s also a Bernie Bro.

A truly welcome aspect of Dating While Old is the fact that I can look at a guy, realize he’s wrong for me in some important way and walk away with minimal angst. After all, my life is great with or without a date. Thank goodness for loyal girlfriends and satisfying careers and less money concerns.

 

BTW, if you are a Smug Married tempted to ask “but what about the apps? Don’t they produce many more dating opportunities?” please read this New York Times piece by Taffy Brodesser-Akner immediately. 🍆🍆

 

*As always, it’s complicated. I’ll update you if it’s worth telling the story.

 

What’s happening?

I so admire bloggers who manage to post daily. I once was one of them–although the content was sometimes questionable at best. To have fresh ideas and the ability to shape them efficiently…what a gift!

But so much of what I wrote over the last four years has been about life’s trials: experiencing my Dad’s swift decline and then his death; and my own bizarre tumor adventure in particular.

More recently, I chose not to blog about my Mom’s badly broken leg and how much she struggled with the recovery (she’s beyond healed now and so happy). Or my concussion last summer (although I have tweeted about it plenty). I haven’t posted about trips I have taken or exciting (only to me, probably) developments in my career.

Ultimately I have not posted about how low I have felt. Because who wants to read about that?

[I know that I am not alone and like a lot of you, I give partial claim to the current state of world affairs.]

But the real struggle is with myself. Adulthood is hard. I realize now that my life will forever be divided into the portion With Dad and Without Dad. Losing one of the two people who made me removed whatever blinders I had on. And it isn’t simply about feeling his absence. I feel the passage of time acutely–for all I know, my life is more than half over (and I only recently made it to Paris for the first time!*).

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Galeries Lafayette

On my darkest days, I find myself looking at my life and feel absolutely crushed about the things I haven’t accomplished, the places I haven’t seen with my own eyes and my present lack of energy to do something about the ways I feel I have let myself down.

Please know this: I don’t feel like this every day and I acknowledge that I have the power and the privilege to chip away at my to do list. I am fortunate.

On better days, I remind myself that Dad would be so proud of me, and Mom still is. And that I live in one of the best cities in the world and get to visit all kinds of cool places. And most importantly, even when I am alone, I don’t feel lonely because I know there is a lot of love in my life.

I hope to write and post more. We’ll see. In the meantime, I’d love to hear how you’ve been in the comments.

*This is simultaneously tongue-in-cheek and sincere.

Why do I look so bad in shorts?

Update: I bought new shorts! Details at the bottom of this post.

I have long joked to my friends that if reincarnation ends up being real, I hope I come back as a woman who looks good in shorts.

Right now, I definitely do not. I have always been afflicted with blessed with thighs. My legs are somewhat long but no matter how fit I am (or how fit I am not) at various points in my life, I have always had thighs.

As proof, here are two photos of me when I was fit as hell and still studying dance of various styles at least three days per week. All I see are thighs. Thighs like giant hams.

 

 

 

 

Those tights didn’t do me any favors either.

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If you buy just ONE skincare product…

Remember when I was striving to become higher maintenance?

Mission accomplished, and then some. Part of my, ahem, success came from all of the downtime I had last year after this. I became very, very good at ecommerce. 😁

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Recently I was chatting with some lovely Twitter friends about skincare likes and dislikes, spurred by a negative reaction I had to this eye roller, and they suggested a new blog post could be warranted.

I’m game if you are.

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Good Food: Where I like to eat (and drink) in Manhattan

I have posted here and there about some of my favorite restaurants in NYC but never done a full dining guide, per se.

This also is not a dining guide – too overwhelming. Plus I’m a somewhat picky eater and not what anyone would call a food expert. It is decidedly not a trendy list–look elsewhere for that.

But I do have my favorites so here are some of them.

Best square pie

GG’s in the East Village. I just love this little spot. From its delicious pizza to its charming pressed tin ceiling to the always-fun playlists, GG’s is a go-to. And the cocktail list is terrific.

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Best fried chicken

Root & Bone, it’s yours. I have never been disappointed. Plus the service is so thoughtful.

Best quick breakfast in Midtown Manhattan

Little Collins or Ground Central. I wish Little Collins were a bit more spacious, and I wish Ground Central were quieter, but both are gems in an area dominated by chains.

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The world’s most expensive vacation

We didn’t go to Italy last year. About a month before we were supposed to depart, the tumor was discovered.

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My doctor said I could travel, but Mom was reluctant.

“I’m not traveling with you–you’re a ticking time bomb!” she said. Continue reading

One of a thousand #MeToo posts I could write

This story is gross and upsetting and I have long been embarrassed about it. I could have sworn that I wrote a post about the incident, but searching “Chris” and “gross” didn’t produce any results.

Even now, many years later, I feel uncomfortable typing the words. But the story is timely and in sharing it, maybe I can help someone feel less alone while they consider their own #MeToo moments.


I was young and broke and living in NYC. My first job after college graduation paid just $25,000* and my rent was $950 per month. If I’d had any common sense at all at twenty-two years old, I would have realized that living alone wasn’t a viable option. But I was stubborn and wanted to feel independent, even as I accepted subsidies from my parents.

Recognizing that I was locked into a year-long lease, my mother didn’t give me too much grief when I called home crying poverty. But she did suggest I get a second job for some hours outside of my 9-5 gig.

*At some point, I will write many blog posts about the importance of negotiation and the many mistakes I made in this realm before waking up.

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