I Took Dating Lessons From My Daughter
It was coming up to Christmas and I asked my grown daughter what she wanted. She said, “What I want for you is to find love again.” It was something that hadn’t crossed my mind to want for myself. I was 65 and amicably separated from her father. Our marriage had lost its mojo long before; there had been struggle and frustration, and she had witnessed that.
I replied, “Darling, I’ve got a great life! I travel, I do interesting work, I’ve got great friends, I’m content.” She said, “No, I want you to love again.” It turned out that she’d spoken to my friends who’d known me for decades, and they had told her what I was like in my 20s: that I was an incredible flirt, that I was vivacious, that I was confident around men. She said, “I haven’t seen that part of you.”
Her solution was to put me on a training program to remember who I used to be. She said, “You need an overall upgrade, Mum. I don’t think you’ve changed your make-up since you were 19.” She was right about that. She took me to the hairdresser and told her to lighten my hair and liberate my curls. She booked me in for a skin product review and I left a lot lighter, bank-wise, than when I went in.
She took me to a boutique managed by her friend and said, “You’ve got great legs and you never show them off – you need tight jeans.” I bought my very first pair of tight jeans and a top I never would have looked twice at, that I came to love. We went through my wardrobe and got rid of all of my suits and corporate gear. It felt liberating.
Finally, she introduced me to Pilates, saying that I needed to update my fitness program and get more muscle strength. She was right about all of those things! Finally, she took me to a clairvoyant, who said, “Your life is fundamentally going to change in the second half of the year, and you’re going to have a fantastic year.”
The next part of her training program consisted of lessons in flirting, using the family dog as a decoy. She said, “The whole art of flirting is being present in the moment.” I thought of a great friend of mine who had been the most fabulous flirt, right up until she died. She said that flirting is about the hanging sentence left in the air, laced with ambiguity. I always remembered that.
We went for a walk on a dog-friendly beach with our little dog. As we came closer to a man, my daughter unleashed the dog and the pooch bounced up to a guy who was holding the biggest dog on the beach, some kind of Rottweiler cross. My daughter said, “Go up to apologise and say something.” So I said, “I’m so sorry my dog is being a disturbance, she’s a bit yappy.” His dog looked at me, and I continued, “And what a handsome dog … just like its owner.” The man laughed but at this point my daughter came up and grabbed my arm and pulled me away, saying, “Too much, too soon – cool your jets!” So my first attempt at flirting was a bit of a failure.
“When I was younger, I might have gone for the bad boy … I found that exciting. I don’t think I recognised genuine kindness until I was older, incredible, loving kindness and tenderness.”
Eventually I got better at it and recovered my old self. I developed some lovely friendships with people. One I met in a coffee shop. He was reading the newspaper and I asked if I could have it after him. Now we’re friends and go for walks and ride bikes. I met another man in the foyer of a concert hall when he asked me, “Do you stay in for interval or come out?” The new me said, “It depends on the lure.” He asked, “French champagne?” and I replied, “That’s enough!” That began another lovely friendship I’ve kept.
Then mutual friends set me up with this gorgeous man. As soon as I met him, I knew there would be something between us. He was set to go travelling for six weeks, so we got to know each other through long email exchanges. My writing was never so fluent – it felt easy to correspond about books and politics and music. It was clear we were on the same page. By the time he came back, we were ready to throw ourselves into each other’s arms.
We’ve been together ever since. It’s been a magic ride. When I was younger, I might have gone for the bad boy … I found that exciting. I don’t think I recognised genuine kindness until I was older, incredible, loving kindness and tenderness.
My partner and I don’t live together. We are happy to live independent lives and that was important to me. But we have great fun together. We have similar values and the same sense of humour. We begin every morning and end every day with a phone call, and when we’re together we’re like cats on a hot tin roof.
It really is different to fall in love later in life and you should never take love for granted. I’m not the only one in my set that this has happened to. A group of us rented a house in Italy 10 years ago; since then, all but one has re-partnered or remarried. We call ourselves MALS – Mature Aged Love Stories. You think so much is behind you when you reach a certain age, never realising how much is still in front of you.
The interesting postscript is about my daughter. The same month I met my partner, she met the person she ended up marrying. So we fell in love at the same time. The younger version of falling in love entails imagining a future together: children, a home, adventures, sharing families and friends. The older version entails mateship, acceptance and kindness and tenderness. I have said to my beloved, “Sometimes I wish we had met decades earlier and could have fulfilled the dreams of youthful love.” His wise response is: “We met at the right time. We may not have recognised each other earlier.”
Do you have a mid-life love story you’d like to share? Drop us a line at hello@tonicmag.com.au
Interview by Rachelle Unreich, our interviewee chose to remain anonymous
Photo_ Amy Shamblen /Unsplash