First person: Too tall an order? Could dating apps deliver my true love?
More often than not, when I mention that I met my second husband on Match.com, the response is some form of, “Online dating is how my friend met her husband.” And if that person is single, the statement is followed by, “But I’m afraid to try it.”
I get it. Internet dating didn’t exist in 1981 when my first husband and I met the old-fashioned way ― doing something we both loved: playing basketball. But when we divorced 31 years later, dating, like almost everything else, had been given a technology upgrade.
Yes, creating a profile and putting myself “out there” was scary, but what were the alternatives given my opening parameters? Only 3.9% of American men are my height (6’2”) or taller, and who knows how many of them were also my age, single, and Janet-compatible? I was grateful such a tool existed.
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Still, I was shocked when that tool matched me with men in their 50s and 60s. The last time I dated, the men were playing football instead of watching it — and they had a full head of hair.
A reality check reminded me that I was no spring chicken either.
Looking again at my matches, I found some attractive, especially if they were doing something active and had a nice smile. These qualities made them stand out, especially from those who thought reclining shirtless in a La-Z-Boy and holding a beer was a good look. Seriously.
An inviting profile, however, did not ease my discomfort in returning to the dating scene. My first date told me I looked petrified. The second one said he was afraid I was going to throw up. Intuitive men.
And as uncomfortable as those encounters were, on the days I didn’t receive any messages, winks, or smiles, I became an insecure teenager, revising my profile a ridiculous number of times.
Thankfully, I survived enough dates to get a grip on what I truly found important. Yes, height mattered to me. Did I mention that a pilot who flew down from Pennsylvania to take me to dinner said he was 6-foot-4 but was no more than 5-foot-8 — with platform shoes? Nice guy, but did he think I wouldn't notice?
Some other priorities: having a full set of teeth, knowing the difference between "your" and "you're" (not a big deal for some, but I'm an English teacher), and having table manners (no hunching over the table, death-gripping of utensils or shoveling of food). That was just the bar I set for dating.
To explore developing a relationship, we would also have to share the same faith and values, be intellectually and financially compatible, speak similar love languages, and respect and trust each other.
A further test would involve experiencing the four seasons with him. Would he disappear during hunting season? Be consumed with watching football during football season? Give me flowers on Valentine's Day?
The judgments go both ways
Of course, I got that I wasn’t the only one setting bars.
My dates were assessing me as well. One told me I wasn't enough of a risk-taker. Another said we wouldn’t work out because he's a night owl, and I'm an early bird. One asked for a refund for my happy-hour drink and half of the hors d'oeuvres we shared because I refused to remove my dating profile and commit to him after one date.
Another bolted when I politely declined to travel the country with him in a renovated school bus. “No wonder you’re divorced!” he said. I angered another when I confessed that his having six ex-wives was a dealbreaker.
Most, though, just ghosted me if they weren’t interested.
The worst part of this process was the hurt feelings and shaken confidence when one party is interested, but the other isn’t. The best? Both parties are free to search for someone who will love them as they are.
Although I had high hopes for one man I dated for 10 months, I ended the relationship when I realized how low I was on his list of priorities.
After that, I paid better attention to red flags. Still, every time I concluded that someone wasn’t right for me, the idea of starting over — and reactivating my dating apps — filled me with dread.
But if I didn’t reactivate — I was on both Match.com and eHarmony — I was dead in the water. Outside of these dating sites, no one was asking me out.
One-date encounters dominate
I did enjoy getting to know new people and hearing their life stories (as long as they didn’t drone on about their exes), but I went on more first dates than second ones. We were all looking for more than friendship and could usually tell in one date if we had potential as a couple.
Yes, quite a few men are looking for someone a fraction of their age. I don’t begrudge them, but I wasn’t interested. When a man 25 years my senior asked me out, I asked whether he would date a woman even 15 years his senior. His response? “Touché.”
I had met a lot of wonderful men, so — after nearly five years of dating — I asked myself whether I was being too picky. Could my ex-husband have been right when he said that if I wasn’t happy with him, I would never be happy with anyone?
Of course, I wanted to prove him wrong, but more importantly, I wanted what everyone wants: to love and be loved.
Did I want to marry again? This much I knew: I would rather remain single than be unhappily married again — a sentiment shared by most divorcees.
And had I become too independent, too used to doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted?
As Henry Higgins says in Shaw’s "Pygmalion," “I suppose the woman wants to live her own life; and the man wants to live his; and each tries to drag the other onto the wrong track. One wants to go north and the other south; and the result is that both have to go east, though they both hate the east wind.”
I wasn’t receiving alimony, so I wouldn’t have to ask myself whether I would be willing to give it up. But if I did marry, how would we combine two households with too much stuff? Or would we each keep our house? Or sell ours and buy one together? And would a prenuptial agreement protect our assets for our children?
These thoughts spun around in my head even though I hadn't met Mr. Right.
All it takes is one ...
When I had just about given up, Match.com opened another door. Otis, who was living in New York, had searched for matches within 10 miles of his Palm Beach condo. At 8.8 miles away, I just made the cut. (At 6-foot-5, a full set of teeth and no La-Z-Boy in sight, he also made mine.)
At the time, my profile read, “Hi there! If you're like me, there are days you still feel 17. Of course, it helps that I whisper to myself, ‘You're still a rock star!’ when I take my multivitamin and crawl into bed at 9:00. And it helps that I swim laps at the YMCA, where I'm often the youngest, fastest swimmer in the pool. Let me know if you feel up to taking me on in a game of basketball.”
Cute, right?
When he said he would be in town and asked if I would like to play basketball, I said, “Sure!”
Then I panicked.
I had played in high school and college, but I’d had a hip replacement since then, and although I could play a decent game of H-O-R-S-E, my surgeon had advised me not to run.
We met in a parking lot — the wrong one, it turned out. But he spotted me, came over and offered to hop in my car to direct me to the right spot.
He later told me he was afraid I didn’t like him because I appeared “severe” and “dour.” Actually, I was freaking out because I was breaking a general rule not only of online dating but also of Life 101: “Never get in a car with a stranger.”
Fortunately, he proved harmless. And to my relief, he didn’t insist on playing basketball.
We walked on the beach, then we went to a Thai place for dinner. When he mentioned that a friend recently had a hip replacement, I told him about mine. Didn’t faze him. Two points.
That night, before I headed home, we shared a sweet first kiss, which he says “wowed” him. We saw each other every day for a week. We went for walks and bike rides, swam, held hands, shot baskets, and talked. No subject was off limits.
After he returned to New York, we talked almost every night for an hour or two, and every couple of months, he flew down to see me.
... And also a lot of compromise
But meeting someone you’re compatible with and attracted to is only half the battle.
Being able to work through the inevitable conflicts is the other half, and just because we’re older and wiser — and a computer thinks we’re a match — doesn’t mean those conflicts will be fewer. In fact, there may be more.
At a certain age, we can’t help but have baggage from previous relationships. Even if we check it at the curb, and it gets lost in transit, it inevitably catches up to us.
When Otis gave me a sweet card but no gift or flowers on our first Valentine’s Day, I tried not to be hurt and disappointed. I knew I had been too sensitive in my marriage and didn’t want to make that mistake again.
I also knew that in his marriage he had felt that no matter how hard he had tried or worked or how much he had earned, it wasn’t enough.
“Would you have preferred," he asked, "that I send flowers and chocolate from New York?” I felt selfish and shallow, and he felt unappreciated.
Later, in an email from New York, he asked that we “listen to the other person and try to empathize; be honest, rational, reasonable, and tactful; take turns talking; not monopolize the conversation; try not to interrupt; try to achieve a win/win; not yell, curse, belittle, or be sarcastic; de-escalate and go to ‘separate corners’ [a tactic a marriage counselor had recommended years earlier] to cool off; get over it; and not hold a grudge.”
I recognized that his list of “rules” was the result of what he had endured, making me not only the fortunate but also the unfortunate beneficiary of his marital past.
In time, he learned that he could trust me to remain calm, reasonable and rational when we had a disagreement.
Three years after being matched, on my 59th birthday, Otis said, “I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” I said without hesitation. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”
A relationship forged in wisdom, maturity and gratitude
I’m not sure I realized until that moment how much I longed to be given a second chance at being happily married. Maybe I thought that by not acknowledging this desire, I was protecting myself in case I wasn’t given the chance.
We aimed for a March 2020 afternoon wedding at my daughter’s house, but — although the stars had aligned for our love — they hadn’t for our wedding.
My mother, who had gotten her hair and nails done the day before and couldn't have been happier for me, died that morning.
My emotional pain transformed into physical pain when my back went out later that day. Unable to move, let alone walk to the bathroom, I threw up and peed my pants. As Otis cleaned up, I took comfort in the knowledge that Mom had died knowing he loved me and would take care of me.
Eight months later, I was flooded with emotions during our beautiful, intimate wedding ceremony.
Marrying later in life differs from marrying when young. How often do young newlyweds prep together for colonoscopies in their first month of wedded bliss? Or face a second hip replacement? Several days after my surgery, I asked Otis if he was tired of taking care of me. “Well,” he replied, “I was hoping the ‘for better’ would come before the ‘for worse.’”
Although we’re grateful for dating apps, Otis and I were more than happy to delete ours and begin our love story —which I wouldn’t be telling if we hadn’t stepped outside our comfort zone and taken a chance on finding love again. The fact that he makes me laugh more than anyone else in the world is the icing on our wedding cake.
Janet Alessi has been teaching at John I. Leonard High School since 1983 and is a frequent contributor to Accent. She can be reached at jlmalessi@aol.com.
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This article originally appeared on Palm Beach Post: Searching for love in mid-life required an app and a lot o first dates
