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The typical classic guy I could not resist is the one I fell for.  He was the mold of many before him; charming, handsome, charismatic, athletic and fun.  He was striking with a structural and muscular body, broad shoulders, fair skin, the ultimate facial hair (soft as a baby’s bottom) and brown eyes.

In the past, I was the one who did not want a commitment; the men I dated were lucky enough to get past a third date. This time, that all changed.  I fell in love with someone who I knew had a fear of commitment.  I kept returning to the relationship even though he is clearly emotionally unavailable to me and unable to meet my needs.

Sex in the City gave us Carrie and the memorable and unavailable relationship of Mr. Big.  The inner turmoil of Mr. Big creating insecurity and misplaced feelings of unworthiness, being an option and not a priority and not allowing Carrie to understand her position in the relationship.  The intoxicating chemistry coupled with the impatience of wanting more by only one person in the coupling is my life right now.

I’ll never forget when I met my Mr. Big, a.k.a. Mr. Not Ready. Boston was up to its eyeballs in snow. Schools were closed.  Offices were closed. And Bostonians were hunkered down tweeting #getmeoutofhere. And here I was, looking to #getmehere.

I was half of an empty nester with my second child months away from completing high school.  It was my time to spread my wings and fulfill one bucket list item, finding my dream condo in Boston’s Back Bay.  After a viewing a few properties, the first one I saw, was ultimately the one I wanted.  I chose the unit that offered the most square footage and raw space.

Negotiations completed, it was time for financing.  Enter Mr. Not Ready.  We had connected briefly on the phone, by email and text.  We set a date to meet later in the week at the realtor’s office.

He rescheduled three times. For the fourth meeting, he was late. I told my realtor what he could do with the mortgage broker, until I saw him. And just like that, He smiled and all my anger at his tardiness melted away.  He had dimples that could melt the snow in the entire Northeast.  We bantered focusing on the professional but I was smitten and I sensed he was too.  I didn’t want the meeting to end.

We set a date for the following week to meet prior to the scheduled property inspection to have coffee and for me to provide him with additional documents needed for my mortgage.  He was an hour early.  We sat down at a small table and I was at a loss for words.  If you know anything about me, this is an anomaly.  He was beyond sexy and possessed that certain “je ne sais quoi” that made him irresistible.  And that was the beginning of the Mr. Not Ready relationship of dating, breaking up, dating, breaking up.

I moved into my condo in June and he could not wait to take me on that first date.  It was one of the most wonderful fun dates I can remember.  He was attentive and complimentary. On the way to dinner he forgot to exit the highway for downtown and began heading out of the City.  His driving was so erratic that my heart sank and all I could think of was, OMG, I am going to be road-kill.

The dates that followed were sporadically consistent.  There were red flags that I was ignoring.  He kept me interested enough that I was hooked, but he would not commit.  He would make and then reschedule plans.  He would say he was going to call or text and never did. And then, as simple as putting a Band-Aid on a scratch, he would reach out, the elation would kick in, those crazy endorphins, and the thoughts of all the frustrations and red flags were banished. And this crazy sequence still continues today.

We have broken up three times.  The first time sometime during the summer months.  I don’t even remember the conversation except to say that I wanted to be a priority and not an option.  The second breakup followed holiday dinner with my children and close friends.  And the third was late winter. With each breakup there was a period of several days of no contact until one of us eventually made contact and then the cycle would begin again.

Currently we are in the non-dating, just friends, part of the sequence and yet, while I am in a good place now.  I often wonder why I am still in it, why I kept the communication ongoing, when there are so many other better dating options out there.  Will my Mr. Not Ready realize how lucky he is to have a girl like me? Do I want to be a part of the aggressive-passive hamster wheel anymore? Am I standing in my own way of moving on?  Can I get to a future if my past is still in the present?

The questions are probing and the answers surely telling, if only I could dig deep enough within myself to find the response. And suddenly, as if someone turned on the faucet full blast, the tears began to roll uncontrollably down my cheeks and my whole body began to shake. The reality that I was now 50 and the fear of never finding that next true love hit me. I was truly afraid of spending the rest of my life alone. I felt like a child in need of a hug and hearing the whisper, “everything is going to be fine” from her Mom.

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Dating After 50: Why Can’t We All Be Carrie? was last modified: by

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