A few months ago, after my longtime relationship ended, I entered the world of Online Dating.
Two years ago, I never would have considered it. But it seemed to have become more respectable and, at 58, I hadn't, and still haven't, mastered the art of striding through life as if I own it and striking up conversations with women I don't know.
Online dating, I quickly discovered, opens worlds of opportunity to exchange e-mails with and meet women who wear cowboy hats in their online photos, post pictures of their pets in settings ranging from the ratty couch at home to lovely evenings at some beach, lie about their educations and other facts and boldly enter, under "Best feature," the word "butt."
Guys can do the same things. (Not this guy, of course.)
Although I heard some horror stories, I somehow managed to avoid women with detectable emotional issues, to offend only a few with my rustiness in the Unattached Guy role and to go home none the worse for wear, if that describes spending $75 for dinner with someone who doesn't want to see you again.
Wake-up call
A man in my position gets more than his share of attention via e-mail and telephone, and a fair number of compliments.
Striking out with people who had no idea who I was, and weren't impressed when they found out, provided me with a bracing reminder of my insignificance -- not that I needed any.
Still, I am grateful for their indifference. It only made me stronger.
My online dating experience provided me with a few observations -- which could apply to men as well as women, probably in spades.
First, I have been stunned by the stories I've heard about treachery among people in their 40s and 50s.
Hard times
After a long marriage, becoming a widower and having a long relationship, I sort of assumed that people lost their wildness as they aged.
Online and on my dates, I heard stories of catastrophe and betrayal that belong on Extreme Misery Week on the Lifetime channel.
Invariably women would tell me they'd never before gone into their setbacks in such detail, at which point I'd remind them that I was a trained professional journalist who had started the share-session by bleeding on the pizza with tales of my own travails.
(For some reason, the evenings tended to go downhill after that.)
Second, I learned that people who have money are not automatically fascinating. In fact, some are downright boring.
This disappointed me. I imagined my Perfect Partner as a combination of stability, looks, originality, good humor and wealth.
Huge wealth. Retire-early wealth. Travel-the-globe wealth.
In some cases, women with money worried more about money than I did. What fun is that?
Third, I noticed that many pictures were out of date. I can't claim to be the man I was in mine -- recent years have taken their toll -- but at least mine was made in this century.
Fourth, I realized that looks really do mean something, as superficial as that sounds. I decided to ignore people who didn't post pictures of themselves.
If someone didn't show a picture but her profile seemed interesting, I would ask for one. No picture, no party.
Fifth, I learned that there are no hard-and-fast rules, like No. 4.
In fact, I recently received an e-mail from someone who proved to be my superior in the use of wit and words but refused to provide a photograph.
Instead, she said she could refer me to male sources who would attest to her attractiveness, and cautioned me not to dawdle with my response because "I'm never without a man for long."
Bravado? Banter? Brass?
I had to find out.
We met at a coffee shop. I liked her.
We've gone out two more times. We like each other.
We wonder whether people with two lifetimes of scars and skidmarks -- and a lot of happiness, as well -- can succeed together.
It's too early to tell. But we have talked about dropping our online subscriptions.
And I am amazed.
Joe Kennedy
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