2023 did not start well for me: I’d finished chemo and radiation for my second bout of breast cancer just two days before the New Year, then discovered I have the BRCA2 gene marker. This resulted in ovary removal and a recommendation that within the next five years, I should have a double mastectomy. There are also repercussions for my three children and the wider family. It’s a lot to take in for me, let alone for a potential partner. But being the eternal optimist, I tell myself if the right man is out there, he’ll understand and accept these things, along with all the positive things I have to offer.
However, after countless online conversations and a handful of meet-ups, I’m no closer to finding love. Then I match on Hinge with Alan. There’s some immediate commonalities: we’re a similar age, we each separated two years ago, we have children that are the centre of our universe. He has a kind face, a nice smile. And his opening gambit is a song lyric that gets me straight away. We meet for coffee. He’s nervous, and talks a lot, but mostly not about himself. It’s endearing. We both love the sea, so when he suggests a beach walk after we leave the cafe, I readily agree, telling him I hope he’s not a serial killer as I climb into his car for the short drive to the Shore. There we bump into one of my dearest friends, and I awkwardly introduce them. He drives me back to my car, and says he’d like to meet again. I would too.
A week later, it’s another coffee date. The conversation flows freely. He proves to be as adept at listening as he is at talking. We talk travel, music, movies, the breakdown of our marriages, our mutual love of a good fountain pen. We laugh. A lot. He asks me out for dinner. I accept. I meet him at the Italian restaurant he’s chosen, and I tell him I can’t stay too long as I have to fly overseas early the next morning. Three hours later, I’m wondering where the time has gone. He drives me home. He kisses me. It’s chaste, but nice. I call him bold. He laughs.
I message him the next day from Melbourne and tell him I’m thinking about him. He replies to say he’s at dinner with friends and won’t stop talking about me. We plan our next date. He says he wants to take me to Oppenheimer. I figure anyone willing to sit through a three-hour movie he’s already seen, just so I can see it, might quite like me.
We agree to be kind to each other. We go out for dinner countless times, sharing dishes and stimulating conversation. We say we want to take things slowly, for fear of screwing things up, then totally fail to do that. We delete our dating profiles by mutual agreement. And, perhaps much more quickly than either of us anticipated, we fall in love.
The real surprise for me is not the falling in love itself, but how it feels: it’s every bit as exciting in my 50s as it was in my 20s. I can’t help the idiotic grin when I talk about him. I want to make him happy. I want my family and friends to adore him as much as I do. We tell each other we’re smitten. I worry about my myriad surgical scars; he offers to buy vitamin E oil to rub into them. I write him love notes, tell him his eyes are like the ocean. He says he was searching for a unicorn, a mythical creature, and he’s found her. We talk about showing each other our favourite places in the world.
But love, at any age, is not easy. It requires raw vulnerability, and the fear of being hurt does not lessen with time. When you’re younger, you can make each other your priority; however, we each have children, dependants, so our priorities are by necessity different - we can never be each other’s number one. We carry scars from past relationships. But we also have learned the value of communication, of consideration, of appreciation and the determination to make each and every day count. We also know that love is less about feelings and more about choices and actions, and we want to make them positive ones.
Oh, and it turns out Mr Right was right under my nose. Alan and I live just a 10-minute drive from each other, and we work just 200 metres apart. Yet we can’t imagine that we would have met any other way than online. I said I was looking for my missing jigsaw piece when I apprehensively signed up to those dating apps - it turns out my jigsaw is now complete, and it’s a thing of beauty. 2023 has turned out to be a pretty good year after all.
Read more in Lorna Riley’s Dating, Again series:
Part One: How to navigate the apps as a 50-something.
Part Two: Advice and lessons learned from using dating apps.
This story was originally published on November 27, 2023
