Tyler and I drove from Youngstown to Hilton Head Island yesterday. The babes were happily and quietly settled in the back seat, content with their dual-screen DVD player. I believe it was a six-video trip. Boston was thrilled to have been allowed to watch that many movies, back-to-back.
That long a drive yields a lot of time for thinking. As usual, my thoughts wandered to relationships and my lack of a significant relationship in my life.
I wonder if this is what we come to in our 50s and 60s. It seems to me that all the good men are being held by their women. The only available men are widowers, those never-marrieds that we're afraid of, and the divorced men who, for some reason, just cannot find the right woman. Oh yeah, and the Jacques Arses who, by some twist of fate, just don't understand how to be a good man.
I have a handful of male friends whom I adore. The Gardener, the Traveler, the Professor—these are all men with whom I share the most wonderful, if platonic, relationships. Sometimes I wish it were more, but it is what it is.
And I wonder if that's the ultimate state for second-half-of-life: lots of friends whom you hold in the highest esteem, and a house of your own that holds no arguments over who's going to do the dishes.
Still, it sounds lonely to me.
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