What a Difference a Year Makes

I have this wonderful five-year journal. Each day as I write a paragraph about the day, I can see what I was doing and thinking and feeling a year ago.

A year ago I was dating the Lemonade Tycoon, telling Tyler about once a week that I didn't have a clue what this man felt about me. Tyler repeated, weekly, "Mom, he keeps asking you out. He must like you." Ah, the wisdom of young men! In mid-June the Lemonade Tycoon terminated that relationship (squeezed the last drop out of it?) and a week later I met Mr. Match where, I have stated repeatedly, lightning struck the table when we sat over our first drink together. Within a week he was predicting we'd be married in a year; within a month he was telling me he loved me. And we know where that went: nowhere. He's now Mr.Every.Two.Weeks.

All of last year I wanted a permanent man in my life, one more love to last me the rest of my life.

Amazingly, I now find that I don't care. I hang out with Frank a couple of times a week. When I travel to Youngstown, he comes over to pet Rudi and water the garden. Last night I met new guy (Rick) for coffee, and I went into it with zero expectations. He's interesting and I'll enjoy having dinner with him occasionally. But I would never anticipate sparks flying. Next Sunday, after I check in for my flight, I'm having coffee in the Pittsburgh airport with a guy (Don) who lives in Pittsburgh. Again, I think he'll be fun and interesting, but there are obstacles to anything serious developing. (He's very religious and I ain't goin' there, ever again. Mark my words.) And I find that that doesn't matter. That I don't care.

Today I am one month away from 57! Eeeek. (Not really sure how that happened!) My therapist gave me a little straight talk a couple of months ago about statistics. At my age, there are many more women than men. There are many more single women than single men. And if you facet that pool by compatibility . . . . Well, the likelihood of finding a mate is slim to none.

So I guess I need to come to terms with this reality and learn to like having a few interesting people — friends of either sex — to socialize with. Really, it gives me more time alone to be creative. I spent much of Saturday and Sunday sewing and it felt wonderful.

But isn't it interesting how one's perspective and desires can change in the course of 365 days?