Another New Identity

I thought about Internet dating for months without doing anything about it.  I wasn't sure that I wanted to leave my comfort zone, but something inside of me was urging me to fly out of the nest. I was 61 years old, healthy and vital, and afraid of loving and losing again.

And that's not all I feared. Over the last four and a half years, I had built a new identity for myself as a widow. In my mind this imbued me with an air of dignity and self-sufficiency. I tended to dress all in black anyway, but I may have played that role up a bit. In my everyday black jeans and black shirts, I wanted to look like the Manhattan professor who had it all together--had gotten it all together-- no matter what life had thrown her way. I guess I was hoping to overcome the pity and fear that widowhood brings out in most people. Pride had something to do with it, but pride doesn't keep you warm at night.

Placing myself in the dating game meant that I was just another single woman seeking a man. It made me feel vulnerable and wanting. The last time I'd been single was in my 30s, when I had attitude. Here I am you lucky men. Who is going to buy me dinner tonight? After twenty contented years with my husband and a decade of family illnesses, my attitude had slipped away into a distant memory.

It took me a while to even mention the possibility to my friends. Saying it out loud and hearing their encouragement helped me enormously. (More about that later.) In fact they were more than encouraging. I got the sense that they were thinking it's about time! They helped me ease into the flow of time, which changes us whether we will it or not. I didn't want to petrify into the "Widder Barbara" with black veils covering all my mirrors. That wasn't dignified. It was horrifying, but sometimes when I'd spent too much time alone, it seemed inevitable.

So I took the first step and drafted a profile. It didn't feel so threatening. After all, I consoled myself, I don't have to do anything with it. I can hold on to it until I'm ready to post it somewhere. And if I'm never ready--no harm done. I made notes. What did I seek in a man? What did I have to offer? It was hardly a revolutionary way to begin, but it didn't have to be. Writing feeds writing, and the process helped me  forget my doubts and fears. What do I like to do? Who have I become through the years of my life? I wrote and wrote, and it was good for me to declare myself, my many roles, and my wishes for my future.