Proof That Age Is Really Just a Number When You Love the Man You’re With

Being in the same phase of life has its advan­tages when it comes to rela­tion­ships.
I wish Alfred was my age because we would have the lux­ury of grow­ing old together and shar­ing life’s expe­ri­ences. We’d both be ener­getic lovers, with­out com­plain­ing over an achy knee, a tired back, and feel­ing sleepy at noon. We’d have an eco­nom­i­cal advan­tage by hav­ing two incomes grow­ing the house­hold instead of just one.

If I was 70 years old, I may feel con­tent liv­ing a retired lifestyle and tak­ing a nap dur­ing the day. I wouldn’t have goals and dreams and plans of going to grad­u­ate school. I may be happy mak­ing din­ner and doing light house­work. I would have a small dog on my lap and eat candy while I had a fish in the smoker. I could go to the local pub on a Wednes­day at 2:00 p.m. for some social­iz­ing and a drink before oth­ers got off work and made the place crowded. My pro­fes­sional goals would be accom­plished. My sons would be raised and have fam­i­lies of their own. I could go fish­ing and camp­ing and spend a few days on the river dur­ing the week with­out hav­ing to get approval from the boss. I could wake up nat­u­rally instead of to the scream of an alarm. Alfred would be happy to have some­one around the house tak­ing care of him and just being a full-time com­pan­ion. I’m cer­tain our dynam­ics would be much different.

If Alfred was 45 years old, he would be in the prime of his career and ready to move up. He would be send­ing his daugh­ter to col­lege. His dark hair would have some flecks of sil­ver on the edges instead of being entirely white. He wouldn’t need me to read the menu at the café on the days he for­got his read­ing glasses. He would have a strong back to cut wood for the bon­fire and drive a taller pickup truck that he could step up into. He would have his own motor­cy­cle to drive on our Sat­ur­day after­noon cruise. He’d be a valu­able mem­ber of the household—fixing the fam­ily vehi­cle, walk­ing the dog, tak­ing out the trash, mow­ing the lawn, fix­ing the TV, bring­ing in an income and pay­ing the bills.

I wish I was 70 years old, because then I would under­stand him and his life bet­ter. I can’t look back and remem­ber what it was like to be 70 years old. Alfred under­stands and remem­bers what it was like to be 45 years old, though.

Alfred gets his excite­ment and high-speed action when we get together. For me, the week­ends together are a time to slow down, relax, take a nap, cut some wood, have a drink over the bon­fire, and enjoy a slow pace. Even when we are together, our per­spec­tives of our time together are much dif­fer­ent, yet we both find a very peace­ful and enlight­en­ing expe­ri­ence with each other.

If you are con­tent liv­ing a day at a time and not hav­ing long-term plans for a future in your May-December rela­tion­ship, it works. If you appre­ci­ate each other in the moment, it works. If you have a spon­ta­neous nature, it works. If you have peace and hap­pi­ness liv­ing in the moment, it works. But if you have long-term goals for a part­ner­ship for your future, and want a sim­i­lar lifestyle, the obsta­cles can be enormous.

I have decided to be con­tent with the age dif­fer­ence and live life a day at a time. I appre­ci­ate the time shared together. Love, trust, friend­ship, and com­pan­ion­ship do not come easy, and when they did, I grabbed them. If my level of con­tent­ment ever changes, it will cer­tainly change the path of our May-December rela­tion­ship. That’s how it is. Nobody is promised a tomor­row, and who knows, per­haps Alfred, at 25 years my senior, will out­live me.

  • Melissa Lip­nutz

    Keep in mind you’re no spring chicken either!