What Cher Said
"Every woman should date a younger man...but never fall in love with him; we're too old for that." But this is a love story...
It was always a matter of time before I circled back to this fabled topic: love.
But also everything that love means, every form that love takes. I am writing again, and my soul sighs with relief…this is also love, it whispers.
Today, I will write without censorship. I will write the most honest stuff I can find because I don’t know how to crack my heart open any other way, and I need to smash this writer’s block to pieces. A block so insidious it had hidden itself from me, letting me believe I was doing field research. Thinking I was on the front line, digging trenches, making space, digging up dirt on life. I wasn’t. I have been restlessly moving, knowing deep down that I haven’t settled since returning from travelling.
What happened out there? My heart healed but also broke. It heals and breaks nearly every day. I live big and boldly and with my heart on my sleeve. And often, I feel like an anomaly because of it. I don’t think I can do the next thing or fit the next piece into the jigsaw of my life without talking about love and the attention it demands. Who are we if we aren’t loving?
Every day for the past year and a half, I start meditation with four questions;
Who am I?
What do I want?
What is my purpose?
What am I grateful for?
Recently, I added a fifth;
How am I loving?
I will tell a story because it is time to. I met someone on a train to Brussels, and as I write this, I ask myself how much detail I will include and how much I will leave out. Just write, my soul whispers. But it is not a tidy love story; it is confusing and wondrous. It has the movie “Before Sunrise” vibes sans intimacy, but no less, and maybe more, because of that.
I was at the end of my ‘year of celibacy’ and had spent a brilliant seventy-two hours with a friend driving from Spain to Biarritz via San Sebastian. On that journey, I picked her brain about dating and dating apps and by the end of our few days together, I felt well-girded to re-enter the dance of sex and love. I hadn’t considered what would happen when I created an online profile and journeyed through multiple major cities over the next few days; I was put on the radar of thousands. It was overwhelming, but I now had quantifiable proof that ‘older women’ were sought…by many…or maybe age is a construct we have been fooling ourselves with for a long time.
I started a conversation with someone, but I was almost in Paris when he realised I was no longer in Biarritz. I was about to discover that relationships and their various forms can occur entirely online. I won’t go into detail about trying to curate a saucy photo in the bathroom at Gare de Nord because it is hilariously irrelevant to the story I am about to tell. Needless to say, I was running late for my train to Brussels.
I boarded in a bit of a flap, not helped by too much luggage that I had been carting around for the past three months. I spied my seat near a space where I could store my bags in a group of four facing each other. Two people were already in the seats opposite mine, and somebody’s bag was sitting on it. I looked up and saw the smile I had been told not to miss (I know this sounds ‘woo woo’), “It is my mother’s bag,” he said. I told them I would take the empty seat across the aisle to give them space, but I finally sat facing the man who had spoken to me when it became apparent the train was fully booked.
I looked over at the gorgeous human with a half-smile on his face, staring into eyes that seemed so familiar it was unnerving. I met his beautiful mother and quiet brother and talked non-stop for the next two hours. We spoke a shared philosophical language (in English because their English was way better than my French), and every time he asked me a question, I had the strangest sensation that he knew exactly what my answer would be. The romantic in me entertained the idea that I was meeting someone special, and I was, but he was clearly too young for an intimate liaison, and I chided myself. It turns out there are connections so far removed from romance, full of so much love and regard that they are almost religious, and by this I mean sacred. Unbeknownst to me then, I had begun an adventure of the heart that would reveal itself as one of my life's most magical experiences.
The train arrived in Brussels, and while his mother helped me find a taxi, Anthony and his brother had to run. We'd exchanged contact details earlier upon discovering our shared vocation and realising I may be a useful collegial connection in the future. This also meant he could message the next day and offer to walk with me around the city and point out the best bits…I could never have foreseen where this would lead.
My first night in Brussels was a bit of a blur as I wandered the cobbled city centre, trying not to judge the groups of young travellers hopelessly wasted and vomiting on street corners. I continued my online conversation with Biarritz Guy (who I was to discover much later was Israeli and not French, and I mention this for obvious reasons - little did I know how valuable his perspective would be for me in the coming months). His enthusiasm was intoxicating for a woman who had just put herself back out there, and he told me he wanted to fly to Brussels to meet me. For about five minutes, I thought this was a fun idea, but in the clear light of the next morning, it felt like folly, and I told him not to come. No sooner had I sent that message than I received the one from Anthony.
My heart immediately buzzed at a higher frequency as I asked myself a hundred questions about synchronicity. Now that I no longer had plans, I could accept the invitation, and we would meet in the late afternoon. Meanwhile, I indulged the suggestion to try Belgian waffles, not realising it would be my last meal for over two days, and contemplated the surreal space I found myself in. I might have never been at this point in my life had I not pulled out of my Camino to recover from covid; instead, I could have limped home to New Zealand too unwell to complete my trip. But here I was in Brussels, a few days out from flying to Bali, about to spend time with someone who would help me change the configuration of my heart.
I got to our meeting point first and texted Anthony to ask what he’d like to drink, knowing with certainty he didn’t drink alcohol. He requested a virgin mojito and met me soon after. From here, the words, philosophy, and footsteps flowed as he showed me the magic of the city and the magic of souls communing with one another. The first stop was the statue of Everard 't Serclaes, whose history is less disturbing than most of the people we erect statues of to commemorate. In fact, his is pretty charming, and people believe touching the statue will bring good luck and rubbing his left arm will ensure you return to Brussels. Anthony told me to make a wish, and I wished his path and mine would cross again.
You’re meant to eat fries (Belgian frites) in Brussels, so that was the pause we took from our meandering to do…but I was not going to be able to eat them. We sat opposite each other at a table while we waited for our order and continued our deep conversation. What happened next is difficult for me to convey in words significant or meaningful enough, but it was life-altering. As I spoke, I looked up, and Anthony was looking at me in a way that made me feel more deeply ‘seen’ than I have ever felt in my entire life. He said without words, “I see you, I know you, and I understand that you struggle, but I want you to know that I have always loved you.” I began to cry without warning, and he was unfazed, as if he had already watched this scene from our lives.
I did not stop crying for two days…such was the completeness of the breaking of the shell around my heart. I did not understand what was happening. But I couldn’t eat fries or anything else for days, and when I did start eating again, I had a different relationship with food (another story). The next day, I was catching a train to Amsterdam and, from there, a plane to Bali, so after a few more hours of walking and talking (yes, I spoke through my tears because I had no choice), we agreed to meet at the train station to say goodbye. Anthony wanted to give me his last copy of a book of poetry he had contributed to.
I arrived at the station two hours before we met, hoping I might find a reprieve from the tears so we could bid each other farewell dry-eyed. I ordered something but couldn’t eat or stop crying, so I gave up trying to. We met, and he translated the poems he had written in the book he gave me with such tender ceremony that it broke my heart all over again. And then it was time to leave…
Standing on the platform, I felt like a real-life character in the sort of movie that has made me sob with bittersweet melancholy my whole life. We hugged, and our souls, who had known each other for many lifetimes, declared their love. We were brave enough humans at that moment to let them, and it was the most humble and trusting thing I have ever done. I boarded the train, knowing what had happened to me was powerful beyond my understanding. I have slowly made sense of some of it and integrated the epiphanies as they have revealed themselves in the many months since.
Our connection is unencumbered by romantic inclination; instead, we accept the magic that transcends comprehension. We drop into our communication when we feel moved to do so, and it is always with such exquisite timing that I have come to accept it as a given. I do not strive, angst, or over-analyse. I would rather marvel at serendipity. It also means that my dating life is not confused, but I must admit I feel weird when discussing my love life with him…I haven’t worked out what that’s about yet…it’s similar to being thirteen and trying to tell your Dad about someone you like.
What has happened in my dating life since is a book of stories that have made me smile, laugh, and weep. Have I dated younger men? Of course. Have I loved them? Some of them, yes. Have I fallen in love with them? No….cos’ what Cher said…
Gorgeous!! "...we accept the magic that transcends comprehension."
Beautiful and heart wrenching at the same time - I was riveting! Read it with a smile on my face and a tear running down my cheek. I love you!❤️🙏🏼❤️Xxx