OPINION
When I first threw myself into the unknown world of online dating apps in my mid-50s, I told people I had low expectations; that all I was looking for was a moderately compatible companion to spend some time with, travel with, go to shows with on occasion. The truth, though, which I barely admitted even to myself, was that I was hoping to meet “the one”. I’m a romantic, and I believe in love. But would it, could it, happen?
2023 did not start well for me: I’d finished chemo and radiation for my second bout of breast cancer just two days before the New Year, then discovered I have the BRCA2 gene marker. This resulted in ovary removal and a recommendation that within the next five years, I should have a double mastectomy. There are also repercussions for my three children and the wider family. It’s a lot to take in for me, let alone for a potential partner. But being the eternal optimist, I tell myself if the right man is out there, he’ll understand and accept these things, along with all the positive things I have to offer.
However, after countless online conversations and a handful of meet-ups, I’m no closer to finding love. Then I match on Hinge with Alan. There’s some immediate commonalities: we’re a similar age, we each separated two years ago, we have children that are the centre of our universe. He has a kind face, a nice smile. And his opening gambit is a song lyric that gets me straight away. We meet for coffee. He’s nervous, and talks a lot, but mostly not about himself. It’s endearing. We both love the sea, so when he suggests a beach walk after we leave the cafe, I readily agree, telling him I hope he’s not a serial killer as I climb into his car for the short drive to the Shore. There we bump into one of my dearest friends, and I awkwardly introduce them. He drives me back to my car, and says he’d like to meet again. I would too.