Entry #13: Musings on the Aging of Romance

When we're young, we want to consume love the way we consume everything else: intensely, obstinately, immediately. From an early age, the act of falling in love is placed high on a pedestal; we have a preconceived notion of the feeling based on what we learn from music, film and books. By the time it actually happens, we are often caught off guard, because we have been throwing the word around and "practicing"- if you will- romance in its many forms since we were children. We hold hands, kiss nervously, and whisper tender words as soon as we find someone willing to reciprocate the action, because we are thirsty to emulate the feeling which, we are told, is the most amazing and spectacular of all.

The motions of love and romance have certainly evolved in the last century, in innumerable ways. Some differences emerge from a change of environment: for example, we now have access to technology which allows us to experience a relationship in a whole new way; others from a change in social mores: e.g., the de-shaming of pre-marital sex, of homosexual relationships, etc. Some things stay the same: new lovers are stupefied, dumbfounded by what they feel, all hands and shiny eyes, hardly able to pry themselves from the other, overtaken by a burning need to be together. It's sweet, and a bit silly, but largely more important is what's left over when the fiery throes of passion loosen their grip.

Living in a town whose demographic is comprised by two-thirds of elderly people has made me look at love from a fresh perspective. At eighteen, though I know that love is very much about deep emotional connection, trust, companionship and devotion, the undeniable truth is that passion and attraction still play an important role. Science tells me this is natural, that my hormones and uterus are actively seeking someone to sow their seed (even if I'm not) so I can fulfill my "womanly duty" and borne children (note the heavy quotation marks). But what happens after 30, or 50, or 70 years of being together? To a young person, the concept of love without (semi-regular) consummation and attraction may feel absurd. Besides, as we age, our bodies begin to act against our will: we say, wrinkle, grow hairy upper lips; we bulge, stoop, and the tools which were once crucial to the relationship often do not function as well as they once did. Love as we know it at eighteen or twenty-five, the whirlwind romances which occupy the movie industry- are simply no longer possible after a time.

I see many couples at the hotel who come to Sidmouth for a romantic getaway. They are almost exclusively 75+, coming to blow their pension money at the seaside rather than saving it for their ingrate children who are "too busy to visit" (consider yourself forewarned). I watch them sit at their tables, look unflinchingly at the face they have sat across from every day for decades and decades. Some chatter animatedly; some gaze out the window quietly, transfixed by the sway of the lilac outside. When they choose a dish for themselves, it is rarely without consulting the other, often shouting across the half-meter distance so their deaf partner can hear them.

"I THINK I'LL HAVE THE SOUP TO START. NO, THE SOUP."

They eat at the pace of snails, taking tiny bites of potato as their partner tries to explain something about the garden, or the neighbor, or their daughter.

When I come to collect their plates or offer the pudding menu, they are invariably startled by my sudden appearance. Gently, the world has grown smaller, evolving into a private universe only big enough to fit two comfortably.

One couple marked me especially. They were not-so-old, perhaps in their late sixties, but age had already begun to take its toll. Though they stayed at the hotel for a week and come every year, they regularly got lost in the garden, and whenever I approached to offer a bread roll or take their order, the man would jump about a foot in the air. To any outsider, they were slow, confused and weird- but to each other, these shortcomings were insignificant or accommodated for. In their private universe, their thoughts, actions and quirks are immune from judgment.

They were always the last to finish a meal, eating their trifle and crème caramel in the pleasant silence of the empty dining room. And whilst I toiled, replacing dirty tablecloths and preparing the tables for the next day's breakfast, they whispered to one another. Their being quite deaf, I could hear every word.

"That looks good. We could try to make it at home."

"We can split half-and-half if you want to try mine."

"For goodness' sake, Bryan, not in front of the waitress, how embarrassing."

I'm not sure what exactly it was about them, but I was totally won over.

I think the great thing about the aging of romance is the organic merging of two people after so many years, unencumbered by fleeting passions or other people (ideally). A companionship that is all-knowing and comprehensive, where one is not quite one without the other. When we are young, the thought is repulsive- even in love, we want to maintain our individuality at all costs. But when we age, these stubborn fancies seem to matter less.

The experience of love is no better or worse at 80 than it is at 17- but it is different in so many fascinating ways.

Note: these are just musings based on observation- I don't mean to offend anyone who has a different perspective or opinion on the matter or generalize the experience at all.