In this week’s story, a former Broadway dancer with a great new career has a few not-so-great dates: 47, single, New York.
DAY ONE
7 a.m. Waking up this early will never feel natural to me. I recently switched careers. I used to be a dancer on Broadway, but I sort of aged out of it, and I always dreamed of being a therapist. I spent most of my life working late and sleeping late, and now I have to get up early to see clients, starting around 8 a.m.
9 a.m. My Mondays are all Zoom clients. I don’t know how it worked out that way, but I like it because it means I can take long weekends. I’m single and dating, and the one thing that makes me happy about my singlehood is that I am free to do whatever I want on most weekends. In the past month, I’ve been to the Hamptons for a wellness retreat and Atlanta to see old friends. I’d trade any of that for a boyfriend who makes me happy, but that doesn’t seem to be happening anytime soon.
12 p.m. I have a lunch date with Rob today. I met him through friends, and like almost everyone I’m set up with, he’s divorced, in his 50s, and balding. Sometimes I can’t believe these are the guys I’m dating. It feels like yesterday that I was 25 and dating 30-year-olds. But Rob isn’t that bad. I can almost imagine having sex with him, but it would have to be with the lights off. I don’t think I want to see him naked. We’ve only had lunch dates so far. This is our third. It’s hard to feel sexy vibes with someone when all you do is eat Caesar salads together in broad daylight. At the end of the date, I suggest we have drinks one of these nights. We make a plan for Thursday. I am neither here nor there about it.
6 p.m. My clients are really interesting today. I’ve never regretted changing careers for a second. I live in a studio apartment in midtown, and I can afford my rent and my life is pretty budget-friendly other than the trips I like to take. My only sadness is that I’m still looking for “the one” and that I never had kids and it’s probably too late now. I try not to dwell on either.
9 p.m. I just finished a good workout at the gym in my building. Now I’m stretching and getting ready for sleep.
DAY TWO
9 a.m. Meeting my first client of the day at the office I sublet in midtown. I got really lucky that people heard about me through word of mouth, and because my rate is lower than your average NYC shrink, I got busy very fast.
1 p.m. My sister and I are having lunch. She’s a lawyer who makes bank, married with three kids. I love my sister, but sometimes I think she feels bad for me. It’s a bad feeling. I don’t like pity. Right now, she’s going through her phone trying to think about people to set me up with. I try to change the subject by asking about her kids, whom I love like my own.
3 p.m. Between sessions, I confirm my date tonight with Craig. I met him at a wedding a few weeks ago in San Francisco. He’s divorced and actually pretty cute. Our mutual friend told me he’s kind of kinky, but she wouldn’t elaborate. I’m a little bit nervous. I’m open-minded and have a healthy relationship with sex, but these days you never know what you’re going to discover.
7:30 p.m. Craig and I meet in Grand Central because he takes the train to and from work. It’s one of those sexy train-station bars, and waiting for him, I wonder if people think I’m a hooker. I kind of feel like a hooker sitting here! Craig walks in. He’s extremely handsome. Totally different category from Rob.
8:30 p.m. He has to catch the next train, so after two drinks we hug good-bye. We didn’t talk about his sex life. I basically gave him therapy on his issues with his ex-wife and his kids. It’s okay. Hopefully I’ll see him again. He smelled great. This one I could stand to see naked.
10 p.m. I’m showered and ready for bed. I Google Craig and don’t learn much, but then I see that he’s on the “Are We Dating the Same Guy?” Facebook group. There are a bunch of warnings about him being a ghoster and a narcissist, but truthfully it’s nothing that bad. I don’t feel deterred — I feel intrigued. Maybe I’m just so desperate to date someone hot. The last guy I fucked was attractive, but that was three months ago, and turns out he had a secret life that I literally could make a docuseries about. That’s what it is to be 47 and single in NYC.
DAY THREE
9 a.m. I have to do a training session for work this morning. It’s all online, so I have my cup of coffee and open up my computer.
11 a.m. I saw that Craig texted me during the session but don’t look at my phone until it’s over. He’s asking for a second date. Oooh, this is interesting. I wait to write him back. One nice thing about being my age is that there’s a little bit of “I don’t fucking care anymore” happening. I don’t get overexcited, and I don’t get too disappointed. I’m trying to meet someone, yes, but I’m almost kinda over it.
3 p.m. By the time I’m finished with my afternoon client, there’s another text from Craig. A double text? Wow. He doesn’t seem like such a ghoster to me? But the text is a little odd. He wants to see photos of me from my dancing days. He specifically says, “Any leotard pics?” This strikes me as strange. But maybe he’s just flirting. I ignore this text too and stay focused on work.
6 p.m. I’m walking home from my office, like I always do, and trying to figure out how to respond to this guy. As I think about it, I stop at Whole Foods to buy some groceries.
8 p.m. I’m done with dinner, and I’ve decided to write him back but ignore the photo request. I tell him I’d love to see him again and send some dates I’m free (which is almost every night, but I don’t let him know that exactly).
9 p.m. We decide on Friday night. But then he asks for dancer pics again. I tell him that I’ll show him some on Friday. He apparently doesn’t like that answer and asks “Please?” with, like, a thousand puppy-dog emoji. He’s starting to creep me out.
10 p.m. I turn my phone off because I don’t want to read another text from him. I’m telling you: Anyone hot turns out to be crazy, and everyone unfuckable turns out to be sad.
DAY FOUR
7 a.m. I wake up with a pretty strong instinct to ditch this Craig guy. Talk about the ick!
10 a.m. One of my clients is someone I know from the Broadway world. We aren’t friends, but we share friends, and as she’s talking about some pretty heavy stuff, I wonder about the ethics of it all. I have a really great mentor, Michaela, whom I’m going to discuss it with later.
2 p.m. Rob texts with a martini-bar suggestion for tonight. It’s way downtown, and I know it’s near his apartment. I admire the strategy, and, well, what else do I have going on? Not much! I give it a thumbs-up.
5 p.m. I have to bail on Craig for tomorrow, but I’m so drained from my clients that I don’t want to have to deal with canceling. Maybe I give him a taste of his own medicine and just ghost him. I’ve never done that before, and it would probably cause me more anxiety than it’s worth. I bite the bullet and text him a quick “Hey, I have to bail on tomorrow night. I’ll reach out to reschedule. Have a great weekend.” The gentle fade-out is usually the best approach.
6 p.m. The craziest thing happens next: He literally texts me a “Fuck you, bitch” meme. I don’t know if he’s trying to be funny or if he’s completely deranged, but I block him and that’s that. I am mad at myself for telling him where I live, because now I have to live in mild fear of this crazy fucker. Ahh!
8 p.m. After dealing with Craig, it’s nice to walk into the bar and see plain old Rob sitting there. He looks a lot sexier in this lighting. And he’s not in a suit. He looks cool. Nice cashmere sweater, a little stubble on his face. Okay, Rob, now I’m paying attention.
9 p.m. He is so much flirtier and touchier tonight than he’s ever been at lunch. Maybe it’s the espresso martinis talking, but I think I want to go home with this man. I pretty much tell him that when the waitress asks if we want one more drink … I’m like, “Let’s get out of here.”
10 p.m. Rob’s apartment is nice. He works in marketing, but it’s a good job, I think, and he has nice taste. I know most of his money and assets went to his wife and kids, so given that, I’m impressed by what’s left. Almost immediately, we start kissing. I’m not sure about it. His kissing is somewhat lizardlike. Or maybe the word is … reptilian? I ask if he has any wine.
11 p.m. We have sex. It is perfectly mediocre. The truth is I’m glad I tried, but I do not feel the connection. I’ll have to end it after tonight because I can tell he really likes me. I Uber home as soon as it feels acceptable to get out of there.
DAY FIVE
7 a.m. I wake up today fully over it. Dating is such an energy-suck! I am a bit shook from the Craig shit and disappointed about Rob the blob. I hate having unremarkable sex. It’s depressing. I’m much less horny these days than ever before because of perimenopause, but I still deserve to get my world rocked now and then, don’t I?
11 a.m. I also resent not being fully present for my clients, like right now, because of my dating life. My client deserves my full attention and focus, but I’m hung-over and bummed out, and it’s just not fair to them.
4 p.m. I’m supposed to go skiing with my sister and her kids, but I cancel just a half-hour before her husband is supposed to pick me up. I’m feeling blue, and I’m really tired. They ski almost every weekend, so it’s not a big deal that I bail.
8 p.m. I’ve avoided online dating my entire life, but tonight, while lying in bed, I wonder if I should change that. It’s rooted in nothing, really, just that I’ve been lucky enough to meet people in person my whole life. Most of the guys from Broadway were gay, but everyone always had friends, and I was much more social back then. And then, going back to school, I just didn’t have time. And now I find myself confused about my next steps. I do want a boyfriend. I just can’t take these fucking losers much longer.
DAY SIX
9 a.m. I wake up in a much sunnier mood. I decide to walk around Central Park today. That always helps me reset.
12 p.m. On the way back from the park, I realize that my old friend is in a new show, and I quickly buy myself a ticket for tonight. Going to the theater by myself is one of the great joys of being single. I never feel sorry for myself when I do that! I text my friend that I’ll be in the audience tonight.
3 p.m. I get a massage at a decent place in midtown. It’s not the best but it’s good enough and it’s cheap.
4 p.m. Rob texts. I honestly forgot about his existence on this earth. I ignore the text.
8 p.m. This show is amazing. I got a good seat and feel captivated the entire time. It makes me nostalgic for my old lifestyle — but only for a second or two. Those hours are grueling, and I typically feel more rewarded doing what I’m doing now.
10 p.m. My dancer friend and I have a quick drink together after the show. She tells me about all the backstage drama, and, again, I love hearing it but don’t miss much of it.
DAY SEVEN
8 a.m. Wake up fresh and decide to start online dating. For the first time ever! It’s happening!
10 a.m. I text my 15-year-old niece to ask which apps are good. That’s how out of touch I am. She texts her drama teacher (who is in college), who tells us that I should go on Bumble and Hinge.
2 p.m. It’s taking me hours to get the hang of this. I’ve taken selfies; I’ve started and deleted a million words about myself. I’ve thought long and hard about some of these prompts. I don’t want to sound too earnest, but I also don’t want to sound like a weirdo. I literally contemplate hiring someone to get me all set up and started. I ask my niece if she will do it, but she doesn’t have time until next weekend. I do my best and see who and what rolls in …
7 p.m. I have not left my house all day. I’m swiping and chatting and editing my profile. But I have to say: I’m talking to a few nice guys. I feel a little bit hopeful …
10 p.m. And just when I’m about to put my phone down for the night, I do something that makes me really laugh: I add a photo of myself in a leotard.
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