BY ANN MARLOWE
Jan. 30, 2006 | When I daydreamed that winter about a future with Amir, our difference in age loomed far more ominously for me than our difference in background. It wasn’t just the fact that I had to have a child soon or not at all, while in my view, Amir wasn’t anywhere close to ready for fatherhood. It was in a lot of little things, like the way he was still surrounded by his Princeton crowd, the way he spoke about the joys of “partying,” the many experiences he hadn’t had that were already old for me. But at the same time, our ten-year gap in age went some way toward making our romance possible.
It was a tremendous thrill knowing that Amir, at thirty four, was as crazy about me physically as I was about him. At forty four I could see signs of decay in my body even if he could not, even if those who saw us together could not. But most of what I’ve loved about being with younger men, including him, hasn’t been reassurance about my looks. The real joy is in being able to be more emotionally generous. Because it is not so deadly serious, because I don’t think in terms of marrying these men, because I am not trying so hard, I can be the flexible, reasonable and solicitious woman that I wish I were all the time. (more…)