Read First Two Pages!

                     Prologue, December 31

    For years, when I was still married and since, I’ve  wanted to do up New Year’s Eve in a stereotypical romantic way.  I wanted to stay overnight at a Minneapolis hotel that had champagne and a band; I wanted to kiss at midnight, then have passionate sex and remember to give thanks for love. But the grand gesture of New Year’s Eve doesn’t work if you aren’t feeling the feelings. As in the last years of my marriage, I’m not having fun tonight at a party. I’m alone.
    I put on some music, an old Bruce Springsteen record that I’ve loved for years. When I was married, Bruce’s records were banned from the house, or at least when Jan was around since she didn’t want to hear them. I sing loudly along with Bruce: Tramps like us, Baby we were born to run. The guitars rev up, sounding like a motorbike, and my mood rises with the guitars. Young lovers hitting the road to find out what matters in life isn’t exactly my story, but then again, it’s more my story now than it was in the previous twenty-five years. I wanna know if love is wild, Bruce sings, I wanna know if love is real. Yes, and so do I.
    My marriage wasn’t bad, probably better than many, but I wanted more – wanted love and a sweet intimacy, and it’s become clear to me since the marriage ended that my love was unrequited. I hadn’t looked to end my marriage; its finishing act surprised me. And I’m somewhat nervous about starting over, because I wonder about doing this in middle age: Do I have a limited shelf life? Is there a “Best Before…” sticker on my life? Companion to my nervousness, however, is excitement. Yes, I do wanna know if love can be wild and real.
    I decide to make two New Year’s resolutions: one, be vulnerable; two, be brave. That’s all. I know how easy it is for me to follow the code of masculinity – to pretend that nothing can get to me, to rise above emotion. Tonight I vow to take chances that make me vulnerable, which is being brave. I want to try things that take me out of my comfort zone. I want to say things that I feel or think and not worry about how a listener might respond. There are oh-so-many ways of being naked and courageous; I vow to begin exploring those.
 

                                           Part One


Wednesday, February 8
I write my first woman:
    I love how kind you look in your photo. You have such an open, generous face, and perhaps I overestimate how much I can tell about character from a photo, but I teach literature for a living and when I was young I read all those 19th century novels where the authors said everything about a human’s character is revealed in her face.
What am I doing? I ask for the tenth time today. Same answers, every time. I’m using a free, five-day subscription to an on-line dating site in order to re-imagine my future. I’m reading profiles to see what middle-aged single women are saying about themselves.
    I write that we have much in common, between activities we like and beliefs we hold.
    I have the two most wonderful children in the world, one in college and the other a senior in high school, and I’m sad that they don’t need me as they once did.
    I write what I value: self-honesty, quirkiness, passion, independence, smarts.
    I write what I like to do: read, garden, cook, play guitar, be in a relationship.
    I live out in the country on 35 acres in a beautiful house that I designed.
    I write that my ex and I split up, that there’s no chance we’ll be getting back together but I’m not yet divorced. I say that I understand if my situation is a problem.
    I write a second woman. I have no idea how many to write in order to get a reply. One? Twenty? I tailor my opening to how she’s presented herself: a city girl who likes the country; a business executive who professes to enjoy simple things, like walks and campfires. I give my own information much as I did before.
    My life, to me, has become more interesting.

Thursday, February 9
I log on to the dating site the next morning. Woman #1 has written back. I’m nervous as I open her email: Thank you for writing. I haven’t been on this site for all that long, but yours is the longest email I’ve ever received. I was happy to see a man write without emoticons. You sound interesting. Would you like to meet for coffee?