Thinking Cap

I was thinking today that it's ironic that our popular culture's image of passionate love always revolves around a very young couple.

As even the very beautiful actors age, they're replaced by fresher models, as if desire itself fades with the onset of first wrinkles.

But the truth, I find, is quite different.

I had felt, all summer, a bit like a teenager. It was mostly to do with lifestyle. For a variety of reasons, I had a freewheeling few months, cycling about like a gadfly in the balmy air.

But it was also a state of mind. I didn't want to be pinned down by anything. I wanted, and got, lots of freedom.

And that was great. And I felt sexy. But I'd thought, at the time, that the added fillip of sexiness coursing through me was due to feeling young.

It's not.

I've come to realize that now, in my 40s, I am capable of feeling desire on a scale that is completely unlike anything I experienced as a young woman. I'm not just referring to my present state (though that is certainly an excellent example); it's happened a few times in the last few years, and it seems to be a permanent change in me.

I have two theories about it. (I've always got a theory or two, no?)

A) It's an internal change, to do with having grown more fully myself in the last few years. That may be something specific to me, because I've been on a bit of a mission about it. I've gained access to parts of myself that had lain dormant for many years (okay, all my life), and as such, I'm a much more fully throttled engine than I used to be. Picture the difference in horsepower you get when your car gets a desperately needed tuneup - then multiply that by some large exponential factor.

B) It's also got to do with recognizing what I want in other people. I think two people in their 40s are more likely than two people in their 20s (or even 30s) to know what they want when they see it. It probably doesn't come up as often; there are fewer people out there who will float their respective boats - both because lots of the ones who might are already married off, and because - I think - there never were that many to begin with; we just imagined the leakier boats into a more attractive state because we wanted there to be a bigger selection.

By the time you get to the point of knowing yourself pretty well, and believing that you deserve somebody worthy of you, you begin to recognize that those people are not thick on the ground.

So when you do magically run into them, well, it feels a lot like running right into a brick wall. It's a shock, and you're very likely to hurt your head.

"She's the place I'm heading. And I hardly know her." - Inman, describing Ada, in Cold Mountain.