Adventures in Dating Land

Kyra R
5 min readOct 13, 2021

Navigating dating apps when you’re in your 50’s. Or, a semi list of what not to do. Or maybe these guys are being more successful than me. Who knows?

anonymous- by the author

“Any good plans for this evening?” asks the barista as he hands me my coffee on a Monday afternoon.

No. I have been awake since 03:30 this morning, worked a ten-hour day and all I really want to do is curl up in my bed and hope for some good dreams to numb me to the fact that my work week has just started and the weekend is days away.

This is my life now. I am trying hard to stop this downward spiral but failing miserably. This is not a competition, I know, but the thought that my soon to be ex-husband of 19 years is happily galivanting in Europe with his new woman and some new kids in his new life, and with his new job makes me more convinced that not only does god not exist (look at the state of this planet and the majority of its creatures) but also, Karma is just the wishful thinking of those of us who get left behind.

It’s been nearly four years since my husband walked out on our marriage and moved to the other side of the pond. A year later, I did the rebound thing and had a lovely, healing little fling with a woman. But she was too good, and deserved more than someone like me who did not have long term plans for us could give. I went out on one pitiful date with a man who thought we were going to have dinner and jump in the sack. He had no curiosity about me, didn’t ask a single thing about me, and only spoke of his ex, his kids, and his life. He was so self absorbed I wondered why he was even looking for a real woman and not an inflatable toy. There was the guy I met at the beach, kind, sweet, but alas, as broken as I felt at the time, if not more; and I just wasn’t willing or ready to have someone in my life so close to home and in so much need of healing. I may have some baggage (who doesn’t ?) but at least none of my family or ex live anywhere near me, and (I like to think this would be a plus) I am quite independent and solitary, so I don’t demand much time, nor do I really want to be part of someone’s complicated life. I don’t need quantity, just give me quality, good sex, and I promise I’ll do the same. The rest can work itself out when it wants to.

But therein lies the issue. The reason for my hurt. While the ex quickly moved on and quicker yet found someone, I am now forced to be in that place playing that game. The dating game. Oh my god. I forgot how dreadful this is! That moment you realize you do want someone in your bed, so you start searching. The last time I was here was when we partied like it’s 1999- because it WAS 1999! Cell phones were a luxury and texting was just beginning (if you had a Blackberry!), and certainly there were no dating apps. I lived in the Caribbean, was in my late twenties and I could date whenever I wanted, and pretty much whoever I wanted, if I felt like it (oddly, I didn’t. I quite enjoyed being on my own most of the time).

With demands like these, I’ll never catch up to the competition!

Now I am fifty two. Out of practice, hate selfies, and I know what I want, and definitely what I don’t want. I don’t want one night stands the way I don’t want children or marriage. I’m not going to be a babysitter or maid. I don’t want to move in or jump into something serious. I want something chill, relaxed and not committed to every day off. Have your life. I have mine. We’ll meet in the middle until we figure each other out. Let’s discover each other with fingers and lips; let’s talk late into the night. Let’s face it, at my age, you have to engage the brain as well to get things going. You’d think I’d be a catch; apparently not. I have scrolled and scrolled, swiped and swiped and attempted to text a few people. It all fizzled out in ghosting, conversations that went nowhere slow, or those who jumped right into wanting to know my kinks. One didn’t like I lived an hour away (by train); one lived four hours away (by car!) and could have been my son; and others just ghosted me a couple texts in (never thought I’d become so familiar with what that word means!).

What.

The.

Fuck.

What happened to just being honest? Hey, we had a nice (or maybe not) date, but it didn’t click. Thanks, and best of luck.

I can take that.

So here I am, in this hell that’s dating apps (because where I live is not a singles’ paradise). Scrolling and scrolling.

There’s the one whose answer to what superpower he wishes he had is: Mind Control…. Oof! Red flag much?

I’ve lost count of the bathroom selfies with urinals in the background. But not as bad as the one with the mess of bottles on the vanity, and among them, the giant bong. The ones with the list that goes on about how active they are- you’d think they never sleep! And all the fish photos! The car seat selfies. The party and social photos where I must guess which one he is. The descriptions of insta lives of travel and food. Or….

I swiped left.

Now let me tell you that in both apps I selected, the man must swipe right on the woman and then she makes the first move. They supposedly read my profile (?) but still I get those who say “liberals swipe left and seek help for your mental defect”… wait, YOU swiped right one me! What part of atheist liberal did you miss? There’s the unapologetic unvaccinated 100% Trump supporter (gym selfie). There’s the one who is only here for the unvaccinated ladies… again, you swiped right on my profile which clearly says I’m vaccinated. There’s many like them. Too many. Then there’s the catholic, moderate, married paranormal investigator who is just looking for someone to chat with. I have lost count of the men who don’t want “drama, or super emotional.” I always figured if they are so familiar with it, it must be because they’ve been around it.

I scroll or swipe left to those who just post photos and say nothing of themselves. Don’t make me guess, buddy. You’re no model material and neither am I, so really, a few words could better the odds.

I’ll give credit to the guy who said he gets way too excited about getting head. At least he’s honest.

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Kyra R

Collector of tattoos, of stories and cat whiskers; pretend writer, poet wannabe, dreamer extraordinaire.