EVELYN KRIEGER

Is It Ever Too Late To Find Love?

“When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.
– Nora Ephron

In the past month, I’ve been invited to three weddings. My Facebook feed is filled with announcements of engagements and wedding photos of beaming couples.

And they’re not all young.

2022 is turning out to be the Year of the Wedding. More couples are expected to getting hitched than since 1984. According to some reports , an estimated 2.5 million U.S. couples will marry in 2022. The pandemic is certainly a big factor behind the stats.

As a writer, I’m drawn to love stories. Fiction and fact. Big and small. I’m fascinated by beginnings and wonder in what ways a couple’s origin story might influence subsequent chapters.

I like to ask long-time married friends how they met their spouse. Do they remember their first kiss.? (Surprisingly, not everyone does!)

My mother still loves to retell the story of her starstruck blind date with my dad, and their first kiss on a carriage around Central Park.

There are the “I knew the moment I saw her” stories.

And the quieter stories of sparks that developed over time.

There are couples who didn’t seem to click at first and then, like defogging a mirror, a clearer vision appeared–a common plot of Hollywood rom-coms.

Then there are the stories of those who met much later in life, each person carrying long histories the other had no part of.

Novels I’ve enjoyed with such themes are Meet Me At The Museum by Anne Youngson and Mr. Pettigrew’s Last Stand by Helen Simonson

When you can’t take anymore depressing news headlines, I suggest turning to the weekly Vows section of the New York Times.

There you will find fascinating and diverse true love stories (beginnings only, of course) complete with photos, sure to bring a smile. Profiles of love after great loss, through illness, serendipity, and against all odds–as the saying goes.

Some of my favorites Vows stories are of those who meet late in life-a testament that it’s never too late to find true love.

Two octogenarians marry but decide to live “apart together ”.

Folk singer Arlo Guthrie and Marti Ladd’s 20 year friendship culminated in a 2021 wedding.

Uplifting stories, uplift us. Stories of love and new beginnings inspire hope.

Author Joyce Maynard has published essays about her late-life love. After divorcing in her mid-thirties, she spent the next 24 years successful in her writing career but failing at relationships. About to give up after another dud date , she met Jim who became her husband and “true partner” at age 59. Sadly, Jim died of pancreatic cancer barely 3 years later. The experience inspired Joyce’s 2017 memoir, The Best of Us.

Finding love again after loss, whether from divorce or death, can seem insurmountable. Yet people do. Their broken heart opens, making space for a new beloved while still carrying the memory of the other. I’ve witnessed this beautiful and bittersweet transformation among friends and family members.

Dr. Helen Fisher is a biological anthropologist who has done extensive research and writing on the nature of love.

“Romantic love is primordial, adaptable, and eternal. It’s a basic brain system that, like a sleeping cat, can become awakened anytime in your life . Being in love beyond one’s mating years give you energy, well-being, motivation, and focus.”

What we think of as inevitable phases of love (sex drive, romance, deep attachment), Fisher thinks of as brain systems that can occur in any order. More surprisingly, she concludes that they do not have to disappear in longterm partnerships.

Fisher’s brain imaging studies show that some couples continue to experience all three phases well into their later years. Her studies in this area are intriguing.

“You can be in intensely in love at 22 as you can at 92.”
Helen Fisher, Ph.D

Interesting to note: Dr. Fisher got married for the first time at 75 (!) and she and her husband live in separate households in the same city. That tidbit definitely sparked my curiosity.

So, don’t give up if love is what you are still seeking.

It’s easy to become discouraged. But no matter how long it takes, it only takes One to begin a new story.

My Mr. Softie Summers

Do you remember Mr. Softie coming to your neighborhood?

Do you remember when summers felt endless?

As a child, summer days consisted of playing with friends, running through the sprinkler, and waiting for the ice cream truck–Mr. Softie.

So many choices!

I saved my allowance for the big ticket items: banana split served in a blue plastic boat. Second choice the rocket shipsicle. I remember creamsicles, candy necklaces, sundaes, pushups, and of course, the dipped soft serve cones.

Same driver each day. I thought his name was really Mr. Softie. When the familiar jingle floated through the air, the kids on the block swarmed to his truck always parked at my next door neighbor Lisa’s house.

What did summer mean to me back then?

Backyard pools. Flashlight tag. Bike-riding. Twirling my baton on the front lawn. Roller skating. Jump rope. Going to the playground. Kickball. Explore the nearby woods and creek.

Daydream. Read. Make up stories. Put on shows.

Boredom was not an affliction to be instantly remedied.

These endless days were punctuated with trips to my favorite amusement park, and other outings like the Detroit Zoo or a visit to my grandparents home on Lake Huron.

Some evenings, I’d attend my mother’s outdoor singing performances on Belle Isle.

My younger brothers and I lived in the moment of each unfolding hot day, oblivious of how many days had passed or were left before school started.

By the time I had my own children, summer vacation had become a time to keep kids busy: specialty camps, tutoring, organized sports, summer homework packets. Moms and Dads were out working. Our neighborhood was quieter during the week days.

Mr. Softie was replaced by a weekly visit (if lucky) from the Good Humor truck.

As a classroom teacher, I was fortunate to have the summer time to write and be with my kids. I tried to recreate some of the freedom and play that shaped my early years.

What I’m grateful for about the seasons of my childhood was how sheltered I was from the world’s woes. Sure I knew about bad stuff happening “out there”, but I still felt safe in my little corner of the map.

I never heard of a school shooting.

The blazing blue sky can’t coverup our collective grief.

But summer beckons and we move on, maybe a bit more slowly than the rest of the year.

The summers of adulthood are no longer endless. They begin with promise, then unfold rapidly until Back-to-School sales are upon us.

No matter how much I try to savor the long lush days, they pass all too quickly, each one more bittersweet.

My grown kids fondly remember their childhood summers, and how long they felt. That makes me happy.

Now I get to experience my grandchildren running freely in the sunshine…time standing still for a moment.

As a child, I never considered how many summers I had left to live.

Those three glorious months were always in-waiting, like a birthday, certain to arrive on time.

***

Celebrating Fathers Present and Past

Fathers Day without a dad is always bittersweetness.

Taking Risks in Writing and in Life

Writing is an act of discovery.

Writing can unearth truths you were afraid to face.

You think you know your subject or plot or characters, until the words begin to march to the beat of their own drum.

Sometimes you discover-perhaps from a trusted first reader–that your words fall flat. Or sound too familiar. Or leave too much white space.

Something is missing.

To write compelling stories, we have to mine our minds and hearts. This requires a certain boldness.

In drafting a story or essay, or even a blog post, you encounter numerous choices. Which turn will you take?

Some choices seem riskier than others.

To write something meaningful that will resonate with readers, we must take risks. We must learn to write at the edge of what feels comfortable.

We have to ask: what am I holding back? Why?

What do I fear by writing the truth, or exploring this matter?

Whenever I’ve pushed myself in this way, the net outcome was rewarding, whether yielding a stronger piece, satisfaction in my work, or publication. Rewards also come from the reader letters I receive.

The same can be said for our lives. Our limiting beliefs keep us from taking risks. So do our fears.

Fear of what others might think.

Fear of being uncomfortable.

Fear of facing certain feelings we’d rather keep ten feet away.

So we remain in the status quo. Settle into a comfortable routine. Stay inside our safety net—a wholly understandable choice in today’s upside down world.

Yet when we remain there, we miss so much. We miss experiences we can’t even yet imagine.

Sometimes the risk we take is for another. To show up when we’d rather stay home. This, too, can bring unexpected rewards.

I decided that 2022 would be my year of saying “Yes”.

Yes to new opportunities, relationships, experiences, challenges, and writing projects. I chose this action not only to face fear but to feel more alive. To have fewer regrets, even if the outcome isn’t what I hoped for.

But there was another driving factor in this shift: my continued awareness of the brevity of life and the uncertainty of tomorrow in our broken world.

I choose to say YES more often because next week, month, year, I may not have this choice.

A most recent and life-changing Yes was traveling solo from Boston to Lake Atitlan, Guatemala for an 8 day writing retreat. In deciding whether or not to embark on such a trip–my first outside North America–I found several excuses to say No Not Now. (It helps to have a few cheerleaders on your side.)

Stay tuned for the full story…which I wasn’t sure I’d live to tell!

A Poem for Our Times: “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver.

I’m a big fan of poet Mary Oliver (1935-2019). Her passion for the natural world intertwined with intense human emotion both inspire and challenge our assumptions.

“Wild Geese” (2004) is one of her most popular and often quoted poems. When I reread it recently, I thought it particularly suited for our times.

American culture is rife with public scrutiny, shame, ridicule, and censorship. Daily messages of outrage tell us that we don’t measure up. We are condemned for our beliefs and even whom we love.

“Wild Geese” is a reminder that you are enough. You don’t need to live someone else’s definition of what is “good”.

You can move past your mistakes. Each day begins anew. No matter your err of yesterday, the sun still rises and sets.

You need not be weighed down by guilt or shame. You can fly wild and free.

WILD GEESE

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Wild Geese: Selected Poems, Gardners Books, 2004

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