I married an older man – the over 50s are far more fun than I thought

For a 37-year-old, I have a surprising number of 50th birthday parties in the calendar. I’ve been invited on skiing weekends, to pubs, dinner parties, and small gatherings; I’m even planning one of my own in Puglia. And while it would be fun to say that I have some kind of fetish for celebrating those reaching half a century, it is actually the result of being married to a man who is 12 years older than me. I didn’t seek out an older man, but at 30 I found myself at the dead end of Dating Hell Drive, fighting for my life with men under the age of 40. While I was quietly terrified that I needed to start thinking about having children, men of the same age seemed footloose and fancy-free, unburdened by the stress of a withering womb. To them, it seemed, marriage was a distant fire on the horizon that they’d panic about later. (Photo: Supplied).

Making a change to my dating profile

Every date I went on with these men felt like a nightmarish carousel, going in circles and never reaching any destination. I felt disposable, one of hundreds, and ultimately, exasperated. I wasn’t trying to force someone to buy a house with me on the second date, nor was I shoving a prenup in their face, I just wanted to be treated like a human being, instead of a quick option and a temporary distraction, before being binned after 15 minutes. So, in a moment of madness I adjusted the age range on my dating app preferences, to bring in older men, and up popped my husband. That was the last date I ever went on. My husband was 43 when we met, a good vintage for men, I’d say. They’re at an age where they’re too tired to date multiple people at once, and many of their friends are in serious relationships. They’ve either been married already, or are looking to settle down, and for a woman in her thirties I found that it was a good match. (Photo: Getty).

Confidence comes with age

My husband was coming out of a five-year relationship with his ex-fiancé. He wasn’t feverishly seeking out another long-term relationship, but he didn’t run screaming in the other direction at the thought of commitment. He also couldn’t stomach the wayward politics of modern dating and was allergic to the concept of ghosting – a refreshing change, to say the least. I also found that his age brought with it a deeper sense of self-knowledge than his younger counterparts. He knows himself, he’s self-assured, and he doesn’t particularly care what anyone thinks. Which, in part, is him as a person, but I believe that most of it comes with age. When I met him, I’d recently emerged from a relationship with someone in his late twenties who was often self-conscious. He was still a new adult, finding his feet – unsure of what he wanted to do, and there was an emotional tenderness surrounding certain things that would give rise to reactions and outbursts. He cared what people thought, or what people might think, and gave others too much of a vote in how he viewed himself. (Photo: Supplied).

Older men are more sure of themselves

With my husband, however, he’s pretty languid when it comes to anyone’s perception of him. He knows his own strengths and weaknesses, his follies and foibles, and in attaining this level of self-contentedness, he exudes a sense of calm. One of my main concerns was my husband’s friends. I was worried that they’d be old, and aged, and that I’d be treated like a teenager and led to the kid’s table. I thought we’d have nothing in common, and that as a childless woman I’d be several life stages behind them as they emerged from the jungle of parenthood and sent adults off to university. But what I found was the opposite – I realised that I was not as young as I’d thought and that 43 is not exactly retirement age. I got along with all of his friends easily – it turned out that, despite being a decade older, they weren’t so different, they just had a more vivid memory of the eighties. It also helped that most of them weren’t that far ahead of me in life, some still pre-children, others running around after toddlers, none with offspring who were of voting age. (Photo: Halfpoint Images/Getty).

Biggest realisation in my age gap relationship

The biggest realisation I’ve had by marrying an older man is the relief our personality often transcends age. Of course now, at 37, I’d rather staple my eyelids to my head than go to a nightclub, but I believe that the core of who I am hasn’t wandered so far from who I was 10 years ago. This fact is most evident when looking at my husband, a man who exclusively listens to music made before 1972, has a passion for antiques, and holds some life outlooks that wouldn’t be so out of place in the Victorian era. And while these interests are easily matched to a middle aged man nearing his sixth decade, they are, in fact, all topics of intrigue that he’s been enthusiastic about for decades. Despite a knee injury that renders him less athletic than he’d like to be, I’m sure that if I’d met my husband when he was 15, he’d generally be the same as he is at (almost) 50. (Photo: Getty).

Some things never change

His group chats with his friends convey the same childish humour that they would have had in school, and he still takes pictures of foreign number plates that spell out words like “T*T5”. Through him I’ve seen that growing older doesn’t mean that you are handed some beige, drab, personality to see you out for the end of your years. It’s a misconception that somehow grey hair equates to sensibility or dullness, and I know that when my friends and I are in our fifties (and beyond) we’ll still be sending each other the same, weird internet videos. We’ll be ourselves – hopefully wiser and more mellow – but slightly odd and marginally unhinged, nonetheless, just with a few more wrinkles. Perhaps younger people will make presumptions about us as middle-aged women, and mislabel us as prudish and serious-minded – but we’ll, at least, know the truth (and always find joy in an ill-timed fart). (Photo: RealPeopleGroup/Getty).