Can I say straight off that I’ve always been a very confident woman. Confident in my looks and my ability to attract and keep a man. I kept one for 23 years without the slightest jag of worry. And he was an airline pilot, and we know that breed is prone to wander romantically as much as geographically. But over our entire marriage I felt if he was ignorant enough to stray than he didn’t deserve me. Arrogant? Maybe, but it was how I truly felt.

The feeling that struck me last week was entirely foreign—truly shocking and disturbing.

So there’s my back story. And there’s the reason that a feeling that struck me last week was so foreign to me—truly shocking and disturbing. I found myself tied up in knots of  insecurity and jealousy.

I’m now divorced, and my boyfriend of six months—an IT consultant—was going to New Mexico to meet with the president of a start up about a new contract. I didn’t think much about it, until he told me that the woman was in the middle of a divorce from a big Hollywood producer and that the custody battle was fierce. I decided to look up this woman. Big mistake.

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The Other, Younger Woman

The photos of Ms. Start Up showed her to be lithe and blonde, with a smile as broad and electric as Julia Robert’s. Holy shit! Not only that, she was very accomplished. An MBA from an Ivy League school. Time spent in C Suites of a fair number of companies. I’d never heard of any of them, but still. She even had her own Wikipedia page. And that Wikipedia page listed her as 50 years old.

I’m 59. My boyfriend is 55. If he had a choice, wouldn’t he want to go older rather than younger? I mean, isn’t that the way it works? Isn’t that the assumption made through out the world, through out time?

A bestie from college pooh-poohed my concern, until she Googled her.

My brain was telling me that just because I’m older doesn’t make me any less interesting or alluring. I’ve got patience, understanding, kindness, and wisdom on my side. I’m accomplished too, though I don’t have a Wikipedia page, dammit.

My gut and heart were telling me I could no longer compete in the realm she inhabited. Age had added a layer of insecurity I’d heretofore not known. I’ve never done any cosmetic work nor used Botox but for a harrowing few days, while the bf was meeting with her, I told myself I had been a fool not to get a boost from science.

Some friends said all the right things. “He loves you.” “You have so much to offer.” “You two click so well.” That kind of thing.

“What makes you think she’d be interested in him?” one asked.

“Uh,” I said, “because he’s handsome, tall,  smart, and funny. And probably way too good for me.” That friend practically slapped me, which I certainly deserved for my sudden self-doubt.

Another friend suggested I talk to the bf, express my fears, but I dismissed that immediately. Nothing to me is as unattractive as a desperate older woman. I think of Patricia Neal’s sharp sarcasm that signals her world of hurt in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Ugh.

Other friends made things worse. Over the phone, a bestie from college was pooh-poohing my concern—until she Googled her. Then she got strangely quiet. “Well, I mean…you know,” she said haltingly. “She’s probably a bitch.”

“This is a problem,” another pal said, not even trying to sugar coat. “The only thing you can do is find a man to keep as a back up.”

The Moment of Truth

When I talked to the bf on the phone after his trip, I was analyzing every nuance of every word for a hint that he was now less devoted. (He lives in Colorado; I’m in Pennsylvania so we have the added challenge of being long-distance lovers.)

I was analyzing every word for a hint that he was now less devoted.

“So, how was the meeting?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from rising to a squeak.

“Fine. I think it may work out. It would be a nice contract,” he said.

“And how was [Ms. Start up]?”

“Oh, she wasn’t there. I’d be working with the CIO anyway, not her.”

I laughed way too hard, causing him to ask me what was so funny. I made something up, but I was thinking about my mother who always said it was useless to worry because you would always worry about the wrong thing.

But then, I started wondering if the CIO was a woman and how old she was. You know, screw that. I’m not looking her up. Because he’d be insane to try to do better than me…right?

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