Deja Woo

Suppose you could pick one of your relationships and do it all over again — all of it. Would you?

When I was 33 (or thereabouts) I met a man. We dated and fell in love. Eventually we moved in together. We lived, or tried to, the American dream: We pursued careers that both interested and supported us. We spent weekends enjoying brunches, shopping, theatre, concerts. We figured out, or tried to, what it took to build a home, share responsibilities, and plan for the future while enjoying the present.

But of course life is never that simple. Things didn’t work out, and after ten years of living together we split up.

Flash forward three years. I am seeing another man, age 33 (or thereabouts). In many ways he is at the same stage of life that I was then. He has been staying at my home and many ways fitting into the role filled by my former companion (but, fortunately, with better communication).

Last weekend we went clothes shopping. It was a pretty routine shopping trip, I suppose. But when we got home and unpacked the spoils of our consumerism, I had a moment of deja vu. Buck, my beau, had bought his first pair of black motorcycle boots. (Yeah, yeah — how very gay. So sue me.) They were exactly like the ones my ex-partner and I had picked out for him a decade ago. And chances are these new ones would occupy the same place in the same closet.

That's when it hit me: I was starting the same life all over again. A similar companion, in the same home, sharing the same feelings, and doing the same things. Hell, we had even bought the same items!

But the problem is this. Although my new lover is 33, I have continued to age (51 and counting). So much of his life is still in the formative stages: His career; his understanding of mortgages, investments, home ownership, long-term commitments; his ability to balance work and love and art and social activities — all these things are part of an exciting life journey that for him is still on its first leg. To me, they are old news as I struggle with my own issues of retirement planning and relating to the world as a late middle ager.

A lot has been written about May-December relationships. Many therapists and authors say that differently aged partners have as good a chance as any couple of succeeding in the relationship game.

But what if I don't want to relive my thirties and forties — not even vicariously? This is the part of May-December romances you seldom hear about. The older partner is forced by circumstances either to play the role of the mentor or at the very least spectator to a life he or she has already lived. It's a state of permanent deja vu.

Mentoring is all well and fine for some people, especially parents, teachers, uncles, and even (some) lovers. But I'm not looking for a pupil. I don't want to be Ben Kenobi to his Luke Skywalker. Instead I was hoping to find a companion of the heart and the road, someone who was on the same path as me that we could explore and discover together. I don't want to be scouting out new territory alone, all the while looking over my shoulder as my mate follows behind at a distance of many years.

I'm sure that embedded in this viewpoint is a great deal of oversimplification, presumption, and arrogance. How do I know that his life will look anything like mine? Or that he can't help me sort out my own life as we move forward together? Clearly I don't have all the answers.

But I still have my concerns.

Which you didn't ask for.

Anyway...