An adult crush is such an elusive creature, like a snow leopard or a rare bird that you know exists but never see. I’m not talking about a celebrity or a musician crush, or in the case of my friend’s 24-year-old daughter, “I get crushes all the time, Shanti, on TikTok.”
“On TikTok?!” Good grief.
My gen X arms want to pull her close and shake the virtual reality out of her as she regales me with a laundry list of cyber crushes.
“No, not in your phone,” I sigh, shaking my head.
My evangelical energy is bubbling to the surface, most likely fueled by the category five menopausal hurricane wreaking havoc on my fragile ecosystem, and I can’t help myself.
“I’m talking about a real-life, in-the-flesh, human-to-human crush!” I shriek, suddenly compelled to preach the crush gospel from my midlife podium.
There’s a lengthy pause and a perplexing gaze, as if I just told her I still use Facebook or drink cow’s milk. I’m rapidly hot-flashing into a beet-red human heat ball, which only confuses her even more.
“I work remotely and date online. Where would I find a ‘real life’ crush?” she asks, air quoting and half-questioning me in that “please don’t answer me, boomer” kind of way.
I’m gen X. Gen X!
“… And we don’t hang out in bars and clubs to meet people like your generation did, Shanti,” she adds.
“We weren’t a bunch of bar flies, geez, it was the weekends!” I say. “Okay, maybe the occasional weekday, but it was usually later in the week like Wednesday or Thursday.”
Sometimes a Monday if it was a three-day weekend (I had a mad crush on the DJ), but I’ll keep this one to myself.
We have such little human interaction these days, and sadly, the contact we do have is dwindling, slowly waning with every decade while the population on Planet Zoom is booming, and I don’t know about you but I’m not ready to move just yet.
With so many of us working, dating, shopping and exercising online, we so rarely get the opportunity for prolonged proximity to one another, the chance to hang out and observe someone in their natural habitat, to see how they interact with others and with their surroundings – are they kind to friends, coworkers, family and waitstaff? Proximity is such a catalyst for a crush to develop and ripen in real time, not to mention a powerful aphrodisiac.
She’s right. Where would she find one?
We’ve replaced vast acres of fertile crush terrain with a vapid wasteland of texting, streaming, scrolling, gaming and show-binging. Don’t get me wrong, I’m in no way above it. I’ve been guilty of foregoing a social engagement or two for a night in bed with my iPad, and I’ve spent many a wee hour scrolling through Instagram reels and swiping on dating apps (don’t get me started).
Are crushes ageing out? Cast aside in the “prehistoric pile” with unemployed gen-Xers, the towering pile of defunct Apple chargers and my antiquated idea of finding romance sans dating apps? I’m holding out hope – not for Apple to stop updating their chargers (we all know that won’t happen), but for finding romance organically.
I’m keeping the faith.
A midlife crush is even more of a unicorn.
So, when one appeared in the woods recently on day two of a five-day rafting trip, it took me a moment to realize what was happening to me.
Extreme giddiness, sudden bliss and unexplained friskiness: was this a new strain of Covid? Were my herbal belly bloat supplements finally kicking in? Oh God. These can’t possibly be more menopause symptoms, haven’t I reached my limit?
And then it hit me. This was a crush. A real-life, in-the-flesh, human-to-human crush.
Sadly, it’s been so long since I had one that I had forgotten what a simple pleasure a crush can be, a mysterious morsel that falls out of the sky like a meteor and makes everything brighter.
What a way to jumpstart my midlife mojo. It all came rushing back, like riding a bike (more like a trike at this age).
Although the familiar elements are there, the anatomy of a midlife crush feels different than when I was younger. Some of the objects have definitely shifted in flight.
I’m less self-conscious and, surprisingly, more confident. I’m no longer consumed with incessant thoughts of: “Does he like me?” “Does he think I’m pretty, or fat, or smart, or cool?” “What will his friends think, or will his family like me?”
At 54, I find myself pondering more practical questions, like: “What Netflix series would we binge, and does he snore?” “Does he enjoy going to bed as early as I do, and is he a good spooner?” “Is he lactose intolerant?” and “Is he caring for his ageing parents?”
Don’t get me wrong, I would in no way be opposed to consummating the crush (believe me, I’ve thought about this one in great detail), but I have less sense of urgency to race to the finish line and more interest in taking in the scenery and enjoying the ride.
And sure, my crush might very well be unrequited (this is TBD), but whatever the outcome, I’m content to savor the moment, because God knows we need all the pleasure we can get these days, no matter how fleeting.