I've been trying to see how long does it take to run out of cards on Tinder. I put my finger on the red x and just kept it there. But as the cards flew and flew, I got even more and more persuaded that everyone is there. Literally. Everyone.
But I should delate my account and open a new one, without indicating my age. In a way, it is more misleading than indicative of anything. And there is a work in culture to be done, just to find place for women like me. As I think about it now, it is only very logical, because we live longer; those old stereotypes are not valid any longer. I am not a Shakespearean queen, tragic and destructive in her autumnal desires. But I also delve in quite perplexing musings about other women from my family, my mother, my grandmother. They were not quite Shakespearean ruins long before they even turned 40. My grandmother became an invalid with a stroke that happened when she was barely in her 50. My mother got cancer when she was 53. Were my life to fall into the same paradigm, any money spent on clothes, make-up products or hair styling would be truly money lost.
Do I actually have 2 to 5 years in front of me before I turn into a pitiful invalid? Where is the difference? In the effortless nature of the work I've been doing? In the material things I have at my disposal? Better food? Less stress? Better quality of sexual life?
I actually don't feel much less attractive than I was at the time when I knew my husband and got married, i.e. between 35 and 36 years of age. No abysmal change happened between then and now. It is indeed a remarkable thing that I did not feel attractive when I was in my 20ies; I was wearing the size 36 without any particular sense of pride. I was living very much at the mercy of men, on the emotional roller-coaster they chose to build for me. Were it today, I wouldn't accept to have a sexual intercourse with any of them; certainly, no regret that they are gone. I started to get things on my own terms when I was in my mid-thirties. But still, at 36, I remember having prayed to have an orgasm; today, there is certainly no such item in my dua, which proves how ungrateful we are towards the Creator. Whatever I might have lost in my appearance, I compensate in skill and receptivity. And sometimes I think the real difference is this. Men don't have me at their mercy any more. And this is where I lost my sex appeal; at least in such places as Poland. Where skill and receptivity tend to sell very poorly, since they represent the menace of the authentic, unconstrained eros. I became a thread to the patriarchal order. And to individual egos.
It is perhaps time to pray for love again, differently. Very far away from that old world.