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  • Posted March 17, 2014 by
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    My advice to men like me

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    Kenneth Stepp, Love & The One Way Relationship


    By: Kenneth Stepp


    Single life above forty is said to be like dancing in a mine field. After over a year of it, I have to agree. It’s nothing like it was when I was young. For one thing, there are no rules like before. Pretty much any self serving thing you do is not only ok, it’s expected. How sad is that?


    I have spent much of my time thinking about my rebound relationship. How can something feel so right and end up so hurtful? I may not have all of the answers. But I believe I now have at least one really good one. Maybe it will help someone else coming out of a long marriage like I did. I hope it does.


    As soon as I became single, I started an online dating account with POF, because it was free. It seemed awesome at first. Thousands of prospects in various age groups looking for the same thing I am, or so they all said. Looking back, the mine field dance had begun for me. Unfortunately, I wasn’t aware of it.


    One day a special girl sent me an email. Her name was Susan. I have mentioned her before because this was my rebound relationship, where most of the hurtful part of my singles journey came from, and the relationship that has inspired me to write about, think about, and fall into deep thought about love. It was powerful. I was a newbie, she was an old timer in the singles arena and I inspired hope in her. At least, it is what I believe.


    First there was me. Fresh out of 26 years with the same girl, the last seven were pure hell. I was naive and lonely, my emotional tanks, bone dry. Then there was her. A fifty something, tall, a bit overweight, lonely girl with average looks, that had been single thirty years or so. This had disaster written all over it. I’ll unwrap that from only my perspective.


    After no telling how many meaningless dates, in walks the bumpkin. She has been with countless men that are only there for themselves, may have been abusive, many vanished after getting what they wanted, many were just awful. Me, 6 ft 2, 235, solid as a tank, an athletic body, no fat, energetic, accomplished, and smart. Our first date we met at an outdoor cafe in Atlanta and just talked for six hours, it seemed like ten minutes, I got my first kiss. Our second date we made out in the backseat of my Expedition for six and a half hours. Our third date we made love for nine and a half hours, to which she smiled the next morning and said “You aren’t normal”. Add to this that I worshiped the ground she walked on, was loyal, faithful, attentive, and always up.


    When she said I love you, it only seemed natural to believe it was like I loved her. I do not blame her. It had to be intoxicating to have a decent man’s total attention after her last thirty years. But after five months it was over. It dragged on because we would meet in Atlanta every now and then. To me it was just dragging the pain out. Not sure what it was for her. Maybe it was hope for her. I told her if she couldn’t make it with me, she would never make it with anyone. Not sure if that is true. I hope it isn’t. She’s a great person, an awesome mom, and a very hard worker. She deserves something great some day and I hope she finds it.


    Sharing my journey is part of who I am and in the hopes that it may help somebody out there. I do receive emails telling me this. Mostly though, it’s therapy for myself. It causes me to think about life much deeper. For all you editors that send me the same email every time I write telling me if I want to be taken seriously I will have my writings edited. I don’t take myself seriously. I certainly would hate to think anyone else would. Thanks for the thought though.


    These were just my thoughts today. They could change tomorrow. Things are much better for me now, closure is a powerful thing, moving on is too. But I talk with singles everyday who haven’t found it, haven’t moved on, and have a tough time coping. All I can do is be there, listen, and hope with them. And remember.



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