I Lived the Plot of a Romance Novel. Now I Write Them With Heroines Over 50

I was writing by the pool when I saw him — he had just given a surfing lesson. He was tan, he had tattoos. He had board shorts hanging off his lean hips. I really was gobsmacked. So much so, I tracked him down the next day and booked a lesson. We sat by the pool and I asked him all about surfing, about his life. I wanted to understand what happened that made me go, Wow, I’m alive.

We hit it off and began a long-distance relationship. Everyone in my life was certain it was a fling, a rebound thing. Even friends didn’t seem to support my falling for someone so “inappropriate.”

But he was so appropriate: He offered true friendship and a partnership with someone I unreservedly enjoyed. He was also charming, smart and funny; he made me laugh and my heart race. I hated saying goodbye to him each time one of us boarded a plane, and I couldn’t wait to say hello again. 

My circle in Seattle waited for it to end. I prayed it wouldn’t. My life was happier. My heart was full (although I worried it might be broken again). My world seemed bigger, brighter, exciting. I used to ask Ty how it would end, or when it would end, and he’d tell me to enjoy the ride, as if we were on a surfboard and not navigating oceans, planes and drastically different lifestyles. And here we are, 20 years later.

It's not all sunshine, obviously. Creating a blended family is never for the faint of heart, and we’ve contended with economic stressors and COVID-19, aging parents and moody teens. But we’ve learned to become a team that puts the team first, something I didn’t have in the first marriage. We focus on what keeps us together instead of the differences between us. 

And sometimes, our team faces a crisis. Four years ago, Ty received a diagnosis that would change the trajectory of our future. But that discovery and the necessary treatments have brought us even closer. Sometimes we don’t have romantic dates but rather "doctor dates." We are in this together. He’s my best friend, and I don’t want to contemplate a world without him. But that is the rub, isn’t it? We are mortals with this mix of fragility and strength, courage and compassion. We love, we hope, we dream, we dread.

When we are younger, we’re always thinking about what will happen "one day," projecting ourselves into this future. One day, I’ll go to college; one day, I’ll get married; one day, there will be kids and a house. One day.

I no longer focus on one day, but today, and being happy today, contented today. Our older sons are frequently back with us, checking in, spending a weekend with us, because even they have realized we don’t have forever. There is no forever. There is now. Now, and now, and now.

Jane and Ty today.

Courtesy Jane Porter

This is the beauty of later-in-life love. Love that is immediate and present. Love that doesn’t make demands, but cherishes and protects. Love based on gratitude and an awareness of all the blessings we have — each other, our laughter, our memories, our hope. Our hearts.

This is also why I continue to write stories featuring later-in-life romance. Our love stories are even more powerful now than when we were younger. Our bodies and minds change, but the heart is fierce and strong, and our resolve and appreciation deepens. We have no patience for drama. We don’t have as much ego. The younger self has given way to one with compassion and generosity. 

I’m currently writing a new series featuring three friends all in their early 60s. They’ve found themselves single for various reasons, and the children are all grown and launched. These friends decide to buy a business together, relocating from Seattle to California, and they’ve made a pact that this time around, it’s women and friendship first, men and love last. But as we all know, love is a fascinating and unpredictable thing. And we are never too old to fall in love.  

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.