This was going to be the post where I would expose Joe Rago (WSJ, The Blog Mob) as the precocious, pompous, myopic pinhead that he is. Instead, I’ll let him use his own eloquence (and associated self-portrait?) to paint a rather complete image of the Wall Street Journal’s assistant editorial features editor. It wasn’t too hard find, but I’ll spare you the legwork – just go here. The icing on this cake? His degree is not even in journalism. He was a history major! Ok, ok, Mike, let it go…
On to more pressing issues.
As my profile indicates, I am a 44 year-old graduating senior at California State University, Sacramento – affectionately known as Sac State. Not in the same league as Dartmouth, Rago’s alma mater (I promise, that’s the last time!), but a decent school all the same. I have only nine units to complete before I make my way back into the world of professional journalism. Where that leads me I can only begin to guess.
Although the storied journey that my life is thus far has had it’s share of trials and tribulations, these experiences, though inspirational and miraculous in many respects, are not all that uncommon. I know of a great many who have overcome adversity comparable to my own. Recently, however, an unfamiliar twist has introduced a degree of trepidation, controversy and perhaps even a little bit of fear into what has been a pretty stable existence for the past two years.
Because I have a habit of repetitively reinventing of myself, continuity has not been my forte. Build, destroy, repeat. That was my life. Now, there is some permanence, some big things are coming down the road and I have the freedom to exploit them. It is as if I am just about to graduate college, which, of course, I am. It’s like I have my whole life in front of me. True enough. But, although in many respects I feel like one, I’m not a kid. My classmates – my peers – however, are.
And I’m single. I have been for quite a long time. It was how I wanted it. Now? Not so much. And oddly enough, I have been attracting more attention than usual from the fairer sex. At least it seems that way. Some are pretty young. So how young is too young? Ten years younger? Fifteen years? How about 20? Try 21. Yup, she’s 23 years-old. Pretty, ambitious, smart, outgoing and 21 years younger than me. To put that into perspective, she’s one year older than my eldest son. We went out on a date. It was nice – and it was over, but I’m not so sure it was because of the difference in our ages.
Once I got past the novelty and the weirdness, it was much the same as any other date. It helps that I have only known her as an adult. If I had known her since I was, say, 34 and she was 13… well, I don’t think there would have been a date. Our history however (I’ve known her for a few months) has always been on an adult level. Furthermore, there are a number of other things that we share regarding our respective positions in life. It is true of a great many women I associate with, and a number of them are substantially younger than I.
When I started reading and commenting on others’ blogs, I remember one of the first really deep issues I weighed in on was this very question – posed from the woman’s perspective. She wondered what ramifications, moral and otherwise, would she face if she dated a much older gentleman. Although I pointed out some of the hypothetical concerns I would have if I found myself in such a position (prophetic, I know!), I didn’t see it as absurd or even necessarily remotely insane.
Although this particular date ended in what appears to be just a friendship, dates with other young women are likely to come along. So here’s the question:
As adults (only, please), would you or have you dated someone much younger or older than yourself?