Joy to The World: My Journey to My First Date At Age 49

“Hi!”. One simple word is all it took to change my world.

We- meaning I- go through life trying to protect ourselves from the outside world. And recently, I had needed that protection from the shame that I had brought upon myself.

I had gotten married a little over twenty-four years earlier. This wasn’t a marriage where I had dated and met many women and gotten to know who I was and what I wanted in a woman, in a marriage, in my life. This wasn’t a high-school sweetheart or my first love. I was married through an Indian/Islamic method of arranged marriage. It wasn’t the severely old-school form where you don’t meet your mate until the actual marriage ceremony itself- a tradition which lives on in memory through a rite in our wedding culture where the bride and groom are placed under a veil together along with a mirror to get their first look at each other’s face. No; we were in the more modern method of the “set-up”. You meet a person, who has already been vetted by your parents through their connections, with the sole intent to decide if there is enough compatibility to move on to engagement and marriage. So when I met Sameena for the first time, in her Uncle’s family room, we had to come to a decision very quickly. That first evening we spoke for nearly six hours. We were both the first generation of Indian-Muslim-American kids born to our immigrant parents. I was the only child and she was the eldest child in her family. We could both speak high-school level German. We were both pushed into undergraduate degrees in engineering as a fail-safe just in case we did not make it into professional degrees- lawyer for her, physician for me. We both had compelling reasons to get engaged quickly. Her parents wouldn’t let her live independently in an apartment in Chicago unless she was already engaged. For me, my mom was hell-bent on me getting engaged to a woman back home in India by the next time we went to India in three months. After that six hour meeting, we met again the next weekend along with each other’s parents. The following weekend we were engaged- though in all honesty, I still haven’t figured out who “proposed”. I didn’t even place a ring on her finger; I was stuck circling Detroit in the middle of a snow storm as our official engagement ceremony was going on and so my mom, who had driven instead, placed the ring on Sameena’s finger. Six months later we were married.

Did I know what I wanted in anything yet at that time? The reality was that I was just mostly horny. I was 22. Never had sex. Never even really dated. In our culture/religion, dating without the intention of marriage is not done. Men and women weren’t supposed to indiscriminately interact. I remember in high school waiting to be picked up by Mom from track practice. I was talking with Heather, a girl whom I had known since 4th grade. When my Mom picked me up, she told me that when a man and a woman are alone together, the third “person” there is Satan. Oh my goodness! Heather was 5 foot-nothing! There was no place for him to hide behind Heather!

I had grown up my whole life secure and cursed with the knowledge that I could not and did not have to worry about dating; my parents would get me married when the time was right. I would have crushes, but I know I couldn’t do anything about them except pine away. I never had the practice of sharing vulnerable feelings to a woman. I was in an existential crisis when in sixth grade a group of girls came up to me and told me that Tammi thought I was cute and liked me. Oh no! “I don’t like girls! No! NO! I don’t like boys either! I just am not allowed to like girls!” I spent the rest of the school year staring at Tammi and thinking…”God! She’s cute!”. And no; I did not share what kind of girls interested me with my parents. Even though they were supposed to be the ones looking for me. I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about girls. And even if I could; I couldn’t tell them that “ You know. I kind of like a blond hair, blue-eyed girl like Lynn”. That wouldn’t work. They don’t make them like that in India. Even when I got to college, I just did not feel comfortable in sharing intimate feelings with women. I don’t even think I shared them with my best friends either regarding any woman I may be interested in. I didn’t want to be pushed into acting upon my wants. My wants were not meant to be filled.

In our marriage, my love language was in being of service. I loved to give gifts to my wife and my kids. I would do projects. I would create events. I would not, however, ask for anything. That’s not to say that I did not want anything. I did! I just could not ask for anything. Yet, I grew resentful and bitter if I didn’t get the things I secretly wanted! How fucked up is that?! Of course I would give what I thought were obvious hints, but they must not have been obvious enough. The problem only became worse as Sameena and I started diverging in our religious proclivities. She became a much more intensive student of religion, noting that her teacher would tell her that it’s very normal for even pure animosity to develop between the follower intent on pleasing God alone, versus the follower’s family who were interested in this world only. I believed, and still do, in God, but I wasn’t particularly fastidious about it. I would wince as our car trips would be accompanied by religious sermons or religion-based songs. Every once-in-a-while, I would slip in a little “Living Like a Cholo” or [ahem] Pussycat Dolls just to cause consternation. In general though, it became even harder to ask for my needs, if they did not go along with a very strict reading of the religion.

Eventually I needed an outlet. It became the strip club. It really is not all about pretty naked women. It is about someone who will listen to you. Sure you’re paying good money for it. Much more money in the long run than a therapist- not much more, but with a more exciting environment (including pretty naked women). I slowly became a regular where I could have great long conversations about life with people from the valet guy, the entrance attendant, the bouncers, the hostess, and of course the “entertainers”. Really, these are all human beings with lives as rich as anyone else I knew. I could relate to them. I could empathize with them. I felt that they could relate to me...though it was hard to shake that it only occurred with the passing of money. However, I got to the point where I needed those connections. As I was connecting with them I was disconnecting from my family though.

There were multiple discoveries and interventions by Sameena. We each kept on falling back into our same routines again though. Because of the shame we each felt- me on spending a lot of money at strip clubs and Sameena on her husband going to strip clubs and not to her- we did not reach out for help beyond professional therapists. But the therapists did not help because (1) neither of us were ready for change in ourselves (2) no one had identified my essential problem of not asking for what I wanted.

FInally, in September 2013, after the umpteenth time of being caught. Sameena turned to her family with my habits as well as to my daughters. That moment of shame was so profound. That loss of love was so devastating. I was not just broken...I was torn asunder. We separated; after initially “living” in our basement, I moved to an apartment furnished only with moving boxes and a futon. I signed over all my accounts and salary to Sameena. She gave me an allowance for my rent. I did not meet with anyone but my work colleagues (who knew nothing about my situation) and my therapist for two years. I interacted with my daughters and Sameena as a pariah. I still provided my habit of service for them, but more as an indentured servant than a person of worth.

This lasted until the beginning of 2016. As I’ve made mention in my other stories, I found the gift of jazz music, which provided me with a sense of mercy-- that I could be a man worthy of forgiveness. That inherently I was a decent human being who had made mistakes. From that transformational moment, I decided to treat myself with some compassion. I began to live healthier. I lost over 75 pounds over the next six months. I started interacting with friends and relatives again-- very few but at least someone. I tenderly started talking again with my daughters and even with Sameena again, but not from a position of decrepitness, but of someone who had value. I even went to my younger daughter’s middle school graduation and was able to smile and laugh with her again.

The day after Ramadan ended, on July 6, 2016, in a moment of caprice- while sitting outside a friend’s house for an Eid dinner- I created a profile on Match.com. Just over a day later, there was a message. All it said was “Hi!”. The little profile picture next to it was a very cute woman. I read through her profile and responded. Eva was the sweetest woman. She would say “Yay” when I reached back out to her. After about three weeks of messaging back and forth, we decided to meet. I was so excited to meet her that I handmade a batch of her favorite ice cream- toasted coconut chocolate chip ice cream. Over dinner, I explained to her that she was the first person whom I had truly gone on a date with, at the age of 49! I explained that I hadn't dated before marriage. Even the formal dances i had gone to were with friends. I described the process of my arranged marriage. I also told her about the strip clubs. And...she just said that’s what you did before. That’s not who you are right now with me. Just don’t do it again. My goodness where did this angel fall from! We walked around the Naperville Riverwalk for a few hours afterwards. Finally, as the night ended I walked her back to her car. She asked if I wanted a ride to my car. I was like, "my car is only a few blocks away; I can walk," [I was just imagining to myself walking in the beautiful night all night with a smile on my face]. She asked me again twice more, if she could give me a ride back. <<SMACK>> Oh...let’s spend more time together...so I said yes. Then she just gave me a long wonderful kiss. ECSTASY!! I had a magical few months with Eva. When we broke apart, it was painful, but it was okay. She told me that she was in danger of falling in love with me, but it was dangerous for her, because I had not as of yet even started the process of my actual divorce. I’ll tell you that it was a hard moment to take in but I understood it. My experience with Eva was not just about the moments of ecstasy and happiness I felt. What changed my life in my time with Eva, was that I was aware of being able to share my vulnerability with someone and be accepted and loved. With that I could have moments of happiness and sadness, yes, but I could live with a sense of life as Joy!