Years ago, I had a reading from a Vedic astrologer who told me that I might have a difficult time settling down (there’s that settling word again) because I needed to have a connection on all levels with a partner.

Ah, the perfect world. Who wouldn’t want someone who could match us intellectually, spiritually, and physically and could make us laugh and also be our confidante with whom we could shop and share our most vulnerable secrets while wearing our flannel pajamas?

So instead, it goes something like this. We find someone who we are wildly attracted to and we settle down, at least until our basic physical needs are covered (or under-covered) and our testosterone cravings are met, or until we become unsettled. Our girlfriends become our confidantes so we feel like we are being heard. The guy at work makes us laugh with his jokes and we secretly wish we could be attracted to him, but he looks like Howdy Doody and we couldn’t imagine waking up next to him. The minister at our church has the most hypnotic voice that has ever graced our mortal ears and we dream about having late-night chats over chai while we muse about God and the universe, but he is a bit too short and we also distinctly remember mortal sin, and although he isn’t wearing a collar, we just wouldn’t and couldn’t go there. (My minister, in particular, is also a physicist, so I get lost in the fantasy of sharing my obsession about parallel universes as my intellectual desires are happily satiated.)

But what if we met a great-looking guy who runs a boatload (or more like a cruise ship) of testosterone and looks incredible in a suit, loves to shop and truly appreciates our latest purse selection, enjoys creamy cheese and champagne with undeniable fervor (and makes a drippingly delicious Thanksgiving dinner), listens patiently as we divulge our deepest fears of earthquakes and tidal waves, doesn’t forget our birthday, makes us spit out our coffee because we are laughing so hard reading one of his emails, can chat on the phone for hours like our best buddy, is our intellectual equal, and makes our girlfriends enviously ask, “Who IS that man?” And oh, by the way, he remembers that we like dark meat and sour gummy Lifesavers, can really bust a salsa move, and gets along with Mom.

I might have forgotten to mention that he is gay (it’s always something!). I’m reminded of this when we watch movies together and both think the same guys are hot. I try not to think about this too much, but when I look over and he is drooling over Taye Diggs or Mario Lopez, I realize that we are definitely attracted to the same anatomy.

Well, I’ve decided against Howdy and forgotten that moonlight ride across the universe with the meditating PhD (and hopefully avoided purgatory). But I’m still not willing to settle. I’m still yin and I’m waiting for my yang.

Copyright 2008 Robyn Justo

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Robyn Justo is a freelance writer who is living, breathing, and learning the new rules of dating over 40. Experienced, but by no means an expert, she shares the frustrations, triumphs, and general hysteria of single life on the Monterey Peninsula. “The Expiration Date” addresses the lighter side of dating later in life. The names have been changed to protect the innocent (and the guilty). Robyn also occasionally hosts local social events for those brave-hearted single folks who actually have the courage to come out of the house.