Desert Hearts and the Anxieties of Falling in Love in Your 40s

For our latest guest film critic feature, Valerie Complex offers a candid reflection on her personal romantic challenges in the context of Donna Deitch’s pioneering indie lesbian drama, now also in its 40s.

I assumed one of the benefits of dating in your forties would be dignity.

I am 43 and by that age, you are supposed to know yourself. You are supposed to communicate better, recognize red flags, and understand boundaries, and maybe even stop staring at your phone wondering if you said the wrong thing. You have survived enough life to believe that love, should it happen again, it will arrive in a calmer form. Then a moment of care happens and the lighting is just right, and suddenly you’re 20 years old again. That is part of what makes Desert Hearts feel so alive to me now. 

I watched the film recently, and it gave me some context for my current relationship as a middle aged woman dating someone of similar age. The film understands that desire can be exhilarating and scary because it arrives at an inconvenient time. Vivian Bell is not a youngster discovering who she is. She is an adult woman with an education, a career, a marriage behind her, and a carefully organized sense of self. She arrives in Reno to get divorced. Then she meets Cay, and the problem is no longer simply attraction. The problem is that attraction introduces possibility into a life Vivian thought was already settled. That feels very different when you are middle-aged.

I had been functionally single for years when I met my girlfriend at a friend’s Christmas party. At the time, I had convinced myself I did not need a relationship. And I really didn’t. I had family, friends, work, my own routine. I was not waiting for someone to fill a hole. I wanted someone who could complement a life that already existed. When I think about it fully, I was actually fine with being alone forever at that point. My gf was not waiting around to be saved by some fly-away romance either. She is a single mother, works two jobs, cares for her kid, cooks, cleans, manages a complicated schedule. Her life had a tight infrastructure before I arrived. 

That is one of the things younger romance may not necessarily have to account for. At twenty, a relationship can become part of building your life. In your forties, a relationship asks whether the life you already built can accommodate another person without your own life imploding. 

My girlfriend and I see each other about two weekends a month. Our romance culminates with custody schedules, transit maps, work shifts, and the occasional question of whether three hours on the PATH and MTA is still cute in year three. But we decided that we’ll have that conversation when it gets to that point.

Something we also realized is that having a girlfriend is expensive! The money reserved for ourselves now also  goes to planning date nights, buying things the other person likes, and so on. That may sound unromantic, but I do not think it is. If anything, it makes desire more meaningful. Desert Hearts understands this too. Cay represents possibility, but Vivian understands consequence. Attraction is not happening in a vacuum. Wanting another person means risking an identity, a routine, an established life. Vivian’s hesitation is not evidence that she does not want Cay enough. It is proof that she understands what wanting her might change and change is hard even after 35, but it’s where middle-aged desire gets interesting. I thought dating later in life would mean less anxiety. My GF and I are both in therapy. We talk about our fears. We have built enough trust that we can say difficult things without immediately turning them into weapons.

Yet and still I sometimes ask myself:  

Valerie, did you fuck things up with something you said? 

At what point will the distance wear us down? 

What if her life changes in a way I cannot keep up with? What if my life changes in a way she can’t keep up with?

What happens if I become close to her daughter and then one day I am no longer part of their lives?

Age doesn’t eliminate fear. It just gives the fear a more advanced vocabulary.

What I love is that for us, queer firsts make us feel young again. What do I mean? Well, this July we went to a Pride event, and realized its the first time either of us had attended this kind of thing with a partner of the same sex. We stood there surrounded by people openly celebrating identity and we held each other. It was an emotional moment for both of us. I remember the moment feeling like a first dance. Maybe because queer life rarely follows the timeline we are told adulthood is supposed to follow. Another thing I understand differently now is that care can be deeply erotic.