For most of my life, I don’t think I spent much time thinking about what I desired. I knew what needed to be done. I knew what other people needed from me. I knew what my family needed, what my job needed, what needed to be fixed, and what needed to happen next. Desire seemed like one of those things that could wait until everything else was taken care of.
The problem with that thinking is that everything else is never actually taken care of. There is always another bill, another problem, another responsibility, another person who needs something. If I kept waiting until everything was handled before thinking about myself, I was going to spend the rest of my life waiting.
I think I confused being needed with being wanted for a long time. Being needed feels good. There is a certain satisfaction in knowing someone depends on you. It gives you purpose and gives you a role. Being the guy who can fix something, solve something, provide something, or make someone’s life easier can become a pretty comfortable identity. The problem is that being needed and being desired are not the same thing.
As the later years of my marriage progressed, I began to feel that difference. I still loved Melanee deeply, and I knew that I was important to her, but there were times when I felt more like a caretaker than a husband. I was taking care of things, taking care of her, taking care of the family, and doing what needed to be done. Somewhere along the way, I started missing the feeling of being wanted simply because I was me.
I wanted to be looked at and thought, “I want that guy.” Not because I could fix something, not because I was useful, and not because somebody needed a ride, an answer, or someone to take care of a problem. I wanted to be wanted because I was Jason.
That realization was uncomfortable. For a long time, I wasn’t even sure I was allowed to want that. After losing Melanee, I assumed that particular part of my life was probably over. Thirty-two years of marriage doesn’t exactly prepare you for figuring out what dating looks like when you’re older, carrying a lifetime of memories, and looking in the mirror wondering who the hell would be interested in you now. Especially when the guy in the mirror looks somewhere between a Yeti, a court jester, and a middle-aged man who still thinks dad jokes are a legitimate form of flirting. Apparently, someone was.
I’ve found myself having to rethink desire entirely. Desire isn’t just about sex, although let’s not pretend that part doesn’t exist. I’m still a man, and apparently that particular factory didn’t shut down when I got older. But desire is much bigger than that. It is wanting to experience something, wanting to learn something, wanting to go somewhere, wanting to create something, wanting to be close to another person, wanting to be touched, wanting to be heard, and simply wanting to wake up excited about what the day might bring.
For years, I thought being responsible meant putting those wants somewhere behind everyone else’s needs. Now I’m wondering if maybe there is a difference between being selfish and taking yourself seriously. Selfishness is not caring what happens to anyone else. Taking care of yourself is recognizing that you matter too.
I’ve spent a lot of time learning about codependency, and one of the things I’m beginning to recognize is how easily helping someone can become part of your identity. You can convince yourself that you’re being loving when you’re actually making yourself responsible for things that aren’t yours to carry. Desire forces me to look at something different: what is mine? What do I actually want? What makes me happy? What makes me curious? What makes me feel alive?
Those questions don’t always have easy answers. Some of them are surprisingly simple. I want to take more photographs. I want to write more. I want to travel. I want to spend time with people who make me laugh. I want to experience things instead of always planning for them. I want to keep learning. I want to be spontaneous once in a while, even if my definition of spontaneity is sometimes deciding what I’m having for dinner after 4:00 p.m.
And I want to love.
That one still carries some weight.
There is a part of me that occasionally wonders whether wanting love again somehow diminishes the love I had for Melanee. I know intellectually that it doesn’t, but emotions don’t always care what your intellect has figured out. I’m learning that desire doesn’t erase history. Wanting something new doesn’t mean I didn’t appreciate what I had. Being happy today doesn’t mean yesterday wasn’t important. And loving someone who is still here doesn’t mean I love someone who is gone any less.
I’ve also discovered that there is something different about being desired when you are older. When you’re young, you can sometimes assume that attraction is just part of life. As you get older, you start wondering whether anyone will see you that way again. Then someone does, and suddenly you remember that you’re still alive.
There is something incredibly affirming about being seen by another person and realizing they aren’t looking at your age, your mistakes, your baggage, or the things you think are wrong with you. They’re looking at you and seeing something they want. That doesn’t mean another person’s desire should determine my worth. I’ve spent enough time learning that lesson. My value can’t depend on whether someone else finds me attractive, useful, interesting, or lovable. But being desired is still a wonderful thing.
I’m learning that I can appreciate it without making it responsible for my happiness.
Maybe that’s the real difference I’m discovering. I don’t need someone else to complete me. I don’t need someone else to tell me who I am. I don’t need to be needed in order to have value. But I do want connection. I do want affection. I do want passion. I do want companionship. I do want to be wanted.
And I don’t think there is anything wrong with that.
For much of my life, I thought desire was something you put aside until you had fulfilled your responsibilities. Now I’m beginning to think that desire is part of what makes responsibility worthwhile. What’s the point of spending your entire life maintaining a life if you never stop to experience it?
I spent a lot of years keeping the plates spinning. Maybe now I can learn to dance a little while they’re in the air.
I don’t know exactly where that will take me. I’m still figuring out what I want, and I’m still learning how to separate what I truly desire from what I think I’m supposed to desire. But that might be the most freeing part of all. For the first time in a long time, I’m not just asking myself what needs to be done.
I’m asking myself a different question.
What do I want?