I often notice couples’ togetherness as I travel the spaces of my life as a single person. That’s likely because I am not wholly comfortable in my singlehood. I am independent and capable of being solo. However, I enjoyed being married and partnered.

When I spot a young couple drunk on love, I feel nostalgic. I am reminded of when we had zero responsibilities and time to spare.

Couples close to my age reminds me of the mundane that is middle life marriage. It’s mostly dividing, conquering, checking back in, and squeezing in a date here and there. They remind me of what I lost.

Usually, it’s the older couples that really twist my heart though. Probably because this is the stage I didn’t get with Tony. I see them and feel jealous of the time they have gotten together. Without knowing anything about them, I spin an entire narrative about their shared lives together.

As I was boarding the shuttle to the airport to head to Camp Widow a few ago I found myself weaving a similar tale. An older gentlemen handed a pair of bags to the driver then he helped his wife onto the bus. As they sat next to me, I felt annoyed for a moment they were enjoying traveling together and I headed to Camp Widow.

Then something told me to stop. Just stop it. For the first time, it dawned on me that I don’t know anything about this sweet couple’s life. I realize how obvious that sounds but I had been looking at every older couple with the assumption they had never experienced trauma. So maybe they have been together for 50 years. Or maybe one of them was a widow too and this isn’t their only marriage. What if they didn’t find each other until they were older.

People end up together via a myriad of life experiences. This realization told me I was ready (at least for now) to stop the jealousy anytime I saw perceived happiness in an elderly couple.