My ’60s radio DJ led with the sad news — Turtles co-founder Mark Volman had died at 78 — then softened the blow by playing the band’s folk-rock gem, “It Ain’t Me Babe.”
Maybe you’re thinking: wait, didn’t Dylan do that first? Yep, you’re right. But the Turtles grabbed Dylan’s weary lament, tossed in some tambourines and soaring harmonies, and voilà: instant jangly pick-me-up.
I gripped the steering wheel of my car as the Turtles sang, “You say you’re lookin’ for someone who’s never weak but always strong.” And something in me shot back, “It ain’t me, babe.” For one surreal moment, I wasn’t just listening to the song: I was the narrator. I’d come to my quest for male companionship late in life with my nerves on high alert. Chalk it up to having been a full-time caregiver for my late husband Fred.
As a new widow, I couldn’t help wondering: Was it possible to snag the perks of a relationship without signing up for all the pesky downsides? I wanted to be Peter Pan, not Wendy, for a change. Every time a date so much as sneezed, I got the heebie-jeebies. What if he got sicker? What if he had no one else to care for him? What if I got attached and then needed to walk away?
And suddenly it dawned on me: I’d somehow turned into the older woman version of the commitment-phobic guy. He’s afraid of losing his freedom; I’m scared of losing mine again. He panics when he hears “marriage;” I twitch when someone says “cohabitation.” He fears drowning in bills and responsibilities; I picture pillboxes, hospital beds and incontinence briefs.
Different decades, same terror. Because, when you strip away the decades and the details, relationships have always been a push-pull between wanting to belong and needing to breathe. The 20-something with commitment jitters and the new widow with caregiving fatigue are humming the same tune — different verses, same chorus.
Who knew?
And here’s the kicker: The male boomers who once ran screaming from commitment are now more gung-ho about marriage than their female counterparts. It’s funny when you think about it. The men who once feared being tied down now want to be tucked in, and the women who once made soup and sacrifices have learned to draw the line at bedpans.
Of course, there are always exceptions. Still, if you scroll through any Living Apart Together forum for the over-50 crowd, one thing jumps out: women are driving the trend. After years of raising kids, juggling careers and tending to partners, many of us have reached our limit on caregiving. Yet some of us still crave the spark of male energy.
But am I willing to sign up for the dark days — the cruelties of dementia or trips to the emergency room an hour away at 3 a.m.? Well … much as it pains me to admit it, no.
So what do I do? I join along with the Turtles: “No, no, it ain’t me, babe; it ain’t me you’re lookin’ for, babe.” What can I say? I’m a chorus girl. Give me a big, punchy refrain and I’m all in. And credit where credit’s due — the Turtles turbo-charged Dylan’s original, turning that spare folk song into something bright and full-on pop.
“It Ain’t Me Babe” knocks the over-the-top love song right off their pedestal. Sure, it’s romantic to want to die for someone … but honestly? I’d rather keep the bar a tad lower and stay alive. Still, does refusing to be perfect really have to lead straight to an inevitable breakup?
What if — hear me out — we tweak the song and slip in a twist at the end? After all those breakup-bound lines (e.g. “I’m not the one you’re lookin’ for” and “I can’t give you what you want”), imagine a little wink that says, “Hold on, this story isn’t finished yet.”
Picture one more verse. In it, the “you” has a revelation: perfection isn’t required. “You” stops demanding the moon, builds a rock-solid support system and somehow summons the funds for professional, hands-on care. And “I”? Well, “I” step up gladly — not as a superhero, but as a flawed human doing my best.
Then we belt out our final chorus:
But I ain’t perfect, babe.
No, no, no, I ain’t perfect, babe.
It ain’t perfect you’re looking for, babe.
Now that’s a love song we can all sing along to.
Joan Axelrod-Contrada is a writer who lives in Florence with her two dogs. Sign up for her free newsletter — complete with links to bonus content such as music videos and fun facts — by emailing her at joanaxelrodcontrada@gmail.com.