Relationships are like Venn diagrams.

We all start with a circle of our own, which I call Myself. Then another sphere comes into our orbit as Yourself. Together, we create a special area of overlap: the Magical Land of We.

Every relationship develops its own trajectory. If we’re lucky, the Magical Land of We expands and deepens over time.

As a kid, I remember making a friend and wanting her to be my best, best, best friend forever. Then, inevitably, she’d start canceling plans, or, worst of all, end up sitting with the popular kids (the enemy!) at lunch. School cafeterias are masters of the art of rejection.

My mom, the epitome of practicality, had a wide circle of friends, so, if her bestie wasn’t available, she’d just find someone else. She and her closest buds bantered effortlessly but rarely, if ever, spoke openly about their problems.

My younger self wondered whether Mom felt truly carefree or just kept her problems to herself. I wanted friends with whom I could confide my deepest secrets, not just chat or share activities. Often, I’d end up alone or with a book and my canine best friend Sherry.

Then along came adolescence and new ways of gauging prospective friends and lovers. Did they identify as jocks or hippies? What kind of music did they like? Were they for or against the war in Vietnam?

Before long, I’d evolved into an artsy, left-leaning hippie. I found a job at an alternative newspaper and met my soulmate, Fred. He and I, though, differed in some ways.

Fred loved the outdoors while I was more of a city girl. Before I met him, I’d hardly ever gone on a daytime date since I’d usually hole up with my paramours at the movies or in dark, smoky jazz clubs.

Still, although I joked that I only hiked in good weather and with no bugs, mud, or uphill terrain, Fred re-awakened the nature girl in me. On one of our first hikes, he put some sunflower seeds in the palm of my hand, and lo and behold, a chickadee landed in it. We each had a strong Free Bird inside of us.

LynyrdSkynyrd’s rock anthem, “Free Bird,” captured the era of Do Your Own Thing. Like the narrator in the song, Fred was a bit of a rambling man. But, once we committed to each other, we found ways to honor the Free Bird inside each other. We’d take turns watching the kids so he could go on a mountain-climbing trip or I could get away to meet my close friend, Ann, in New York.

Our Magical Land of We grew and deepened over time, so Fred’s illness and untimely death gutted me. Something inside me had changed. When I started to date, I went into the process with a bullet-proof vest over my heart.

Somehow, I’d morphed into the quintessential practical woman! How I’d become more like Mom took even me by surprise. The pain of losing a soulmate cut so deep, I didn’t want another all-encompassing relationship. I’d be happy with an activity buddy.

However, something strange has happened to me over time. I’ve found myself reverting back to my old patterns of wanting a soulmate rather than an activity buddy. Inevitably, when I’d base a relationship on casual chitchat and date nights, I’d yearn for something more: a wider and deeper Magical Land of We. But – and this is a big but – I’d ultimately need someone willing to honor the Free Bird inside of me.

Much like when we were in our 20s or 30s, late-in-life romances raise pressing questions about how to navigate the differences between Myself and Yourself. Do you want to live together or apart? Do you have enough common ground in the Magical Land of We? How will you deal with each other’s inevitable health challenges when they arise?

Whatever your answers to these questions, we can all savor every minute we spend in the Magical Land of We.

Joan Axelrod-Contrada is a writer who lives in Florence. She writes a monthly column for the Gazette, Only Human, that runs on the second Friday of the month and is certified in Mindful Relationships from Allegra Learning Solutions. Reach her at joanaxelrodcontrada@gmail.com.

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