I’m a woman of a certain age, 53 to be exact, and I just got married for the first time. Marriage at this age, especially for a Black woman, is supposed to be impossible. To hear the podcasters tell it, I’m a real-life unicorn.
I know too many fly sisters over 50 years old to believe the lie that women lose their desirability after a certain age. But honestly, I stopped dreaming about my own happily ever after about 25 years ago. I let the dream go because romantic love didn’t seem meant for me.
To paint the picture, I rarely got asked out; when I did, it was seldom a good fit. Add to that my uncanny ability to only fall for guys who wouldn’t or couldn’t love me back, and well, my twenties, thirties, and forties were a blur.
My perpetual singleness perplexed me, but I wasn’t bitter about it. I was strangely content.
It helped that my cup was full in every other area. God blessed me with an incredible family, great friends, and a career only Forrest Gump could pursue.
Things were good.
Even as a single, childless woman, which society calls failure, my life always felt charmed, so charmed that asking God for more felt greedy. I was content and accepted that love didn’t always happen for everybody, which was okay.
When I think about it now, I also stopped dreaming about love and marriage because I hadn’t met any eligible men who I vibed with. I say eligible because back in my mid-twenties, I had met a nice guy in my church acting class who was funny, talented, kind, and “Cleveland fine,” yes there is a level of fine that’s usually only found in brothers from Cleveland, but he was married and thus totally off limits romantically. His name was Tony, and he and I became great friends.
We shared a sense of humor and enjoyed talking to each other. Our rapport was so fun and easy that a friend joked that if I could just figure out how to clone Tony, my search for the perfect man would be over.
I laughed it off, but something about it rang true. Tony had become the prototype. He was taken, but the connection was so intense I figured we’d be butterflies together in some other lifetime or would be in the next.
He eventually moved back to New York City, and we lost touch… then 25 years passed.
During those years, I often thought about him. I wondered the following: Was his career blossoming like it was destined? Was he doing well? Was he happy? I always hoped he was. As for me, my life blossomed. I got to sing, act, and host at a level where I pinched myself daily.
My career was solid, but love remained elusive. Don’t get me wrong, I met guys. I dated a few, but it never was quite right. One was lovely, just not that into me. Another was lovely just, unbeknownst to me, also gay. The worst one was emotionally abusive and ridiculously mean. They all paled compared to the kind, funny, platonic friend from decades past.
A couple of friends from back then knew how highly I thought of him, and they’d ask if each new guy was funny like Tony, kind like him, or even Cleveland-fine. The answer was always no.
Tony didn’t know he was the one every other guy was measured by.
And I surely didn’t know how often I had crossed his mind. I found that out 25 years later when he came back into my life after his divorce and both of our mothers had passed.
I learned something when my friend returned to my life. I realized that folks were right when they said, “When it’s the one, you just know.” From the time we reconnected, I just knew that he was supposed to be in my life. That knowing, in a word, is simply peace, the kind that surpasses all understanding. The kind that you can fully trust because it requires no effort. The kind where you two just click. You just vibe. You exhale. You lean in. You just, know.
I didn’t send screenshots of Tony to my group chats. I didn’t ask my friends what anything he said or did meant because nothing he said or did confused me. Tony was solid from day one. He called when he said he would call. He asked about my day. He knew I was a caregiver and asked about my dad. He went out of his way to make sure I felt seen and special. He was concerned about my well-being. He made sure I knew of and met everyone important in his life.
He was solid and easy, like Sunday morning. He was the opposite of chaos and confusion. Tony was struggle-free.
I’m married now to that great man, but I don’t suddenly know everything about love. What I do know is that the right one is worth waiting for and that there’s no time limit on finding or being found by them. No matter what “they” say, love doesn’t belong to the young. It’s for all of us. And if it’s what you desire, your turn is coming.
As I wrote in my film Always A Bridesmaid, “Delay is not Denial.” Live your beautiful life. Run your race. Extend yourself grace. Love is coming for you. Believe that.
ESSENCE received exclusive behind-the-scenes photos of Yvette Nicole Brown and her husband, actor Anthony Davis, nuptials on Saturday, Dec. 14, at The Maybourne Beverly Hills in Los Angeles, which was planned and produced by William P. Miller.
Scroll to see the beautiful images by Kareem “Reem” Virgo.
