I’m 37 and still single. After a series of cheaters and ghosters I was hopeful of finding Mr Right – then my mother said something utterly devastating to me: BEL MOONEY

Dear Bel,

I’m 37, single and starting to wonder if there’s something wrong with me. All my close friends are married and having babies, and I’m the one still turning up to weddings on my own.

I’ve got a good job, I keep myself fit, and think I’m reasonably attractive and fun. But relationships just don’t seem to work out for me.

I’ve had a few long-term boyfriends over the years, but nothing’s stuck. One turned out to be a cheat, another said I was too independent and the most recent one just stopped calling me (out of nowhere) – after introducing me to his parents. I try to laugh it off, but it’s starting to get me down.

Everyone keeps saying: ‘You’ll meet someone when you least expect it.’ But I am expecting it – I’ve been expecting it for years! I’m on all the apps and it’s exhausting. Half the men my age are looking for someone ten years younger, and the rest just want a bit of attention and a few flirty messages before disappearing. Dating feels transactional and hollow. I think I want kids but I’m aware that option is running out of time.

My parents say I’m too fussy, but I don’t think wanting to meet someone decent is too much to ask. Still, I do sometimes wonder if I’ve missed my chance – like the good ones were snapped up in my 20s and I somehow missed the boat.

I love my life in other ways. I’ve got great friends, a busy social calendar and I travel when I can. Am I being unrealistic about love, or is it just bad luck? Should I keep trying, or accept that maybe it’s not going to happen for me?

Tina 

While her friends get married and have babies, Tina is starting to wonder whether there’s something wrong with her aged 37 and single

Bel responds: Just as I say to ‘Peter’ in today’s second letter, I want you to know that yours will prompt many people (of all ages) to respond: ‘Oh, that’s just the same for me!’

That’s one of the ways in which this column ‘works’: sharing experiences and emotions and helping us realise we are not alone.

Believe me, I’ve known so many single people of both sexes. Some have been divorced, which can lead to a ‘once bitten, twice shy’ mentality.

The tough truth (as you know) is that it’s not always easy to find a life-partner. So of course there is nothing ‘wrong’ with you, nor indeed with others like you.

Meeting somebody you can have a good relationship with is a matter of luck – all the more so as we become older, without the easy social life of college or (pre‑lockdown) work.

Are you ‘too fussy’, as your parents say? It could be true if you are one of those with a rigid criteria of characteristics you like or dislike – you know, ‘must be tall, must be professional, must like skiing’ or whatever.

Such pickiness is a mistake because you never know who might surprise you. What’s more, we have to allow ourselves to change; the kind of guy you thought was your ‘type’ when you were 20 may not be when you reach 40.

Your parents have known you quite a while, so it could be they are right. Maybe think about ditching pre-conceived ideas. Maybe press ‘refresh’ on your expectations. Perfection is unrealistic.

You’ve had bad luck. Perhaps rude behaviour (‘ghosting’) may have increased in a more self-centred society. It’s impossible to know. But the guy who stopped calling you after introducing you to his parents is just plain ill-mannered and mean-spirited. I’m sure you’ve just consoled yourself with that thought. You escaped!

So what next? You know perfectly well that no advice columnist can usefully suggest an ‘answer’ to your problem. I will, however, throw out pointers.

First, it’s obvious that accepting ‘that maybe it’s not going to happen’ is a tad premature as you are only 37. But at the same time, I think you should step back from that revealing phrase ‘keep trying’. You see, you can just try too hard.

You say: ‘I’ve been expecting it for years’ – which prompts my next piece of wise advice: stop expecting.

There is no law of the universe decreeing that any one of us has a divine right to a ‘happy ever after’. It just doesn’t work that way.

What we can – and must – do is live our lives to the full, seeing friends, working hard, helping others when we can, always enlarging our minds, giving thanks for the beauty of the natural world, travelling if we want to, and so on.

All that adds up to taking control, not becoming a victim of needy ‘expectation’.

Being that busy should also mean you have no time to be fiddling around on ‘all the apps’. Peering at pictures of strangers, swiping, looking even more obsessively, messaging, swiping, peering… wishing and hoping and planning and dreaming… no, no, no. You must ditch all those damn dating apps which do so much harm to many people.

They raise and dash hopes as well as making the love-seekers fussy and discontented because they imagine something ‘good’ or even better is waiting just beyond the next swipe. No more.

Be ready for the unexpected. It happens. But not if you are desperate.

Meeting somebody you can have a good relationship with is just luck, says BEL MOONEY

I can’t move on after losing my wife 

Dear Bel, 

Just over two years ago I lost my wife of nearly 66 years.

I miss her every day and still shed tears when thinking of all the good times we had and looking through photos of us together. We went on wonderful cruises and sent each other beautiful anniversary cards.

I’ve got two wonderful grown-up children and see my daughter twice a week. But I can’t forget saying some hurtful things to my wife, which she didn’t deserve.

It was 30 years ago, when I was going through a difficult time at work, and I cannot forgive myself. I wish I could have those times over again so I could behave differently. We met as a blind date when she was nearly 18 and I was in the Army. Two years later we decided to get married, and I still look through letters we exchanged all those years ago which move me so much.

She was a wonderful wife and mother in every way and mucked in when we were struggling in our early years.

My wife suffered with Parkinson’s at the end and often she wished she wasn’t here, and it used to really upset me.

I feel as if I should have moved on a bit but cannot seem to as I’ve lost the love of my life, my True Love. I’ve tried a couple of counselling sessions but they didn’t help.

Peter

Bel responds: It is so very hard when the darker nights close in and we can sometimes feel marooned with our sadness. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to look back with such a deep longing for happy times in the past that it can take your breath away.

Your letter is yet another proof that love transcends death – and yet that proof brings no consolation.

I know for a fact, Peter, that countless people will read your words with deep fellow feeling, and be grateful that you have expressed the utter bewilderment of loss.

Many times in this column I have been faced with heartbroken readers who talk about ‘moving on’ – as if their inability to do so is somehow a fault. And time after time I’ve replied that people do not ‘move on’ – they carry their grief with them, just as they carry their love.

Of course, grief can change … or sometimes it can’t. What matters is that we have no choice but to accept those deep feelings as expressions of love, which also makes them manifestations of all that is best about humanity itself.

You and your lovely wife were so blessed to enjoy many years together, to have shared good times and bad, and to have seen your love flourish in the form of two beloved offspring. Your longer letter tells me of the activities which bring company as well as enjoyment to your life. Unlike so many older people, you are not alone. So what can you do about those regrets which are spoiling it?

It is so very hard when the darker nights close in and we feel marooned with our sadness when loved ones pass away, BEL MOONEY writes [stock image]

I can understand your acute longing for the love of your life, but not the pointless dwelling on ‘hurtful things’ said so long ago.

We all regret some things we have done or said – but listen to me: a wise man refuses to allow such negatives to drown out all the happy voices exchanging loving words over decades. To do so is a sort of betrayal.

I’m sure you talk to your wife every day, so now perhaps it’s time to listen to what she is saying to you.

What would she think of that statement you give such emphasis to, ‘I cannot forgive myself’? Would she shake her kind head and tell you not to be so silly? Might she ask what you are on about, when she forgave you easily – because she knew you loved her?

Please think carefully about this. I suspect you will realise I am right.

Peter, your late wife is with you when you look at the photos of your holidays. She is with you when you talk to your two children. When you play bowls. When you re-read the old letters, so full of love.

And she will be with you when, finally, your life is at an end. I do not think you need counselling, sir. I just think you need to relax into the joy of having known such unending love.

And finally… Adore your home, just like Mole

Do you remember The Wind In The Willows by Kenneth Grahame? It’s always been one of my favourites – one scene especially speaking to my heart.

The adventures of Mole and Ratty have begun when they pass through a village and glimpse its domestic scenes.

Then, along the road, Mole picks up the scent of his own home. He’d left it behind to go wandering, enjoyed the time with Ratty . . . but now feels a passionate longing, prompted by the familiar smells: ‘Home! That was what they meant, those caressing appeals, those soft touches wafted through the air, those invisible little hands pulling and tugging, all one way.’

Oblivious, jolly Ratty hurries him along. But when Mole begins to cry, Ratty agrees to visit his friend’s home.

The visit is enchanting, the Field Mice sing, and afterwards Mole knows he must return to the wider world: ‘But it was good to think he had this to come back to, this place which was all his own, these things which were so glad to see him again.’

I’m sure many of you, like me, feel that way about home. Honestly, I simply hate leaving, though once in a while I go to London to see friends.

But we haven’t been away on holiday at all this year, so a trip to Vienna is about to happen. It’s not new to me, but is to my husband, and a feast of art and food awaits.

So this is all by way of telling you that I won’t be here next week.

We leave the house and three dogs in the capable hands of my son and friends – and I know I’ll soon be longing to return home, where all my familiar ‘things’ will be ready to welcome us back.