Age Gap Relationships | Finding the Exuberant Ease of Youth

Richard Gere's new movie, a crazy night in Berlin, and reflections on my own romance.

don’t feel like reading? listen here xx.

This week, my feed has been flooded with headlines about Richard Gere’s new movie: Asymmetry — about a 48-year age gap relationship. The online discourse is a reminder that these salacious pairings are always up for debate.

While my relationship falls FAR short of a 48-year difference. I am still, famously, in an age-gap relationship.

When Lisa and I first started seeing each other, age was an excuse for why things would never work. With 11 years between us — I was too young for her and she was too old for me.

Seriously, the concept of being 37 was so far outside my mid-twenties imagination — it was an age reserved for bosses… and now a mysterious attractive lover.

The gap took the pressure off. Things would never be serious, which is exactly what we wanted. We were both heartbroken and looking for anything but a relationship (more about that here).

I enjoyed the things that age gave her: confidence, stability, an apartment with an in-unit washer-dryer.

While she enjoyed what “youth” gave me: spontaneity, exuberance, entertainment from stories of never-ending fuck ups.

I grew to love the pop-culture chasm between us. I taught her about wearing wide-leg jeans and how to edit tiktoks; she taught me about Ani Defranco and THE CRAFT.

There was room for discovery in the decades we’d missed of each others. And it expanded beyond entertainment. She helped me navigate a toxic-boss and health insurance, while I taught her how to pack a carry-on for a two week international adventure.

The packing lesson came before our first trip together — a spur-of-the-moment escapade to the Berlin Film Festival. I was an MFA student studying to be a filmmaker; she worked on big budget films as a production manager — and her dear friend had just designed Berlinale’s Opening Night Film.

What started as a screening, quickly turned into one of the wildest nights of my life.

After the premiere, we met her friend in the back garden of a boisterous brasserie — she happened to be dining with one of my favorite filmmakers of all time — and posse of accomplished artists: poets, composers, designers.

My hand trembled as I drank a glass of red wine to fight the nerves. Instead of wincing, as I usually do on the first sip of the cheapest glass on the menu — the vino slipped down my throat, velvety and complex.

This definitely was not a screw top bottle.

While I basked in the light of heated debates about politics and film, from people twenty to thirty-plus years my seniors — I was too scared to say anything. I did not want to put my foot in my mouth, the kid at the table.

But when the bill was graciously paid and the diners stood, everyone turned to me: “where should we go?”

FUCK.

As the resident “youth,” it was my job to navigate the club capital of the world. This crew was not one for the techno temples or sex warehouses, I’d previously visited. But I wanted to earn my seat at the table.

So I smiled, and did what all actresses are taught: fake it.

“I know exactly where to go!”

I had no fucking idea.

Luckily, they wanted to catch the end of the opening night gala. We stopped at a five star hotel hosting the black tie event. Whispers about how “Steven [Spielberg] had just left.” “It’s too bad we didn’t get to say hello.”

It’s fine — Lisa would work with him a few years later, finally getting her chance.

The end of the party gave me just enough time to find our next stop.

A “digital nomad” friend with Berlin-roots JUST sent me a map of all his favorite places in the city — neatly organized into categories: bars, restaurants, clubs, etc.

I scrolled through before settling on a divey spot known for great music and a locals-only atmosphere (according to the reviews) — that was near everyone’s hotel.

Eight of us spilled onto the gray post-industrial sidewalk, less depressing under the soft yellow light of street lamps, and hopped into cabs.

Somehow in the transportation chaos, Lisa and I ended up sandwiching one of the greatest cinematic minds of all time. Yes, this Academy Award Winner was stuffed in the middle seat between us.

I panicked, wracking my brain, wondering what the fuck you say when you’re casually hanging out with an idol. While Lisa was (mostly) unbothered. Used to it.

I blacked out those fifteen minutes. And returned to reality when we got out at the bar I’d so confidently selected.

It was thick with cigarette smoke and tattoos and leather-daddies and cheap beers. Music thumped through a state-of-the-art speaker system and pinball machines dotted the corners.

The filmmaker HATED it and stood outside for the rest of the night, irritated by the tobacco. I thought I had failed… until I learned that his (younger) partner LOVED it. FINALLY, an unstuffy place to let loose — and smoke inside!

That’s when I realized that every couple we were with… was actually… in an age-gap relationship.

Each opening new avenues to the other.

Lisa and I locked eyes; smiles spreading across our faces. Somehow both knowing, this was the beginning of many adventures to come.

The night inspired my first love letter to her, “may we always feel the exuberant ease of youth.”

And just as the title of Richard Gere’s Asymmetry suggests; there can be a power dynamic in age-gap relationships — but that is true for any relationship.

In those that span decades, I think that there is a balance that’s rarely acknowledged. Each person holds a different power and brings something that the other wants to the table. I can’t speak for a 48-year gap, but the distance of the 11 years between us has shrunk more and more as we build our future together.

xx

Thoughts on age-gaps? Let’s talk about it in the comments.