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At 72, I Finally Put Myself First
Here’s something I don’t often like to admit: I’ve spent most of my 72 years on this planet in a relationship. After more than five decades of being coupled up—in four marriages, a few long-term partnerships, and plenty of dates—my last breakup sparked an epiphany: Whenever I was with someone, I’d vanish in the relationship. Dating someone was about “having it all”—the career, the blended family, the marriage—not about romance and never, ever about me.
With my exes, I’d gloss over things because I felt like, ‘This is as good as it gets.’ I always gave my power and the reins over to men in my life, figuring “Well, they know better than me” or “They’re the man, so they’re in charge,” even though I was the one earning the money and having the big acting career. I suppose it was a generational training of sorts—it was simply what people like me, who were born in the ’50s, were taught.
When I was young, the reality was that women might be allowed to have a bit of a career, but when it came down to it, a man was running the show. And for a long time, I felt “less than” and not intelligent enough; I never actually went to college because I’ve been working since my teens. I internalized somewhere deep down that regardless of my success, it would still be easy for someone to say, “You didn’t go to Cambridge,” “You didn’t get a degree in business,” or whatever. And it honestly took me a long time—well after age 60—to just go, 'Wait a minute. Hold on, Jane. What are you doing? Yeah, you didn't go to Oxford, but YOU are the one running the show.'
I first noticed the ways I gave away my power after I went through a sad divorce. I was with him for 20-something years. It was devastating. I had to realize that being somebody in the public eye can be difficult for some partners to handle.
After my last relationship ended, I was intent on being single and on my own. I went to Greece and rented a small yacht on the South Ionian Sea. I went to Iceland and climbed glaciers. I wanted to have what I call “experiential living” with my kids while I’m able-bodied, vibrant, and happy. My mother was a great proponent of this kind of thinking. She survived a Japanese prisoner of war camp in Indonesia where she lived during World War II and always said, “Darling, it’s now. Now is when you live.” When I became determined to be intentionally single and just live, breathe, and be surrounded by the things that were most important to me, I was the most whole I’d ever been. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t a man’s half.
In the midst of this, a girlfriend who knew I was single said, “Come on, Jane, come on out.” Now, I never left my house in Malibu. I always stayed home and went to bed at 8:30. It was boring! But I went out to this little nightspot and randomly, this guy John Zambetti recognized me (maybe from my James Bond movies) and called his son who had a mutual friend with my son Sean to ask, “Why is Jane Seymour alone with a couple of girls at a nightclub? If she was my girlfriend, she wouldn’t be.”
We set up a date for the next week at the encouragement of our kids, and just as I arrived, John said, “Hi, I think we’re supposed to meet.” And I went, “Yes, I believe we are.” Man, we’ve looked at photos from that night since and it’s like, “Oh my goodness, there’s a definite connection here.”
When John and I first met, he was encountering me as someone who was happily alone, not eagerly looking. I was at my happiest, surrounded by friends and family—literally, I think I had 16 of them in the house this one time, from my sisters and their husbands to cousins and even all the grandchildren. John was immediately exposed to who I really am. And so despite my active disinterest in romance at the time, he still appreciated me and the privilege it was to see my life. I let him be part of the gang.
More important than our chemistry, there was a real fit in terms of our families, our culture, and the things we liked. I never imagined until now that I could be unashamedly who I am without having to worry about what somebody else thinks—especially at 72 when everyone’s got baggage and sometimes the joints are not performing or my back is flaring or something mildly arthritic happens. But it’s important to have a sense of humor about all of that too, because it’s life. When people fit, they just fit. And when there is love and intimacy as well as a desire to find pleasure for your partner and pleasure for yourself and you can make that all happen in unison, it’s magic. Absolute magic, no matter what form it takes.
Sex right now is more wonderful and passionate than anything I ever remember because it is built on trust, love, and experience. I now know myself and my body, and John has had his own experiences in his life—it’s not like when you’re younger. I suppose among younger generations, people have sex first and then say, “Oh, by the way, hello. How do you do?” The older I get, the more sex is built on emotional intimacy, on having shared the ups and downs of life with someone—our feelings, our joys, our sadness, our mutual passions, and desire.
After 60, you come to realize that intimacy can also be self-serving. I’ve spoken with friends whose spouses have passed away and whose doctors have said, “Now it’s time for you to learn to be intimate with yourself.” Sure, loving touch changes according to what abilities you have physically as you age, but it’s certainly not something you give up just because you’re a certain age. Your sex life doesn’t need to end at 60. At the end of the day, everyone is looking for something that puts blood into a certain area. When you can figure that out, well, you’re going to be a happy camper. (And bonus: You’re not going to get pregnant, right?)
You also need to realize there’s a stigma here. People don’t talk about menopause, they don’t talk about sex, and they give up. And they don’t just give up physically—they give up mentally and emotionally. My thinking is that life can only get better when you are open-minded and you listen to your body and to yourself. The crazy thing is, right now, I feel like I’m both experienced and 16 years old. I truly feel sex and intimacy is better at my age than it ever was before. I actually mean that. And it took being single after my marriages to learn that I don’t have to disappear for sex and romance to click. I can’t change what happened and I can’t change other people, but I can change my choices and the way I look at it all. I can decide to show up as myself now in every moment. It’s actually very reminiscent of a line in my son’s song “All I Know Is Now.” I love the line: “That was then and this is now. What are you going to do about it?” I may have grown up with different generational expectations, but this is my mantra now.
“At the end of the day, everyone is looking for something that puts blood into a certain area.”
Author headshot: courtesy of subject. All other images: Getty Images.
