Sixty, thirty years of this, still moving between both ends

I started when there was no vocabulary for any of it and you found people entirely by accident, usually through somebody who knew somebody. Thirty one years later I am still doing it, still at both ends, and still quietly amused that there is now a word for everything and a strong opinion attached to each word.

Sixty, out in the commuter belt, in a house I have been in for two decades. Two long partnerships behind me. The first ended when she went home to look after her mother and never really came back. The second ended four years ago when he moved abroad, and we still speak most months.

What I want now is quiet and long. One person, an evening a week, a great deal of ordinary company around it. I have no interest whatever in being impressive and I stopped going to large gatherings some years ago, though I would happily be persuaded back to a small one.

The advantage of being this age at this is that I have very little left to prove and a great deal of patience. The disadvantage is that I have seen most things go wrong at least once and can be a bit brisk about warning signs.

Not looking for anybody who wants a mentor, which I have been asked for four times this year and have declined four times. Not looking for anything that requires me to be somewhere loud. And not looking to start something with a person who is in the middle of a divorce, because I have done that twice and both times it was really about the divorce.