That’s all fine and good and right and proper but being independent doesn’t mean we don’t yearn. We yearn. And we don’t yearn any less at 40 than we did at 18. Maybe we yearn more. We definitely yearn differently. And, often, privately. And, sometimes, shamefully. Aloneness flirts with loneliness. Anticipation veers towards panic. And so we try to date. We open our hearts to the possibilities and, after every false start, after the disappointment leaves us momentarily breathless, then we put ourselves back together and we try again. Because there is a narcotic aspect to dating – why do you think dating apps are so addictive when only 5% of people meet their partners online? The next swipe might be him. The next set-up might be him. Will he be at this party, that conference, the other pub? Oh yes, of course, he’ll turn up when I’m least expecting him. So here I am, monumentally unexpectant…on I go…where the fuck is he? I’m exhausted.