Summary

An elderly woman finds unexpected joy and contentment in a quiet French village and a late-life relationship, reflecting on her past and the unpredictability of life.

Abstract

The narrative recounts the life journey of a woman who, at 77, reflects on her marriages, the death of her second husband, and the turbulent decades that followed. After moving to France at 68, she embraced adventure, including a five-year affair with a younger man. Now, defying her self-perception of being better at living alone, she shares a life of simple pleasures with a partner who shares her preference for solitude. This new chapter brings her a sense of quiet contentment, as she appreciates the small joys of daily life and the larger wonders of the universe, such as the potential for extraterrestrial life.

Opinions

The author initially believed that seeing her first husband's face for the rest of her life would bring great happiness.
She felt a sense of dismay and depression when she realized her life had become routine in her late thirties.
After her second husband's death, she found predicting life's trajectory to be pointless.
In her fifties and sixties, she experienced a restless search for an unnamed something, despite being married for the third time.
She once considered herself no good at long-term relationships and happier living alone.
The author now enjoys a relationship that aligns with her and her partner's preference for living alone, which has brought her unexpected joy and contentment.
She acknowledges that life's surprises and unpredictability can lead to fulfillment at any age.

Living In France: And now, finally, that elusive sense of quiet contentment

At 77, I fly on a magic carpet back through time to see those moments I thought would define my life

The little spot where we drink our coffee and watch the birds.

At 20, newly married, I looked across the breakfast table at my young husband eating cereal and thought, I will see his face for the rest of my life. This filled me with great happiness.

In my late thirties, married to my second husband and watching 60 Minutes, as we did every Sunday, I had a sudden thought: my god, this is it, my life from now on. The prospect first dismayed, then depressed me.

A few months later, he died. Just short of his 40th birthday.

After that, predicting anything about life seemed pointless.

My fifties and sixties were turbulent. I married for the third time, but never quite had the feeling that this was where I would finally alight. Just the vaguely restless sense that I was looking for something I couldn’t quite name.

At 68 I moved to France. With scant thought of age and even less of settling down, I revelled in adventures. Every day brought new experiences. At an age where I’d essentially put romance behind me, I began a five-year affair with a much younger man. Clandestine and thrilling and, for the most part, with few expectations. I took morning flights out of France, ate dinner in Switzerland the same evening, flew out of Germany two days later. Sometimes I could hardly believe it was my life.

But, as I’m now well aware, life changes in both small and profound ways. One chapter ends, another begins. The things we’ve told ourselves, things we once believed so fervently, suddenly ring false.

I’m no good at long term relationships I’d say. Something I’ve surely demonstrated over the years. I’m better at living alone, I’d say. Happier too.

I honestly believed this — until I met a man who felt the same way. It seemed like a perfect match. Happy with each other and everything about our lives, especially the mutual preference for living alone.

But three years on, here we are sharing living quarters. Every morning, he makes coffee that we drink at a little table by the French windows. There’s marmalade for the croissants and some special butter from Brittany with salt crystals. We listen to BBC news, cluck over the latest government screwups, marvel at a new ultra power telescope. Twenty years in the making, it might one day detect life on other planets. I comment that people involved in such projects must see all the political squabbles as ridiculously insignificant.

He nods. I’m not sure he‘s’ really listening, but that’s ok.

Outside the street is wet with rain. A grey dove is perched on the telephone wires. In the eaves of the houses across the street, nests that once housed baby swallows are empty. The birds we’d watched swooping and swirling all summer have left for Africa. In a few months, it will be spring and they’ll be back, building new nests.

It all fills me with quiet contentment.

Age, I’m sure, has something to do with it. Ten or twenty years ago, would I have found the same joy in this tiny French village, the same love and tenderness for a partner? Would I have wondered, perhaps with dismay, whether the rest of my years would be spent in this way? I honestly don’t know. But, really, it doesn’t matter.

Life is full of surprise and, at any age, absolutely unpredictable.

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Thanks in advance, Janice