At 43 I ticked over the "£1m in assets" mark. I'd been watching it get closer and closer for years... then the whole mess with my ex happened and I lost track. Money didn't matter much after the break up. I just used it to try and make myself happy — flying all over the place, staying in nice hotels, seeing the world. £16k on travel since then. Essentially, buying escape. Am I happy? I don't know. Travelling certainly keeps me from going nuts. Here's the strange arithmetic of it: the time I've had, not built around a boyfriend, has meant £1m at 43 became a hell of a lot more at 45. But was it worth it? Is it? I don't enjoy travelling alone. I do it because the alternative is not travelling, and staying at home alone instead. There's a hope I'll find a travel companion one day — I was hopeful it would be the guy I've been seeing, but it seems unlikely. This week I'll jet off somewhere random. Anywhere, I don't really care... just to escape island life for a bit. Which is the odd part, because I love where I live. Sometimes the loneliness creeps in and I feel I have to get away — and then, after some time away, the feeling of landing back home, or getting off the boat, is like nothing else. The IoM is absolutely home. Tranquility. The UK, by contrast — I hate going back. I limit it as much as I can. The traffic, the noise, sometimes the people... the sensory overload makes me want to scream. But the loneliness here sometimes tips into isolation. Hopefully the new house makes the difference — a small village by the sea, where at least I can see other houses, other life, from my windows. That, and having all my belongings back at last. Out of Birmingham, into rooms that are mine, by the sea.