The worst part of living forever is every person you ever love, ever love, dies. Sure, you can sleep with who you want when you want without fear of STDs. But you fall in love, I mean ever fall in love, there is a 100% money-back guarantee that that person will die before you do.
In 1980 I decided I'd done enough partying. I was 30. I had spent the entire decade doing drunks and drinking and having sex and listening to loud music, etc, etc. After a particularly long blackout, I threw out all my drugs and all the bottles. There were so many bottles. And that was it. There was a period in the first half of the 21st century when I got really into wine--when there was still wine--but beyond the occasional drink when out with friends, I just stopped.
I wasn't done traveling, though, so I structured my life around that. I was getting good various things and had at least one hundred jobs in the 70s. I slowed down a little bit in the 80s. I got a desk job but negotiated for extra vacation time in the "off-season".
It was during a slow, extended road trip down the east coast that I met her.