Why 'ordinary' is really rather nice.
Chasing the highs of being pissed meant falling into a lotta lows.
Being a basic bitch, I’ve always wanted to be married and have kids. Whilst I love the idea of click-clack high heels en route to do a deal in the boardroom, a high flying job was never top of my list. I’ve been surprised and delighted by my career, and I wouldn’t be without it, but it wasn’t the icing on the cake.
But in my 20s, when every weekend was either at a wedding or a hen do, I was relentlessly single. First dates fizzled out, I never met anyone new, and everyone I hung out with was part of a couple. I had some fun on Match.com, but when I split up with my Match boyfriend of just over a year, right before I turned 30, I thought that maybe I was destined to be single. (Obviously older me is laughing her head off at this, because being single at 29 is supposed to be fricking AWESOME, and in hindsight I wish I’d had more fun, kissed more frogs, and tried to meet more people outside my very lovely but very coupled-up friendship group.) I turned 30, ran a marathon and met my now-husband at a restaurant opening behind Liverpool Street Station in London.
I knew pretty early on that I was in love. It took him a bit longer to realise. We got married in 2012, Olympic year. Our dating years and the pre-kid years of our marriage were very, very, boozy. We went out for dinners with too much wine, we danced in Shoreditch bars, and we greeted our inevitable hangovers with Bloody Marys and more of the same. And for a long time, it was really, really fun.
And then it wasn’t. It went from fun to fighting, dancing to disagreements, Bloody Marys to bloody minded. For a long time, I thought relationships were supposed to have fights and make up sessions. Hollywood portraits of great love stories have drama and arguments and then loads of make up sex. Wasn’t that what we were supposed to do?
It’s taken two babies, now young boys, two house moves and a whole lot of learning to realise that a relationship without screaming matches is really rather nice. And of course, coming up to 5 years off the booze for me has had a significant impact on the mood of our little family. We still disagree (over loads of things, lots of the time), but with much less drama. There’s less shouting, swearing and holding grudges. I’m not up for a Hollywood relationship any more - I want to be with someone who’ll debate the greatest crisp flavour (Hula Hoops, salt and vinegar, or McCoys Beef Ridged), who’ll spend lockdowns watching all the Jurassic Park movies, who’ll walk the dog when it’s raining and I don’t want frizzy hair, and who cooks the greatest chicken katsu for me on special occasions.
Realising that ordinary doesn’t equal boring has been a revelation. Realising that a calmer, quieter relationship means a deeper connection (ugh, that sounds gross… but it’s true) and that there is still (always!) space for dancing, conversation, late nights, snogging in the kitchen and general loveliness… well, it’s been pretty magical.
I wish I could tell that impatient 29-year old that it would all work out. That she gets everything she’s ever wanted. That there’s much less drama in a happy life than she’s expecting. And that taking alcohol out of the equation would speed the whole thing up.