In my early 20s, I dated my fair share of boys from wealthy families (my age, usually met at uni or through friends) as well as successful, slightly older men—think 30-40 when I was 20-25. They took me to expensive restaurants, we stayed in five-star hotels, and I was gifted jewellery. It never felt transactional or like there was an unspoken “you owe me” expectation. It simply felt like we were in a relationship, and they were successful, so they treated me.
At the time, I was at uni and then started working in what’s typically considered a lucrative career, but I wasn’t particularly ambitious. I prioritized my spare time and lifestyle over advancing far in my job, so I never reached the upper echelons of success myself.
Fast forward to my late 20s, I met a lovely man. He wasn’t poor by any means—he had a decent career—but he wasn’t in a position to buy me jewellery every Valentine’s Day or take me to a Michelin-starred restaurant just because we didn’t feel like cooking that night. Still, I fancied him a lot. Initially, it felt casual—I thought we’d just have fun for a while, especially since we had the same sense of humor and got along so well. Then lockdown hit. On a whim, we decided to move in together to make isolation a bit more fun (after all, it was only supposed to last a few weeks, right?). A year later, we emerged engaged and (unexpectedly) pregnant. Now we’re married.
My husband is a great guy and an amazing dad. He still makes me laugh daily, and we share the same sense of humor. He tries to support me when I’m feeling down, even though he doesn’t always know exactly the right thing to say or do. But I can’t help occasionally wondering “what if.”
In our life together, things like fancy weekends or spur-of-the-moment indulgences aren’t really on the table. A surprise trip would involve a lot of planning and budgeting so hardly a surprise. We meal prep, cook at home, and only eat out for special occasions. He’s practical—always looking for ways to save money, like cutting nursery days if my mum can help out, or comparing prices for nurseries to save £500 a month. Even traveling is about finding the cheapest route: “You don’t mind taking a train to the airport with three changes, a toddler, and three suitcases, right? It’s cheaper than a taxi!”
In other words, we live a very normal, practical life. And while I love my husband and our life together, I sometimes wonder if it’s normal to think about the grass being greener—what my life might have been like if I’d stayed with someone wealthier, or pursued a different path.