I’m not even sure I want a husband at all– at least, the title. I’m not against marriage– marriage is beautiful– I just don’t need it to validate me or validate the love in my life that is perfectly ok, as is.
But this statement, I hear it all the time— in fact, I heard it yesterday in the Nordstrom Rack dressing room.
“I just want a rich husband”
“I wanna marry rich”
And years ago I would’ve said “fuck yeah, me too”
I assume that they meant this is the context of enough money to buy them as many shoes, clothes and handbags— as many “things” that they could ever want. And I get it— I used to be consumed by the material world too.
But now? Nows a different story.
What’s riches… if it means you sacrifice everything else that makes your life rich in the ways money can’t?
I mean, maybe you wouldn’t have to sacrifice. There are ways to have both— or have it all— but I’ve seen far too many “rich” people who seem to have that, to then take their own lives, and die out of misery… which tells me… there’s more.
There’s more to living.
So it got me thinking… what do I want?
What do I want out of this life that is asking me to come alive within it?
What do I want more than just the material things that we think make us happy?
And this is what I came up with.
Here’s my personal manifesto:
Instead of a rich husband,
I want a rich life.
A life that feels like a deep dark espresso in the corner of a cafe somewhere in Europe, in the summer. A life that I drink in sip by sip and take the time to taste it. A life that I savor. A life where the minutes matter… each one bringing the one thing we can’t ever get back.
So, I want to spend it mattering. Making it all matter and making it all mean something.
I want a life so full of laughter & whether we have one dollar or a hundred thousand, we make the absolute most out of what we do have. The life I’m talking about is one that feels so good inside of it— one that sits well within my soul and fits me—fits who I am on the inside. One that could give a damn about how big our house is or what it looks like from the street.
No, the life I’m talking about is a life where the sounds of pure bliss and joy echo into the walls of whatever and wherever we decide to call home.
The life I see, is a life that’s filled to the brim of the intangible things, the things money can’t buy— like the deepest joy in the big moments and complete and perfect contentment within the small ones.
With the love that’s ever present– love that’s made its way into the fibers of all of it.
I want that continued feeling that has come with me knowing who I am and who and what my heart beats for.
I don’t want to wake up in a home that’s too big for me to fill it with life and love— with a bunch of rooms that feel empty because they aren’t lived in. But rather, wake up next to the one that I love most, in the one room where we share the deepest parts of who we are— with sheets that are wrinkled from sweat, from the night before. And even if the walls could talk they wouldn’t, because passion need not words, because it is something that is felt and heard.
And I don’t need things. Pointless things made out of matter, that at the end of the day collect dust on shelves and in closets. Instead, give me memories and experiences. The feelings you get when you’re somewhere new, for the first time. That give the kind of recollections that stay with you for lifetimes. The kind that leave marks on your soul because, in the moment, you couldn’t look away, because it captivated parts of you because it was that beautiful.
You always remember those.
I want a life that’s quiet most of the time… but loud and wild others, when it needs to be– one that is unconventional— outside of the box I’ve been put in my whole life.
I want a life that feels light and easy— easy as it is to breathe— easy as it is to breathe out.
The life I see myself living the fuck out of, is one that feels full the minute I wake up— and just as full as my head hits the pillow, as we say our good nights and have our laughs, eager to get up and do it all over again.
I want slow mornings. Ones where I can take my time to make our coffee and burn incense and light candles. Mornings where I have time to sit in the morning sun and write out the gratitude that spills from my heart so that I can fill blank pages in a leather bound journal.
I want a life of meaning. I want it to mean something… something more than just paper bills and retirement accounts and a plan for when we get old. The kind of meaning that comes when you feel lost, and then you find yourself.
The kind of meaning when all the chaos finally makes sense, and you gain understanding.
The kind of meaning when you wake up with such fiery intentions to live life on purpose.
And in the hard times, the times that are inevitable- the times that come without warning… the times in life that test and make you question the meaning of life all over again; I want that familiar handsome face and those kind brown eyes staring back at me—telling me, or me him, like we’ve done hundreds of times before that “it will be ok”. And somewhere deep inside, I will know that’s true, because it always has been.
As I read this, and write down all of these things and compare them to a stack of endless money, they don’t compare— because riches to me, doesn’t mean just money. Cars are just metal and houses are just bricks.
Riches to me means freedom. Riches to me means being able to live a life with a deep understanding that it’s everything that makes it rich in the first place. It’s the big things and the little things. It’s every bit of how life feels when you try it on in the morning and every bit of how it feels when you go to sleep at night.
I want to wear life like I wear my favorite worn black sweater— the one with holes in the sleeves and under the armpits because it’s seen many days in the sun and isn’t wasting away on a hanger in my closet, with the tags still on it. I wanna wear life like that sweater. I want to wear it often and I want to wear it out. And after it’s all said and done and I’m asked “What kind of life did you live, I’ll tell them, this, what I’ve just told you– that thing about the sweater.
So, while it may be some people’s goal to marry rich or have a rich husband or just be rich—
I want a rich life.
A life that makes my heart beat -loud and fast.
A life that tastes like dark chocolate— rich in texture, rich in taste, rich in the bitter moments and in the sweet ones because at the end of the day, they all matter.
A life that means more to me, than a dollar amount.
A life that means everything.
And I do mean everything.
And the thing about all of this is, I have most of these things now, if not all of them.
And the cool part about it all is the feeling of being absolutely satiated.
The feeling of utter satisfaction while eager for more.
More of the intangible.
More life to live.
More experiences to mold and teach me.
More places that make me fall in love with their streets, their people and their food.
More memories, and full SD cards, so that when we look back, we know what we were thinking or feeling, in the exact moment the shutter released. And we’ll fill frames with them and hang them all over, just to be reminded of the magic when it might go missing, for a phase.
So instead of it being about more money… or things, how about more love.
More nights in or out… whatever season we may be in at the time.
More moments that bring tears to my eyes because I couldn’t imagine it being any better than it is, right then.
And while I have my own desires and dreams and wants and crave newness and enjoy the fuck out of having money… and spending it, the point of all of this, is that our life is our art and it has to mean more.
Money isn’t a cure-all to the diseased mindset that we’ve cultivated here.
So, that’s what this is— this is me, rewriting my definition of what I want my life to look like— without the years of conditioning that told me I need material things to bring me happiness… this is what a life according to the soul— looks and feels like, to me.
Rich husband or not.
All the money in the world or not.
My soul craves a rich life.
A life that moves my spirit.
A life that calls me forward— up and out, within it.
A life that matters more than all the money in the world.
And so, the next person that asks me… “what does life look like, for you, in the next ten years.”
This is what I will say.