I’ve noticed something mildly concerning happening over the last few years. I get genuinely chuffed over the design of plates and cups now. I’ll see a nice set somewhere and immediately think, ‘this would be lovely in my new home’, which feels like a fairly dramatic departure from the version of me who mainly cared about whether I could fit another screen into my bedroom.
I don’t think I’ve become boring, though. If anything, I think I’m still a child with adult money. I just now have savings accounts, direct debits, opinions on crockery and a worrying ability to spend an evening researching interest rates.
Apparently Plates Are Exciting Now
A few years ago, most of my money goals were based around whatever I could add to my current space. I’d think about saving for a console, upgrading my PC, getting a nicer TV or finding the next bit of technology that would make my setup better. The question was basically, ‘what’s the next upgrade?’
Over the last three years or so, that thinking has started to change. I still love games and technology, and I’m not pretending I’ve reached some enlightened state where a savings account gives me more joy than a new graphics card, but I think much further ahead now. I’m researching savings accounts, budgeting properly, thinking about side income and trying to put money towards a home rather than automatically looking for the next thing I can buy.
I Do Miss When Money Was Simpler
There is part of me that misses how simple things used to feel. I could come home, play Overwatch for the evening and not have a running list in my head involving food, clothes, bills, savings and whatever other administrative side quest adulthood had quietly installed that week. I absolutely loathed the work stress of my university days, so I’m not looking back through completely rose-tinted glasses, but there was something nice about having fewer things to mentally carry.
Adulthood gives you freedom, but it also hands you the consequences at the same time. I can go where I like, buy what I like, wear what I like and eat what I like, which is brilliant. My back hurts, my legs hurt, and I’m still waiting for an explanation as to why human evolution failed me, but at least I can choose my own dinner.
The Future Feels More Real Now
I think one of the biggest changes is that the future feels more alive now. When I was younger, my idea of success was a good PC, a partner and a car. Those things felt like the big checkpoints. Now, success looks more like a stable home, a happy family and an irresponsible number of dogs wandering around it.
Being in a long-term relationship has probably helped make that future feel achievable rather than abstract. There’s an actual life I can picture now. I can imagine decorating a home how we want it, lifting the tragic ‘one dog only’ restriction, building a full gaming room and, for the avoidance of doubt, installing an 80-inch TV because apparently some childhood priorities survive every stage of personal development.
The Tiny Mortgage Adviser in My Head
The change hasn’t always been completely healthy. A lot of it started with guilt. Every time I bought something, I’d catch myself thinking, ‘you should probably put that towards a house.’ Suddenly even harmless purchases had to defend themselves in front of a tiny mortgage adviser living in my head.
These days, a huge chunk of my monthly income goes straight into savings. My salary basically visits my current account briefly before being escorted into witness protection. It does make me feel like I’m progressing towards something, but I’m also incredibly impatient, which means I can look at a perfectly healthy savings balance and immediately wonder how I can make the number go up faster.
One thing I wish I’d done much earlier was separate my money properly. I used to keep everything in one account, which made it far too easy to spend without really noticing what I was taking away from future plans. Even putting a small amount into a separate savings account creates a line between money for now and money for later. If I could tell younger me anything about money, it would probably be to split those priorities: enjoy the present, but give future-you something too.
The Goalposts Are on a Lorry
The problem is that I’m not entirely convinced my brain understands the concept of ‘enough’. Ask me when I’ll finally feel comfortable loosening the savings grip a little and my answer is probably, ‘maybe when the mortgage is paid off.’ So the goalpost hasn’t really moved. It has been loaded onto a lorry and driven about 25 years into the future.
I also have a habit of constantly looking for ways to speed things up. If there’s a way to reach a savings goal sooner, part of me wants to find it, even if it means I’m working for most of my waking hours. That’s where being responsible starts getting a bit ridiculous. There’s no point spending years building a better future if I make myself miserable getting there.
I’m trying to get better at recognising that relationships and happiness have to come first. There will always be another milestone, another car, another holiday, another bit of technology and another shiny object quietly asking for £800. If I keep treating life as one endless upgrade queue, I’ll eventually realise I spent the whole thing waiting for the next item to arrive.
Not Every Purchase Needs a Business Case
I do think more carefully before buying things now. I research them, think about how often I’ll use them, whether they’ll improve my daily routine and even how they’ll affect the people around me. That’s useful, but I can also take it too far. At this point, some purchases practically have to attend a board meeting before they’re approved.
Games, consoles and little quality-of-life purchases can sometimes feel strangely scary because they exist mainly to be fun. They don’t increase the value of a house deposit or improve a spreadsheet. But ‘this makes my evenings nicer’ is still a valid benefit. Not everything I buy needs to submit a quarterly report.
I’ve definitely learned from some spectacular purchasing decisions too. I still remember buying Fortnite and, in my memory at least, watching it go free-to-play approximately five minutes later. Nothing teaches financial restraint quite like paying what feels like an impatience tax and then watching everyone else stroll through the door for free.
Learning the Difference Between Progress and Dopamine
Raffles and competitions were another good example for me. The dangerous part wasn’t necessarily the ticket itself, it was the little fantasy attached to it. You start imagining what life will look like when you win. The car gets sorted, the house deposit jumps forward, another holiday appears and suddenly your brain has spent money on a future that doesn’t actually exist.
I’m much better now at asking whether something genuinely moves me forward or whether it just feels exciting for a few minutes. Slow progress is less glamorous, but it’s real. Unfortunately, it is also slow, which brings us neatly back to my complete lack of patience.
Time Flies Until You Start Saving for Something
One thing adulthood has made painfully obvious is how quickly time passes. Years seem to disappear, prices keep creeping up and suddenly you’re wondering where the last three years actually went. Then you decide to save for a house and time immediately drops to about 0.5mph.
Before saving, it’s ‘how is it August already?’ While saving, another geological era passes and I’m £47 closer to the goal. The hardest part for me isn’t even waiting. It’s stopping myself from constantly checking how close I am and trying to engineer some new way of arriving faster.
Comfort Zones Are Sneakier Than They Look
Money isn’t the only area where I’ve changed. Moving away from where I grew up was a huge step that younger me probably wouldn’t have imagined taking. I was worried about losing my comfort zone because, by definition, it was comfortable. Why risk a life that works, even if staying there means sacrificing some freedom?
Looking back, the risk was worth the reward. I wish I’d taken the leap sooner. That experience has taught me that I need to have more confidence in myself and be able to say, ‘I can do this’, rather than automatically assuming the safest option is the best one. A comfort zone can feel protective while quietly keeping you trapped inside it.
That freedom is probably one of my favourite things about adulthood now. Being able to make my own choices, move somewhere new, control the direction of my life and build something that feels like mine is worth a lot. It doesn’t remove the stress, but it makes the stress feel connected to choices I’ve actually made for myself.
I Still Want the Silly Stuff
For all this talk about responsibility, I have not transformed into a beige adult who only buys sensible furniture and says things like ‘that’s a good neutral’. I still love quirky little things, even if some of them are complete Temu shite. I want a home that feels cosy and mature, but still has fun running through it.
I want nice plates and cups, but I also want a full gaming room. I want a stable home, but I also apparently consider an 80-inch television a basic utility. I want financial security and a sensible plan, but I still want games, cruises, days out and things to look forward to. The goal isn’t to remove fun from my life. It’s to stop fun and security fighting over the same pile of money.
Success Looks Different Now
I used to think success was mostly about reaching certain checkpoints and owning certain things. Now I think money is useful because it provides opportunities, but only if I spend it properly. It can give me security, experiences, a home and the freedom to make choices, but it isn’t the thing I’m actually chasing.
I’m still learning to balance it. I probably need to budget for fun as deliberately as I budget for security, let myself enjoy purchases without putting every £40 game on trial, and stop assuming I need to work 90% of my life just because it might move a goal slightly closer.
Because success isn’t how rich you are. It’s what you have around you. I still have my family, a lovely fiancée and her crazy dog. And to me, that’s all I need.