On a night out many years ago, Tara, the older sister of a friend, was politely listening to me slag off my then boyfriend. “Blah Blah Blah, then he did this, then I did that, then I saw this on his phone,” I went on at her, enjoying my own drama.

Tara was only a couple of years older than me but married with kids. Something I was not coveting for myself. Living in London, I was not dating to find “the one” (statistically unlikely) or to commit for life (too long), I fell in love for sex, gossip and the subsequent weight loss that accompanied my broken heart a few years later. I felt very “French” about the whole thing, y'know; lovers, life experiences, smoking and motorbikes\*. I thought I was living life brilliantly, but on reflection Tara must have thought I was a knob.

“It’s supposed to be easy,” she told me.

“I don’t know why I’m having trouble thinking of a more suitable word,” I said, trying to cover my awkwardness.

“I can’t think of a better word.” Tara shrugs, she cannot think of a better word.

“Easy.” I felt sorry for the poor woman. “Easy” I interpreted as boring. “She must have settled,” I thought to myself. “And now she’s trying to rebrand the monotony of her marriage as a plus.” Sorry Tara.

Cut to 15 years later. I was old. In my 30s\*\* for God’s sake, something I had sworn would not happen to me. I had not reflected on Tara’s words; I had continued in serial monogamy; had trysts and flings and chanced impregnation with anyone I thought would make a decent co-parent. I did fear I’d never have a family, but I didn’t believe my life would be poorer for that. To be stuck in an unfulfilling relationship – that was my idea of misery.

After another sad breakup (I was so thin) a friend moved to the UK from Australia. His name was Steen (pronounced “Steve” if you work in a coffee shop or “Sting” if you’re my father). We knew each other from the comedy circuit and had bumped into one another at festivals in Edinburgh and Melbourne. He was young and tall, liked sport and was a confident dancer.

One night we went bowling and stayed for the disco. We were singing along to Christina Aguilera’s Dirrty and drinking wine from the bottle (we’d accidentally smashed our glasses). Steen was attempting to strut like he was in chaps, glugging warm chardonnay and smiling at me.



As I watched this guy, I realised his company was the easiest I’d ever been in. I was so comfortable spending time with him I hadn’t noticed I’d been falling in love. This wasn’t a huge thunderbolt moment – I didn’t ask the DJ to turn the music down so I could propose. I didn’t even declare my feelings or kiss him. But into my head popped Tara’s words a decade and a half earlier and I realised the rightness of this person.

We have two kids now. We had an awful time conceiving, years of infertility, procedures and miscarriage. Then IVF through Covid lockdowns and all that anxiety and heartbreak. And now having kids is even harder, haha, as they don’t sleep and my brain is broken and the house is so messy and Steen and I both have erratic and stressful careers.

The only easy bit is loving him, still. If your relationship is simple and straightforward that means you can focus your energy on actual hard stuff – things that should be tricky.

I know it sounds dull, as it once did to me. Here is a more succinct way of putting it that I saw on a meme: “You don’t need butterflies in your stomach, you need someone who calms your nervous system.”

Romantic bliss is more boring than you might imagine.

\* Emotional motorbikes. Fun fact, no one in London can actually drive.

\*\* Please don’t be shocked but I am even older than that now.

_Sara Pascoe is touring her show  to the Adelaide fringe festival, Canberra, Melbourne, Brisbane, Sydney and Perth comedy festivals from March to May 2025._
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