A Generation That Chose Ambition Over Romantic Love.

Danielle Pontikis
42 minutes ago
4 min read

We are a generation that has chosen ambition and success over romantic connection. Unless you were one of the unfortunate ones who found your husband in high school.

In my earlier years, I prided myself on curating my personality into being ‘wife’ material, whatever that means. I prioritised being financially savvy, unburdensome, independent and visually appealing. To men, or whatever.

Creative, ambitious, academic, extroverted enough not to be perceived by my boyfriend’s friends as ‘rude’, but not so extroverted that I terrified the men. Fun enough to attend the latest festival, but not so fun that I was perceived as unhinged or chaotic by any means.

Just enough of everything, but not too much at the same time.

I balanced the quest to be loved by men with an intense ambition that countered my yearning for a long-term partner, having witnessed firsthand my mother, and other women around me, prioritising romantic love over self-fulfilment.

I was terrified of such a life: dedicating myself to a romantic connection, making decisions for the good of the relationship, only to end up embarrassed, neglected and ultimately unfulfilled.

And so, at the ripe age of 18, my dedication to ‘ambition’ began, marrying myself instead to the list in my Notes app of ‘ten things I want to achieve before 30’. Various degrees, creative opportunities, business ideas and new cities to explore. My attempt at cutting a disorganised attachment style from its roots.

I always knew, although I loved the practice of being a girlfriend, that if push came to shove, I would choose my career growth and opportunities over romantic love. And I hoped I would never see the day when I had to choose between the two, until I did.

I chose control, isolation and my career happiness over the inconsistent, unfulfilling and uncontrollable romantic relationship I was in at 26.

Since making that decision to forfeit a crumbling connection in pursuit of a late twenties spent in isolation, I have had the opportunity to navigate the so-called dating pool in your late twenties: an amalgamation of individuals trying to connect within the boundaries of building their dream lives.

The two don’t really go hand in hand. Both chasing your dreams and chasing romantic love require a level of dedication and effort, and I often found myself failing at either, or both, at the same time. And sacrificing our dreams for the sake of romantic love appeared to be one of the most unsafe and unrewarding things a woman could do.

Over 78% of 25- to 29-year-olds are unmarried, with the median age of first marriage reaching 33 for women and nearly 35 for men.

Dating in your late twenties transitions from “seeing where things go” to seeking mutual life goals. The dating pool feels smaller and less bound by traditional, youthful depictions of love. Timelines are thrown out the window, attachment styles are solidified, and most people know what they need in a relationship in order for it to survive the pressures of their thirties.

Some of these needs look like: ‘I need someone with ambitious life goals’, ‘I need someone who has a close connection to family’, ‘I need someone who doesn’t ask me for things I cannot give at this stage of life’, and the list goes on.

I have, indeed, been met with male versions of myself. I have dated various men who, like me, have forfeited merging their lives with another person in a long-term relationship in pursuit of aspirations outside of one.

Romantic relationships require compromise, time, energy and effort. They also require manoeuvring lives, attempting to create compatibility in routines, habits and values. Especially in your late twenties, when your life and ways of existing are already solidified in some capacity.

It becomes less about growing together and more about: Is this connection worth sacrificing the way I already exist in the world? Especially if that way works for me.

Will it work for the relationship? Is the good of the relationship a priority? Should a romantic relationship even require me to sacrifice the parts of me that make me ‘me’?

We are, it seems, a generation with opportunity at our fingertips, wanting to self-actualise our desired futures and grasp our potential in isolation from the other.

We have put romantic love on the list of things that may happen when the rest of life isn’t happening. Utterly disconnected and afraid of ruining the most important thing: our sense of independent self.

This is why internet culture loves to see men ‘yearning’ their hearts out, utterly obsessed. These figures represent a cultural shift away from detachment and towards intense, undivided devotion and emotional vulnerability.

These depictions of people loving are a much-needed break from the never-ending pursuit of practicality. Because logic remains steady when emotion wavers. Logic feels safe and predictable, easily rationalised as an ‘incompatibility’ or ‘right person, wrong time’.

And we are far more comfortable existing in what we can predict, rationalise and logic our way out of, while emotion exists in ambiguity, requiring far too much of us, more than we are capable of giving when our future successes demand our full attention.