From time to time, Funmi would remember Dan. He had been everything she thought she wanted: charming, wealthy, with a smile that could melt glaciers. They’d dated for two years, and when he proposed atop a skyscraper in Dubai, it felt like a scene from a movie. But marriage quickly revealed the cracks beneath the glitter. When Funmi’s mother fell ill, Dan vanished into work trips and golf weekends. Six months later, they signed divorce papers in a lawyer’s office that smelt like a stale coffee and, felt regret.
Funmi’s story isn’t unique. Many women find themselves at the crossroads of love and practicality, torn between attraction and intuition. We’re told age is just a number, and in many ways, it is—but marriage isn’t a numbers game. It’s a pact forged in the fires of shared storms, a promise to choose each other even when the world feels like it’s crumbling. And that requires something far deeper than a high salary or a chiseled jawline: maturity.
Maturity isn’t a birthday gift that arrives at 30 or 40. It’s not etched into wrinkles or measured by the years someone has breathed on this planet. It’s a quiet strength, a choice to face life’s chaos with steadiness rather than swagger. I’ve seen men in their twenties who carry the wisdom of decades—men who listen more than they speak, who apologize without ego, who understand that love isn’t a trophy but a daily practice. And I’ve met men in their forties who still throw tantrums when dinner is late, who view marriage as a transaction rather than a partnership.
The danger lies in the allure of “shiny objects”—the superficial traits we’re conditioned to chase. A luxury car, a tailored suit, a Instagram feed dotted with exotic locales. These things dazzle, but they don’t anchor. I think of my friend Amina, who married a man with a portfolio of properties and a Rolodex of connections. For years, their life was a montage of galas and tropical vacations. Then the market crashed, and his empire crumbled. What remained wasn’t the man she’d married, but a boy paralyzed by failure, who blamed the world and drowned his sorrows in whiskey. The money was gone, but worse—the character she’d ignored was all that remained.
A mature partner isn’t immune to failure. He’s defined by how he faces it. He doesn’t fold under pressure or vanish when the skies darken. He stays. He problem-solves. He says, “We’ll figure this out together,” even when “this” is a miscarriage, a layoff, or a leaky roof at 2 a.m. This is the difference between a man and a boy: A boy loves the idea of marriage; a man commits to the grit of building one.
Our parents’ generation understood this intuitively. My grandparents, married for sixty years, weathered wars, migrations, and the loss of two children. When I asked my grandmother her secret, she chuckled. “We didn’t have secrets. We had work.” Theirs wasn’t a fairy tale—it was a choice, daily and deliberate, to prioritize partnership over pride. They fought, yes, but they fought for each other, not against. They understood that love isn’t a feeling you fall into, but a bridge you build, plank by plank, even when the river beneath rages.
Today, we’re bombarded with proposals that resemble movie scripts—grand gestures, viral videos, diamond rings the size of grapes. But proposals fade, and rings collect dust. What remains is the man beside you when the cameras are off. Does he notice when you’re quiet at dinner and ask why? Does he remember your mother’s medication schedule or your irrational fear of crickets? Does he stand by you when the world feels like it’s ending, not because he has to, but because he chooses to?
So, how do we spot maturity in a world that glorifies surface charm? Watch how he handles the mundane. Does he follow through on promises, even the small ones—like picking up milk or calling when he’s late? Does he respect your “no” without negotiation? Can he sit in discomfort, whether it’s a silent car ride after an argument or a job loss that shakes his identity?
And ask yourself this: Why does he want to marry? If his answer is “My parents are pressuring me” or “All my friends are doing it,” run. A man who marries out of fear or FOMO is a man who’ll bolt at the first sign of struggle. But a man who says, “I want to grow with you,” or “I believe in the life we could build”—that’s a man who sees marriage as a verb, not a status.
In conclusion, marriage isn’t about finding someone perfect. It’s about finding someone present—someone who’ll hold your hand through life’s messes, not just its highlights. So look beyond the shiny objects. Look for the man who’s weathered a few storms and still believes in the sun.
What’s your #1 trait you’re looking for in a life partner? Share below—let’s redefine modern love together.
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