That sentence came to me recently while I was lying in bed with nothing to distract me. No work, no social media, no noise. Just me.
For years, I thought living well was something that happened later. It was always waiting on the other side of something else. More money. More success. Better timing. Better luck. The finish line kept moving. And yet, despite being financially stressed, despite having debt, despite trying to rebuild my career, despite all the uncertainty that comes with being thirty and still figuring things out, I had a strange realization:
My life is not perfect, but I like the person I am.
That felt more important than anything sitting in my bank account.
People often confuse circumstances with identity, but circumstances are not character. Finances, jobs, living situations, family dynamics… those are circumstances. When I separate those things from myself, what remains is someone I am actually proud of. I still laugh easily, want to learn, and believe people are worth getting to know. That’s wealth too. Living well is not just having money or being admired. It’s being able to move through the world without carrying rot in your chest.
That’s why I struggle to take hateful people seriously nowadays. Not because they don’t have reasons for becoming that way (most people do). Life hurts all of us eventually. People betray us, families disappoint us, relationships end, dreams collapse, but each person makes a choice about what they’re going to carry forward. Some people carry wisdom, perspective, and gratitude, while some carry bitterness.
I don’t think a hater could live well. I don’t care how much money they make. Or how attractive they are. I don’t care how large their house is or how expensive their car is. If someone spends their life looking for reasons to resent, judge, belittle, or divide themselves from other people, then I think something important has already been lost. Not exactly because they’re bad people, but because bitterness is heavy, and eventually, it weighs down everything it touches.
I’ve noticed this in other ways too. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become less interested in inherited opinions. The beliefs, fears, prejudices, and assumptions I was given. Maturity doesn’t mean finding the right side and defending it forever. Maturity is being willing to question the things you inherited.
The older I get, the more grateful I am for every friendship, conversation, workplace, classroom, and random encounter that introduced me to people different from myself. The world became larger every time I allowed a person to be a person instead of a category. Good people exist everywhere. So do difficult people. The lesson was never about choosing the right group. The lesson was learning how to see individuals.
The same thing happened with family. For years, I carried another fantasy: that if I just tried hard enough, explained myself clearly enough, loved people enough, forgave enough, then every relationship would eventually become the relationship I wanted it to be. Some don’t. That doesn’t mean you did something wrong or didn’t do enough. It just means they are what they are.
When someone repeatedly meets your excitement with shame, suspicion, or criticism, it teaches you to stop bringing them your excitement. That’s not cruelty, that’s learning. There is a difference between hatred and distance, resentment and acceptance, between punishing someone and protecting your peace. I don’t hate anyone. I simply understand some doors are healthier half-open (sometimes even shut closed & locked), than fully open. That understanding has brought me more peace than forcing closeness ever did.
Lately, my life has felt strangely light. Not easy… light. There is a difference. The problems are still here, uncertainty is still here, but some old weights are gone. I think it feels the way a man must feel after shaving a beard he’s had for years. Nothing is wrong. It just feels unfamiliar. The weight is gone. The skin underneath is exposed to fresh air.
For the first time in a long time, I am learning what it feels like to sit quietly with myself. No distractions, escape routes, or performance. Just me. And I like the company. Maybe that’s what living well actually means. Not having everything. Just becoming someone you are happy to spend an evening alone with.