Nine years ago, I wrote something on Facebook that stopped me when I saw it again.

I wrote:

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m so used to fighting that I don’t know how to live in peace.”

There was more to the post. I wrote about not wanting to settle, about carrying on even when I was scared, and about going after what I wanted even when I wasn’t completely sure what that was.

At one point I wrote:

“Some days I wonder if I should settle as I’m not sure what I want. I just know that I don’t want to settle.”

Reading that at 47 felt different.

Because I didn’t settle.

Not in the ways I was afraid I might.

I kept going. I changed things when they no longer fit. I went back to school, changed careers, moved across the country, built stability, found meaningful work, got married for the first time in my mid-forties, and built a home and a life that feel like mine.

There is a lot here that the woman who wrote that post nine years ago was fighting for.

And I’m proud of her.

But the line I keep coming back to isn’t the one about refusing to settle.

It’s the one about peace.

Because apparently I knew something then that I’m only beginning to understand now.

I got very good at fighting for my life.

I’m not sure I got equally good at living in it.

There is a difference.

When you spend years trying to change your circumstances, fighting can become familiar. You solve the problem, make the plan, work harder, learn more, keep going.

You become capable.

And capability is useful. It has carried me a long way.

But I’m starting to wonder what happens when some of the things you were fighting for are no longer somewhere out ahead.

They’re here.

What if there isn’t always another battle that needs to be won?

I don’t mean I’ve suddenly lost my ambition.

Absolutely not.

I’m studying for my CFP® because it matters to me. I still want to learn, build, improve, travel, get stronger, and become better at the things I care about.

That part of me isn’t going anywhere.

I’m not sure I want it to.

But I do think there is a difference between wanting to grow and feeling like you always need to be fighting something.

And I’m starting to feel that difference.

Sometimes I catch myself looking for the next thing that needs fixing even when nothing is actually wrong.

That has been interesting to notice.

It is surprisingly hard to put your fists down when being the person who keeps going has served you so well.

Maybe that is why the word settled used to bother me.

Settled sounded too much like settling.

Like accepting less.

Like losing your edge.

I don’t think that anymore.

There is a kind of settled that has nothing to do with giving up.

It feels more like being at home in your own life.

Knowing what matters to you and what doesn’t.

Trusting the choices you’ve made without needing everyone else to understand them.

Letting a good day simply be a good day instead of immediately asking what should happen next.

I think connection fits into this too.

My life is full of people, conversations, work, plans, messages, and interaction.

But I notice much more now which relationships actually let me settle.

The people I can exhale around.

The ones who don’t need the polished answer.

The ones who ask because they care, not because they want to be in the know.

The ones I can tell something to without wondering where it goes next.

I don’t think I need more people.

I think I value depth more than I used to.

Maybe that is another kind of settling.

Not making your world smaller.

Just becoming more honest about what actually makes it feel full.

The same is true with work, home, time, and the things I choose to say yes to.

I care much less about what something is supposed to mean and much more about how it actually fits into my life.

Nine years ago, I knew I didn’t want to settle.

I’m glad I listened to that.

But I think there was another lesson hiding in that post.

Eventually, you have to learn how to live in some of the things you fought so hard to create.

You have to notice them.

Enjoy them.

Let them be enough for a minute.

That part may require a different kind of strength.

I spent a lot of years learning how to fight for my life.

Now I want to learn how to live in it.

Maybe that is what feeling settled means to me now.

Not stopping.

Not giving up.

Not becoming less ambitious.

Just knowing when there is actually something worth fighting for...

and when it is finally safe to put your fists down.

Nine years ago, I was terrified that if I stopped fighting, I’d be settling.

At 47, I’m starting to wonder if putting my fists down might be its own kind of strength.

I don’t have this figured out yet.

Maybe that’s the clarity.

I spent a lot of years learning how to fight for the life I wanted.

Now I’m learning how to live in it.

From my heart to yours,
Ness