I used to think being busy meant I was thriving. Now I measure my life by peace, not plans.

It’s a Thursday night, and I’m running from work straight to happy hour, heels clicking against the sidewalk. I haven’t eaten since lunch, but the rush of being part of something — the laughter, the chatter, the clinking glasses — is enough to keep me going. My phone lights up with notifications from the last selfie I posted. For years, this was what I called living.

For a long time, I lived in denial about one simple truth: I didn’t actually enjoy having such a busy social life.

After college, I was finally debt-free and earning my own money. With that freedom came a rush of possibility. I filled my evenings and weekends with plans, drinks after work, spontaneous parties, and concerts that kept me out until sunrise. I loved the chaos. I felt alive and independent.

I invested in experiences, from restaurant hopping to music festivals, and shared it all online. Every night before bed, I scrolled through social media and told myself it was “me time.” It became a ritual that made me feel connected, or at least distracted.

That lifestyle carried on for years until one day it stopped feeling fun. The constant plans began to wear me down, but I brushed the feeling aside. Admitting it meant acknowledging that maybe that era of my life was over, and that I was changing in ways I didn’t want to face.

What I once saw as connection started to feel like depletion. The thrill of likes and comments faded quickly, leaving behind fatigue. It was exciting to be noticed, but exhausting to always be performing.

Still, I pushed through, trying to stay the “cool girl” who lived life to the fullest and made sure everyone saw it. It took me a long time to realize that living fully does not have to mean being constantly in motion.

Eventually, I began listening to what my body and mind were trying to tell me. The truth was simple: I was tired. I didn’t want every night to be an event. I wanted rest, quiet, and days without plans. Once I started honoring that, the joy returned. Not the rush of external validation, but a steadier kind of happiness that came from feeling balanced.

I’m no longer the cool girl who is always doing something. I’m the cool girl who takes a full day to do nothing. I’m the cool girl who skips a weeknight outing because she wants to feel rested the next morning. I’m the cool girl who doesn’t post every day because she is trying not to burn out.

I’ve learned that slowing down doesn’t mean giving up; it means recalibrating. The things that once energized me now sometimes leave me drained, and that’s okay.

Growth doesn’t always look like expansion. Sometimes it’s about narrowing your focus to what truly matters.

These days, I’m less interested in keeping up and more interested in tuning in. I’ve traded FOMO, the fear of missing out, for JOMO, the joy of missing out.

My joy isn’t something I post about anymore. It’s something I protect.