I thought my life was “fine” until I saw what joy actually looked like

For years, I convinced myself I had it all together. Good job, nice apartment, weekend plans with friends. When people asked how I was doing, "fine" rolled off my tongue as naturally as breathing. I genuinely believed it too.

Then I met a woman at a farmers' market who changed everything.

I was picking through tomatoes, mentally running through my to-do list, when she struck up a conversation about the heirloom varieties.

Within minutes, she was telling me about her morning meditation practice, the pottery class she'd just started, and how she'd quit her corporate job to open a small bakery.

Her eyes literally sparkled as she spoke. Not in that cliché way we describe in books, but actual light dancing in her eyes.

Walking back to my car, produce bag in hand, I felt something shift. That woman wasn't just happy. She was alive in a way I'd forgotten was possible. And suddenly, my "fine" life felt like a black-and-white movie playing next to her technicolor existence.

The comfortable numbness of being "fine"

Have you ever noticed how "fine" has become our default setting? We use it like a shield, protecting ourselves from having to think too deeply about what we're actually feeling.

For me, fine meant going through the motions. Wake up, commute, work, gym, dinner, Netflix, sleep. Repeat.

My finance career provided excellent money and a sense of accomplishment that looked impressive on paper. I had the corner office, the respect of my colleagues, the bonus checks that made my parents proud.

But here's what fine really meant: I'd stopped noticing sunsets. Food became fuel rather than pleasure. Conversations stayed surface-level because diving deeper might reveal the emptiness I was desperately trying to ignore.

I was so busy maintaining my fine life that I forgot to actually live it.

The scariest part? I didn't even realize I was unhappy. When you're numb, you don't feel the pain, but you also don't feel the joy. You exist in this beige middle ground where nothing is particularly wrong, but nothing feels particularly right either.

When burnout became my wake-up call

At 38, my body decided it had enough of my "fine" charade. What started as exhaustion turned into full-blown burnout. I couldn't get out of bed one Tuesday morning. Not wouldn't, couldn't.

My body had simply opted out of the life I'd been forcing it through.

Lying there, staring at the ceiling, I realized I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt genuinely excited about anything. When was the last time I'd laughed so hard my stomach hurt? When had I last lost track of time doing something I loved?

The breakdown was terrifying. But looking back, it was also the crack that let the light in. Sometimes we need to fall apart to realize we were never really together in the first place.

During my recovery, I started paying attention to what actually made me feel something. Not what I thought should make me happy, but what actually did.

Trail running, where my mind could finally quiet down. Writing in my journal, where thoughts I didn't know I had would pour onto the page. Volunteering at the farmers' market, where conversations with strangers reminded me why human connection matters.

The courage to choose differently

Realizing you're not living joyfully is one thing. Actually doing something about it? That's where things get messy.

At 37, I made what everyone around me considered an insane decision. I left my six-figure finance job to pursue writing full-time. My parents were horrified. Friends thought I was having a midlife crisis. Even I questioned my sanity some days.

But here's what they didn't see: The way my chest had started to tighten every Sunday night, dreading Monday. The migraine medication I'd become dependent on. The way I'd started viewing my life as something to endure rather than enjoy.

Trading financial security for uncertainty felt like jumping off a cliff. But sometimes you need to jump to realize you can fly.

What joy actually looks like

Joy, I discovered, isn't some constant state of bliss. It's not walking around with a permanent smile or pretending everything is perfect.

Real joy looks like getting dirt under my fingernails in the garden and feeling connected to something bigger than spreadsheets.

It's meeting someone at a trail running event and feeling that spark of genuine connection (that's actually how I met my partner five years ago, but that's a story for another day).

It's having hard conversations that lead to deeper relationships instead of maintaining surface-level pleasantries.

Joy is messier than fine. It includes frustration when my writing isn't flowing, uncertainty about freelance income, and arguments with people I love because we're actually being real with each other.

But it also includes belly laughs, creative breakthroughs, and the deep satisfaction of living aligned with my values.

The woman from the farmers' market was right about something crucial: Joy isn't about having everything figured out. It's about being fully present in the figuring out process.

Signs you might be settling for "fine"

How do you know if you're stuck in the fine trap? For me, the signs were everywhere once I started looking.

You know that feeling when someone asks about your weekend and you literally can't remember what you did? That's a red flag. Or when you realize you've been having the same conversations with the same people for years, never going deeper?

Maybe you catch yourself scrolling through social media, feeling vaguely envious of people who seem genuinely excited about their lives.

You tell yourself they're probably faking it, but deep down, you wonder what it would feel like to have something worth posting about.

The biggest sign for me was the constant low-grade anxiety. Not about anything specific, just this general sense that I was missing something important. Like I was sleepwalking through my own life.

Making the shift from fine to fulfilled

Transforming your life doesn't require quitting your job and becoming a writer like I did. Joy looks different for everyone, and your version might involve changes that are smaller on the outside but equally powerful on the inside.

Start by getting curious about what lights you up. Not what you think should make you happy, but what actually does. Pay attention to when time flies, when your body feels relaxed, when ideas flow easily.

Question the autopilot routines. That gym session you dread? Maybe your body wants yoga or dancing instead. The networking events you force yourself to attend? Perhaps intimate coffee dates would serve you better.

Most importantly, give yourself permission to want more than fine. We've been taught that wanting more is greedy, that we should be grateful for what we have.

But gratitude and desire can coexist. You can appreciate your current life while also acknowledging it's not feeding your soul.

The joy is in the journey

Five years into this journey, I still have days where I miss the security of my old life. Days where joy feels far away and fine seems like it would be enough.

But then I remember that woman at the farmers' market, how her whole being radiated aliveness. I think about how different my mornings feel now, waking up excited about the work ahead instead of dreading it.

I notice how much deeper my relationships have become since I stopped pretending everything was fine.

Joy isn't a destination you reach and then coast. It's a practice, a daily choice to engage with life rather than just get through it. Some days I nail it. Other days I fall back into old patterns.

But even on the hard days, there's something profound about knowing I'm actually living my life, not just performing it.

If you're reading this and feeling that uncomfortable recognition, that sense that maybe your fine isn't fine enough, trust that feeling.

It's not ungrateful or unrealistic to want more. It's human. And you deserve a life that makes you feel genuinely, messily, beautifully alive.