Why I Choose to Live a Boring Life

There was a time in my life when excitement meant going out every weekend, squeezing into crowded bars, staying up too late, and waking up the next day to do it all over again. Back then, I thought that’s just what living was supposed to look like—loud music, packed calendars, and people who felt more like passing faces than true connections.

But here’s what I discovered: that life wasn’t me.

I tried it, and instead of feeling alive, I felt drained. Instead of feeling connected, I felt lonelier than ever in the middle of a crowd. And instead of belonging, I felt like I was constantly playing a role that didn’t fit me.

These days, my “wild nights” look a lot different. They look like soft blankets, candles burning, a book in my hands, and laughter with the people I actually trust. My weekends aren’t about squeezing ten things into two days. They’re about slow mornings, good coffee, and conversations that go deeper than surface-level small talk.

Some might call that boring. Honestly? I call it bliss.

Now, let me be clear—I’m not here to shame anyone who loves the party scene. If that’s your joy, then dance until sunrise and enjoy every second. But for me, peace feels better than any hangover ever could. I’ve learned that loving myself doesn’t happen in crowded rooms full of noise—it happens when I’m in spaces where I feel safe, seen, and settled.

Living a “boring” life doesn’t mean my life is dull. It means I traded in chaos for calm, performance for authenticity, and the constant chase for the deep sigh of relief that comes with being at home in my own skin.

And truthfully? That’s the kind of excitement I’ll never get tired of. Has your idea of exciting and fulfilling changed?

Jill Katherine Schmidt