There wasn’t a dramatic moment where I threw my phone into the ocean, sold everything I owned, and ran off to live in a cabin with a goat named Freedom. I didn’t have a breakdown or a spiritual awakening in Bali. I didn’t even delete Amazon from my bookmarks (although I really should).

What happened was quieter. Slower. A shift that started with a question I couldn’t shake:

“Why am I always chasing something?”

The Quiet Exhaustion of Always Wanting More

I used to think that wanting more was normal — even noble.

Want a better job. A bigger apartment. A newer phone. A partner who ticks all the boxes. A body that fits into someone else’s idea of perfection. More followers. More likes. More validation.

I told myself I was just ambitious. Driven. That I had “goals.”

But deep down, I was tired. Not physically, though that too. I was tired in my bones. In my breath. In that strange little space between my eyebrows that always felt tense for no reason.

It wasn’t burnout. It was wanting burnout.

Constantly wanting.
Wanting more.
Wanting different.
Wanting better.
Wanting everything but what was already here.

The Realization: Wanting Isn’t Always the Same as Needing

One day, I was scrolling through a perfectly curated feed of someone’s mountain-view morning smoothie when it hit me: I didn’t even want that life — I just wanted the feeling that came with it.

Peace. Presence. Enoughness.

But I was trying to get there by piling more things on top of myself: goals, upgrades, expectations. I kept thinking the next thing would unlock the feeling.

It never did.

The truth was simple and a little painful:
I didn’t need more. I needed less.

The Slow Process of Letting Go

So I started experimenting with wanting less.

I didn’t go minimalist overnight. I still own too many mugs and have a weird emotional attachment to notebooks I never use. But I did begin asking better questions before I said yes to anything:

• Do I really need this?
• What am I hoping this will fix?
• Am I buying this because I’m bored, insecure, or trying to impress someone?

I stopped filling every free moment with noise.
I left group chats that made me anxious.
I stopped pretending I liked things just because everyone else did.

I unsubscribed — from emails, from expectations, from my own perfectionism.

And slowly, things got quieter.

Not empty. Just… clearer.

What I Gained by Wanting Less

It’s strange how subtraction can feel like expansion.

By wanting less, I had more space in my mind.
More energy to notice the people I love.
More peace in the silence.
More satisfaction in simple things — like cooking with what I have, reading a book without skimming, sitting by a window and just… existing.

I stopped chasing a future where I’d finally be “enough,” and realized I could start acting like I already was.

That changed everything.

But Let’s Be Honest — It’s Still Hard Sometimes

Wanting less isn’t a switch you flip. It’s a practice.

I still get caught. I still want things I don’t need. I still scroll and compare and fall into the trap of “not yet.”

But now I recognize it.

Now I know that most of the time, when I’m wanting more, it’s because I’ve forgotten to feel what’s already here.

And when I pause — really pause — I can usually find enough in the moment I’m in.

Final Thought: Maybe Freedom Isn’t Out There

We spend so much time looking for freedom like it’s a destination. A place we’ll reach once we earn enough, achieve enough, organize our closets enough.

But I’ve found that real freedom isn’t about what you can buy or achieve or post about.

Real freedom is the moment you stop needing to prove anything.

It’s breathing easier in your own body.
It’s laughing without checking who’s watching.
It’s letting go of what doesn’t matter and holding onto what does.

It’s not a bigger life.

It’s a lighter one.

And it starts, simply, by wanting less.