What is a good life?

Some people live what looks like a perfectly good life without ever asking what makes life good. Well, they just… do it. Meanwhile, here I am, spiraling into late-night questions about meaning, purpose, and whether my espresso machine counts as a life achievement.

So, what does make a good life?

Health seems obvious. Friends? Yes. A sense of purpose? Absolutely! But let’s overthink this a bit, shall we?. How healthy is “healthy enough”? Am I aiming for six-pack abs or just not-out-of-breath climbing stairs? Are all friends equal, or do the ones who ghost me at brunch count? And purpose, oh well, is “not doomscrolling YouTube shorts” a noble enough one?

And what about freedom? We take so much of it for granted. But is basic freedom enough, or do we need something more? And if we do chase more, is that just another way to sign ourselves up for stress, or is it actually worth it?

The uncomfortable truth I guess, is that life comes with trade-offs. Success often eats into health. Security might chip away at freedom. It feels like juggling flaming swords, except I’m the guy who can barely juggle oranges.

Here’s another twist. What if I have never experienced the great versions of these things, like actual radiant health, deep friendships, or burning purpose? How do I even know what to aim for? Most of my glimpses of greatness have been through a screen. Instagram feeds, YouTube highlights, people who somehow wake up at 5 a.m. and smile about it. And the irony isn’t lost on me, this very blog post is curated too. I’ve cut lines, rearranged thoughts, tried to sound smarter than I really am. You’re not getting my unfiltered brain (trust me, you don’t want it).

The hardest part about these questions is how subjective they are. What feels meaningful to me might look ridiculous to you. We all live from the center of our own tiny universes, staring at life from our personal front row seat.

I once heard someone say: “When an truth speaking person says something, it just happens.” It’s a bit of clever wordplay, really. The point was that honesty has weight. If you only say what feels deeply true, then when it leaves your mouth, it’s already half-real. Or maybe it was just a fancy way of saying “don’t lie.” I’m not sure.

Here’s my honesty: most of my inspiration has come from the internet. That’s equal parts blessing and curse. The good side is I’ve seen glimpses of greatness. The bad side is they’ve left me stranded in a weird in-between. Too aware to settle into mediocrity, too lazy, or maybe too scared, to chase greatness myself.

I’ve had moments though. Real moments. Times when I brushed up against something bigger and it stuck with me, carved itself into who I am. But those are few and far between. And if I’m being honest, I don’t want to build a life on three half-remembered highlights. I want more.

So the question is: how do I actually put myself in the way of those possibilities?

I’d love to tell you I’ll figure it out tomorrow. Realistically, I’ll forget, because right now I’m too busy justifying to my dad why I spent $300 on a coffee grinder and espresso machine.

My dad, a lifelong tea drinker, spends about $2 a month on his habit. He cannot fathom how anyone spends that kind of money on a shiny machine that produces 30 milliliters of what he describes as “bitter bean juice.” And he’s not wrong. The beans themselves add another dollar per cup. By his math, I’ve lost my mind.

But here’s the thing: it’s not just coffee. It’s a ritual. It’s an excuse to slow down. It’s me pretending I’m sophisticated while actually just jittery.

Maybe that’s part of a good life too, the stuff that doesn’t make sense to anyone else, but makes you smile, even if it costs too much and your dad is convinced you’ve been brainwashed by coffee nerds into buying an overpriced rig just to sip bitter, sugarless sludge

And here’s the machine. To my dad, it’s proof I’ve been brainwashed by coffee nerds. To me, it’s a $300 ritual that delivers tiny shots of bitter, sugarless coffee I’ve somehow convinced myself are worth it.

See you soon, Internet!