Is ‘settling’ always second best?

Rejection hit me like a bolt from the blue, but I hope she is happy now.

Many years ago, I was very happily hanging out with a young woman who was in my hometown on a working holiday from the United Kingdom.

I was really “into” her, as we used to say, and I thought the feeling was mutual. Then one night, which included her and a bunch of drunken friends dancing on a table of a bar that no longer exists, she casually told me it was her farewell party. She was going home.

Not just that, she was going home to get married … to a childhood friend with whom she had made a pact along the lines of: “If we get to a certain age and we’re both still single, we’ll get together with each other.”

At the time I was shocked and confused, and very sad. Now, I look back and wonder what became of her — and whether “settling” for something I considered less than ideal turned out to be a good life strategy.

Because that’s what it seemed like to me then: settling. She had chosen familiarity and presumed stability over passion and unpredictability: a kind of default happiness.

(Of course, it might be the case that she invented the whole story to let me down lightly, but that would ruin the narrative entirely.)

When we are in our teens and twenties, the idea of choosing anything other than the wildest, most idealised version of life seems like an admission of defeat and failure. Young adulthood is a time for chasing dreams, not just accepting the hand that’s dealt to you.

Now, decades later, a bigger question lingers: Do we become more pragmatic with age? Do we simply give up on wanting the best because we’re tired of searching?

In relationships and careers, and in just about every decision we make, there’s tension between striving for more and accepting what’s good enough.

For some people, “second best” isn’t actually a concession at all; it’s a deliberate, grounded choice that prioritises stability over perfection. Better a quiet and comfortable life than one that’s (probably) doomed to disappointment.

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Still, there’s a danger in talking ourselves into things that aren’t quite right, just because time is ticking; because we’re worried about being left without a seat in the grand game of musical chairs called life.

Is there no value to be had in aiming high? Does only despondency await those who want more?

Maybe the trick isn’t in choosing between settling and striving, but in learning how to tell the difference between a wise compromise and a quiet surrender.

Perhaps that woman from my past found something more solid and sustaining than I could ever offer.

Perhaps she didn’t settle at all. She just realised, from afar, where her heart really was.