Let me tell you something radical: a single shelf of homegrown herbs counts.
A slow tea ritual counts.
Fixing the loose hinge on the garden gate counts.
It's not a contest toward rural perfection.
It’s a quiet rebellion, stitched together, one wildly inspiring micro-step at a time.
I made a few tea bags for my sister, who is packing up her house, to use at night when the overwhelm of a long, hard day makes it difficult to relax. I mixed chamomile, honey bush, elderberries, and cloves, and to my frustration, I found I was out of dried passionflower leaves.
I will harvest and dry a big bunch this afternoon to keep handy for the next time. My knowledge of the benefits of dried herbs and spices in creating soothing and healing teas has grown from my childhood memories of my mother often drinking rooibos tea with honey. As I explored the plant properties and created delicious combinations, I slowly inspired my family to enjoy nature’s abundance in this way. None of this happened because of a complicated course I took or an extreme intervention. A beautiful family ritual developed over time and with patience.
You don’t need a grand gesture to overhaul your life, and you don’t need to make it “Instagram-worthy.” You should start where the dirt is soft, where your life is already yielding, ready, and waiting for something different.
1. Reframing What “Starting” Means
When I first planted radishes with my youngest daughter, I imagined neat rows, a Pinterest-worthy patch. I got clumsy spacing, half the seeds scattered by little hands, and a crooked line of sprouts. And yet, those wonky radishes tasted like victory. Pulling those crimson orbs from the soft soil was bliss for us both.
Research backs this up: habit experts like BJ Fogg (author of Tiny Habits) have shown that the smaller and more joyful a beginning, the more likely it is to become a lasting rhythm. Perfectionism, in contrast, exhausts willpower.
Big starts often collapse under their own weight. Small starts, rooted in joy, sneak into your routines and stay. This happened with my tea ritual. Small starts create momentum not through scale but through consistency.
Release the myth that the beginning must impress. True beginnings rarely do. Change that sticks is more often humble, fragile, and usually invisible to outsiders.
2. The “Soft Dirt Test”
I hadn’t planned the first spinach plant I ever grew. A stray seed from the compost germinated in the crack between my compost heap and the paving stones: no tending or raised bed, just soft dirt and enough rain. That spinach taught me something important: life doesn’t wait for your perfect systems. It begins where conditions are simply good enough.
Psychologists call this friction: the difference between what is easy to start and what feels like dragging yourself through mud. The softer the soil, the less friction there is.
Ask yourself:
- Which practice already feels half-born in my life?
- What tugs at me with a quiet “you could…” rather than a heavy “you should…”?
- What feels almost embarrassingly simple?
That’s your soft dirt. Begin there.
3. Seven Small but Wildly Inspiring Slowstead Starts
Here’s where theory turns to practice. Human psychology, cultural tradition, or my own slow and messy experiments at Rosemary Road form the foundation of these micro-steps.
1. Set a Sabbath Basket
In Jewish tradition, the Sabbath isn’t about restriction, but restoration. Studies of digital detoxes show that even a single screen-free day improves attention and lowers stress hormones. Gather books, a blanket, a candle, or tea. Leave your phone behind. Step into a time that is measured by presence, not productivity.
As mentioned in previous blogs, I have embraced walking barefoot on the grass, turning my face to the sun in the late afternoon, and absorbing the benefits of being outside. My children slowly but surely started joining me on the grass in the afternoon for a peaceful 20 minutes of looking up into the sky and sharing our day.
2. Claim a Sacred Corner
My mother’s wood-carved chair by the window in my bedroom became my daily prayer corner. Neuroscience tells us that repeated use of a particular place for rest or ritual strengthens neural associations. Your chair, bench, or step doesn’t have to be pretty; it just has to be consistent.
3. Name Your Backyard (or Balcony, or Windowsill)
Children instinctively do this—naming the patch of dirt “The Kingdom” or the tree stump “The Castle.” My son’s gang hangout was marked with a wooden board nailed to a tree stating “NO GILS ALUD”, which translates to “No Girls Allowed.”
Remember, he was five, and English isn’t our first language.