Small Rituals I'm Returning To

The shape of my days has changed as the weather gets warmer, and I'm finding new ways to gain mental clarity.

Each ritual begins with a small moment. The sharp scent of cinnamon. Steam rises from my cup of tea outside. At night, I turn the page of my journal and find my favorite writing pen. Striking a match, I light my candles to illuminate my desk. In the afternoon, I let my baby lounge on the deck beside me. I open up my book and read in the warmth of the sunlight. Morning, afternoon, and night, I slip on my shoes and put a sweater on my baby. We walk listening to the birds sing at different times of the day. These rituals are ordinary, but they feel sacred because of the attention I give them.

The unfurling of spring is like the blossoms that unfold like origami. I welcome it after a busy season. The cool mornings hold the promise of comfortable afternoons. Winter is finally gone. With the ability to walk freely outside, I find my inner dialogue getting louder, more ambitious, more passionate. Gone are the months where I couldn’t hear myself think.

Why do rituals matter right now, and why am I craving them? Within the blink of an eye, I watched my newborn turn nine months old, out in the world as long as he was safe in my womb. Life is moving quickly. We have vacations planned where I expect I’ll be tired, unable to check in with myself. I’ve already been suffering from overstimulation. One minute, I’m exhausted, and the next, I’m inspired by all that I want to do. I’m knitting sweaters, I’m sewing dresses. I’ve watched more videos than I should on how to create tiny houses for my baby’s Maileg Mouse. Motherhood has changed my relationship with time. The time scrolling on my phone creeps up on me, and I don’t always notice it until my sweet baby is reaching for the device. The eagerness in his eyes is terrifying. The quick dopamine hit of social media becomes sickly sweet, turning my stomach. I want to experience things deeply. The twitching need to post everything online feels omnipresent at all times. I wish to rediscover slowness.

Postpartum has not been terrible for me, but I have had to manage my anxiety. Grounding myself is the best way to do so. I feel best when I’m curious about the world. I love to notice details. Making plans with a friend of mine every other week becomes an essential time built into my schedule. During that window, we can reconnect. In a world that constantly fights for our attention, it feels good to be deliberate about how I each day to feel. This means creating softness in daily life.

1. Morning tea outside

In the spring, I love the mist that clings to the hills in the distance and the fog that sometimes lifts along the rinding road. The temperature of the air is cool, and by the time I’m heading inside to make breakfast, it’s already warmed by the early sun. I relish the sound of the world waking up. Birdsong meets me from where nests were made on our front porch. In the shade, I feel myself shiver. But those flashes of sunlight feel transformative, kissing my face. I let my drink warm me from the inside. It feels right to wake up gradually.

I can’t always do this every single morning. I can feel when I miss this step, which allows me to begin the day intentionally. The day ahead is unknown, but I can guess that it will be filled with laughter, with difficulty, with wishing I had a few moments to rest my eyes. I find this ritual allows for a pause before the noise enters. Even five quiet moments outside changes the shape of my morning.

2. Walking, walking, walking

When I was pregnant, I finally stopped my weekly running, something I had done for over a decade. I was surprised to find that walking actually gave me more peace, and I enjoyed walking without headphones to notice the world around me. I let myself walk as far as I felt I could, as long as I still felt good. I let my mind wander.

I try to walk every afternoon, most mornings, and even some nights after dinner. It’s a luxury to hear the wind, the birds, the gravel under my shoes. My mind turns things over and over, like waves on the ocean. I allow my thoughts to surface naturally. New ideas present themselves, tiny revelations every day. I notice that creativity often arises in silence.

3. Lighting candles while journaling

I’ve tried to be careful about only having one or two candles per season to burn. The scent immediately changes the room. It feels good to know that I can master this part of the experience for myself. I can create the atmosphere. This was a method I learned on a writing retreat years ago. It signals to my brain that it’s time to reflect.

I don’t actually have time to journal every day. When I do, I find lighting a candle first helps me start by making space for thought. It casts the beautiful, soft glow over my familiar living space. This helps me romanticize a quiet moment. Even a difficult day, or a horrible day, can be transformed. This helps me create calm.

4. Reading in the sunlight

Sometimes, I don’t have the ability to actually go outside to read. On those days I can read next to my open windows. But when the weather is right, I bring my baby outside with me. We place a blanket out on the grass. I’m lucky if I get a full chapter in. But it’s worth it to turn the pages, seeing the sunlight fall on them.

I just wrote an article for my local newspaper about reading in the summertime. It made my realize that I see books as a form of companionship. To escape into a different world is a beautiful way to learn. Reading is a way to suspend time. I remember a year ago when I began reading each afternoon on the rocking chairs in front of the house. These seasonal reading rituals have transformed with my baby joining us.

The larger meaning behind these rituals is that they help me connect back to myself emotionally. They shape my life, they force me to pay attention, they make me more thoughtful, and they create a life that feels inhabitable. A meaningful life is often built from very small moments repeated with care.

These rituals are helping me notice my own life again. The quiet moments become anchors, punctuating each part of my day. I’ve noticed the difference, like the calm I can pull over our lives like a blanket. Our universe will continue changing, morphing and shifting, perhaps becoming unrecognizable, but somehow that brings comfort too. It means there will always be new rhythms to grow into.