Do Less More Deeply This Season

This is such a tender, meaningful time. And it’s also one of the fullest seasons of the year. Parties. Shopping. Cards. Travel. Lists upon lists. Plates piled high.

I notice that when there’s too much on my plate—whether it’s food or commitments—it’s often followed by the same feeling: stuffed, a little unsatisfied, sometimes oddly empty.

What strikes me every year is how out of step this season can feel with the natural world.

In just a couple of days, we reach the winter solstice, at least in the part of the world I call home. It is the shortest day of the year. In nature, this is a time of slowing down. Trees are bare. Growth is resting underground. Energy is conserved.
And yet, culturally, we’re told to do the opposite at this time. To speed up. To pack more in. To compress everything meaningful into the narrow stretch between Thanksgiving and New Year.

That misalignment—between who we are as nature, and what we ask of ourselves to accomplish can create a feeling of dissatisfaction. Sometimes, even sadness or exhaustion. By the time the holiday arrives, many of us are worn thin.

For me, the mantra that keeps surfacing is simple: do less more deeply.

Less doing.
Less rushing.
More quiet.
More space.

I’m learning that holiday magic doesn’t usually live in the big, orchestrated moments. It lives in the space between.

Image item

Recently, in charming Downtown Ojai, I stopped at Magic Hour. This tea shop is what I consider the brick-and-mortar farmers’ market. The jars of loose-leaf tea are organic, biodynamic, and fair trade. This tea shop is also available in the virtual farmers’ market.

A by-product of my Kitchen Activism is that I’ve become more connected to my food and drink, and one of the gifts in that connection—when I slow down enough to notice—is the wisdom embedded in our ingredients. Tea, in particular, is a wonderful example. Tea leaves remind me that things need time to steep fully to taste their rich flavor. If I dunked a tea bag into hot water for a few seconds and offered it to you, you’d mostly taste the water, maybe a faint hint of the tea. When I pack my days and move from one thing to the next without pause, the experience feels the same—like flavorless hot water.

After wrapping some presents, I noticed I was gearing up to charge through my list quickly. So I paused. I scooped a heaping teaspoon of loose-leaf tea into my teapot. Took in the aroma of spice and dried flowers, and waited the full three minutes for it to steep (without multitasking).

Those few minutes felt like a private ceremony—and in the space between the holiday tasks, I reflect on the many blessings in my life that can’t be wrapped.

Wishing you moments of slowness, warmth, and time to pause and enjoy a flavorful cup of tea.