The Grace of Being Unimportant

Once upon a time, I thought I wanted to be important (and simply assumed I would be one day). Not necessarily "red carpet important," but book deal important. Someone-mentions-you-in-an-essay important. 

I thought being seen meant being validated, and being validated would mean I'd finally feel real –– something I've struggled with my whole life.

Now I somehow find myself craving the opposite. The smallness, the obscurity, and the holy invisibility of a life lived just for you, maybe a few tomato plants, and a couple of dark-eyed juncos willing to bear witness without judgment. In fact, "unimportant" might be the most freeing, spiritual, and quietly powerful thing I’ve ever allowed myself to be.

So, if you’ve ever whispered a spell no one heard, made something beautiful that never left your hard drive, or planted something just to see it grow, you already know this. Welcome. You’re not alone.

The Pressure to Matter (Loudly)

Let’s be honest. These days, we live in a world where everyone’s supposed to be building a brand. Every last one of us is supposed to have (and want) an audience, a content strategy, and at least one platform where we’re semi-viral or absolutely killing ourselves trying. 

Even spiritual growth gets pulled into this vortex. Your tarot pull better be Instagram-worthy. Your altar had better be aesthetic. Your journal entries? Possibly one day publishable. Everything becomes potential content.

It’s exhausting. 

And worse, it makes you start to feel like even your private moments aren’t valuable unless someone claps for them. I don’t know who needs to hear this, but despite how it probably feels most of the time, you don’t need claps and likes. You need peace and presence. You need the moss that grows on your soul when you finally take a moment to be still.

What Obscurity Gave Me

Getting older has naturally meant slowing down quite a bit. It's also meant making better choices about where I spend my energy and realizing that the real currency in life is peace. Eventually, I realized I was no longer really interested in chasing importance anymore, and some really strange and beautiful things started happening.

I started enjoying my own company again. I remembered how much I love writing things just to see the words pour onto the page. I lit candles for spirits who never asked me to post about them. I grew a garden that I never really photographed, but walked through many mornings while listening to music. I created without pressure, and I made a connection to something larger than me without needing it to be capital-S Special.

Offerings to the World, Big and Small

As you may have gathered, I've kind of been having a rough go of things lately. A lot's been going on –– at home, at work, with my entire sense of self (for all sorts of reasons). I felt like I needed a reset today, and I thankfully had some time for one after dinner.

I recently scored a cute little set of oracle decks based on the Wheel of the Year, one for each of the seasonal sabbats, so I took a moment after dinner to go through them all. And since we just had Litha and are now officially moving toward Lammas, I spent a little extra time with the Lammas deck.

I also decided to pull a card (Community Service) and free-blog a bit about whatever it brought to mind. That's how I found myself thinking about some of the ways I've been trying to give back, put more out there, and be more generous lately. 

On the Offerings I've Already Made

I’ve always believed offerings come in many forms. A quietly written blog post. A pinch of salt in a glass of water. A meaningful moment of presence with someone you love. Even saying, “I’m still here,” when the world goes quiet and doesn't necessarily seem like it's listening. That’s an offering, too.

If you know me at all or are even somewhat familiar with my content, then you know what a private person I can be. Yes, I share, but only on my own terms and only in the quiet ways that make sense to me. But I've realized that not all service is loud. Not all community is wide or super-public. That doesn't make it count any less.

Some of the offerings on my mind right now:

• I've been working hard to write for myself more often and actually share what I produce. I've been especially focused on helping people figure things out and reminding them that they're not alone in anything they might be going through.
• I post a lot of my AI-assisted and digital images on social media these days. I'm never going to be the type of artist who likes to spell things out, but I put energy and meaning into everything I make regardless.
• I've been holding space for others when I can, especially for the people who mean the most. People like Seth. And people like me.
• I don't talk a ton about spirituality here, but I've been exploring all sorts of ways to connect with the universe more. I've also been communing with and adding to my spirit team, one set of feathery (or leathery) wings at a time.

Some of my offerings have been very public. Others, not so much. Quite a few have occupied some liminal space between the two. That will probably continue for quite some time to come.

Shifting My Attention Toward Lammas

Lammas (August 1st) is the first harvest, and with it comes a question. What do you have to give? Not in the way the world usually asks, and not measured in productivity or performance, either. It can be something as simple as the truth of what’s currently ripening in you, and whether you’re willing to share a slice or two.

Right now, I'm revisiting and revising some of the things I believe about myself. I'm asking myself why that label or this mindset. I'm taking long, hard looks at difficult truths that have been right in front of me my whole life and sitting with what I find. 

I'm already sharing little slices of some of these truths –– trying them out to see how they feel and how well they fit. I've also decided to start therapy after Friday's panic attack, so I have my first appointment with the first therapist I'll be vetting tomorrow afternoon. I'm nervous but excited, too.

Continuing to Explore the Concept of Community

I've been introverted my entire life. I'm a loner, and that's the way I like it. I am extremely selective as far as who I allow to get close to me, and it takes me a long time to get there with anyone in particular. And I've been away from my public writing life for a while, so there aren't exactly crowds waiting outside the gates for their next chance to connect with me right now.

But maybe that's perfect. It gives me a chance to keep growing some of these projects into creative trees that may actually bear fruit one day, without people paying too much attention when I fumble the ball. 

So, this season, I want to keep offering what I can. A story here. A card pull there. A moment of softness when I’m tempted to retreat. Some of it will be public. Some of it will be secret. All of it will be sacred.

When You Thought You Could Handle It (But Couldn't)

There are moments in life when you really think you’ve finally got it. You’re managing your obligations, you’ve built coping mechanisms that work for you, and you’ve certainly been through worse, so surely, you can handle this, too. 

Until something makes you realize you've just hit a point where you truly can't handle one more thing. 

It’s a deeply uncomfortable realization, especially for people who pride themselves on being resilient. But it's important to realize these moments don’t mean you’ve failed. They mean you’ve hit a hard limit that you should think twice about pushing past.

And I'm realizing limits aren't necessarily weaknesses, the way I was raised to think. They're information you can use to help yourself... if you choose to treat them that way.

The Moment Something Cracks

Sometimes the breaking point sneaks up on you. It’s not always the “big” crisis you expect. Sometimes it's something as mundane as an extra-tight deadline, a phone call, or some bad news you didn't expect.

For me, it was a jury summons. Something that would be a minor annoyance to most people.

I don't talk about it much, but I've suffered from anxiety and occasional panic attacks my entire life. I'm aware of some of my worst triggers and do my best to avoid or temper them. Others, I'm not as aware of, and they wind up sneaking up on me. Today, I found out the idea of having to show up and report for jury duty in person is apparently one of them.

I've received summonses before, but I've always been excused on check-in and never had to report in person. But this time was different. Instead of seeing that I was excused like usual, I saw that I'd be expected to report in person for the first time ever in my life by 9:30 Monday morning. 

I'd have to figure out how I'd get someplace half an hour away without private transportation. I'd have to spend my weekend front-loading my work week to prepare for the possibility of being seated on a jury. I'd have to basically not go to sleep Sunday night, because 9 AM for me is basically like 4 AM for someone else. And I'd have to do all this on the heels of a solid two months of non-stop stressful events and work overload instead of enjoying a badly needed rest.

And that's when it started happening. 

What I Wish People Knew About Writing When You're Tired

Every writer goes through a certain process. Some days, you sit down to write and the words come relatively easily. The coffee (or tea) hits just right. The light is good. The air feels calm, and the atmosphere is on point. You actually feel clear, capable, and like your most creative self for a change. Those days are obviously amazing.

But that's just not my reality most days.

Most days, I'm actually pretty tired... or maybe just overwhelmed, as I stay pretty busy. And when I'm not tired, I'm probably distracted. Sometimes my back hurts (again) or there's a weird noise coming from the fridge. And I'm forever glancing at my email even though I promised myself I wouldn’t. The world always seems to be just a little bit on fire in some way on any given day, but I manage to write anyway.

And you know what? I've learned firsthand that that kind of writing counts, too. I still get things done. My clients are just as happy, and my content to-do list still gets done somehow. 

I'd almost even argue that it counts more, as it builds your voice and your discipline in ways that dreamy, well-rested writing never will. And sometimes a little chaos makes great inspiration for even better writing.

The Upside of Writing When You're Tired

It really does teach you quite a bit, which comes in handy to a greater degree than you really realize when you're new to taking writing seriously or sticking to a schedule. Here are some examples.

How to work with your limits

You learn what your minimum viable effort looks like (and feels like). You learn how to write with five percent of your usual battery left. You figure out where you need to make allowances and when you need to push yourself. It gets a lot easier to plan around interruptions or down days moving forward. That’s useful.

How to listen instead of push

When you don’t really have the energy to bulldoze through a masterpiece, you start listening to what the writing wants to be instead. You learn to follow the thread and meet yourself where you are. You write the part that feels doable first. If you're lucky, you catch a second wind and the rest comes much more easily.

How to drop the ego

Unless you're trying to meet a deadline for a client or something, you’re not necessarily writing to impress anyone. You’re writing to show up and see it through. There’s a weird kind of freedom in that, and there's honesty in it, too.

It Still Gets Done

This is the part I want to emphasize most. As long as you're showing up, you'll get where you want to be eventually. It won't always happen flawlessly or effortlessly, but it does eventually happen.

Sometimes you write a messy draft and fix it later or jot down some quick ideas in a notes app because that’s all you can manage. Other times, you write something so simple it almost embarrasses you, but those pieces often turn out to be the exact words someone else needed to read.

Tired writing is still real writing. And all you have to do to make it happen is try:

• Lower the bar. Aim for a small win. A paragraph, a scene, or even just a caption, if that's truly all you can manage. Something tiny but complete in its own way.
• Keep the channel open. Even if you don't write much, stay connected. Talk to your characters. Think about your themes. Leave the lights on so it's easier to find your way back later.
• Fall back on ritual. Light a candle. Turn on some mood-boosting music. Use the same notebook, or drink something warm and invigorating out of a favorite cup. Give your brain a familiar cue that says, "We're doing the thing again."
• Forgive the fuzziness. Some days, your writing will feel flat or dull. That doesn’t mean you’re failing. It just means you’re tired. And if you're anything like me, it might read better than you think when you come back to it in a better mood.
• Trust the process. Better days when you feel properly on fire about your writing are always just around the corner. So, think of your tired-day work as the scaffolding for better material. It gives Future You something to revise, shape, or polish later.

It Works If You Work It

I used to proudly flip the bird to the general notion of writing every day, especially if I felt tired and uninspired. Instead, I waited until I felt fully rested, fully ready, fully inspired. And I never got anything done (or at least not on my personal projects).

So now I treat writing and publishing like the priorities they truly are to me. Even if I’m half-charged and when I'm not even sure I have anything worth saying. And more often than not, something worth keeping shows up anyway.

The Things I Believed Because Somebody Told Me To (and How I'm Unlearning Them on Purpose)

"You're lazy." "You're difficult." "You're just trying to cause trouble." 

If I had a nickel for every time some adult told me any of the above (or similar) when I was growing up, I could buy the fancy espresso maker of my dreams and still have enough left over for a year’s supply of beans. 

I heard it at ten when I preferred to stay inside reading or drawing instead of running around shrieking on the playground with other kids. I'd hear it again in my teens when I didn't want to spend my summers taking more classes instead of actually enjoying my vacation. 

And yes, I'd hear it some more (loudly) in my 20s and early 30s when I preferred freelancing or working on commission to the same shitty 9-to-5 hamster wheel everyone else seemed so excited about. 

Eventually, I stopped questioning the verdict. “Lazy” and "troublemaker" were simply stamped on my mental passport in permanent ink, and I carried those labels everywhere I went. For years... decades, in some cases. Then one day, I realized maybe it's not quite as simple as people want to make it. 

No, I'm not willing or able to pull double shifts at some thankless job I never wanted in the first place. But I can write like my life depends on it for 14 hours straight if I'm excited about a project I'm working on for a client or for myself. I finally got that maybe it was simply easier for other people to call me lazy than it was to understand that my motivation system runs on a different type of fuel.

That light-bulb moment sent me down a very worthwhile rabbit hole. And it made me wonder, what else do I still believe simply because someone, somewhere, told me to believe it? Spoiler: a lot. Chances are you're in a similar boat. See if any of the following sounds familiar.

Beliefs About Yourself

Growing up, I was consistently upset by things that didn't seem to bother other kids at all. Like, when characters were awful to each other in movies (or even cartoons), I couldn't handle it. If I found out someone I cared about said something bad about me behind my back, I couldn't handle that either, nor could I simply accept that they "didn't really mean it." (I mean pretty much everything I say about other people, behind their backs or otherwise.)