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.

In obscurity, I found:

• Freedom from expectation. No one can judge your work if they don’t know it exists. That sounds bleak, but it’s actually incredible. It means you get to explore weird, wild, imperfect things without shame, just like you did as a kid.
• The return of curiosity. When everything isn’t a performance, you’re allowed to be bad at things again. You can be curious and awkward without shame. You get to try new tools and paths without worrying about where they fit into your branding strategy.
• Authentic connection. A handful of deep, lived-in connections with people who really see you will always feel better than 1,000 likes from people who never will.
• Power. Not the kind that wins awards. The kind that radiates quietly from people who genuinely know themselves, trust their path, and don’t need anyone's approval to keep going.

Embracing Sacred Smallness: A How-To Guide

If you’re reading this and thinking, "Yeah, I’ve definitely been performing my life a little too hard," welcome to the club. Here’s how to gently step back into your own lane, the one lined with moss and moonlight:

1. Do things that don't go online

Take a selfie because you like your makeup and then don't post it. Write something and don’t share it. Go on a walk and leave your phone behind. Remember what it feels like to live a moment for the experience, not the evidence.

2. Let yourself be mediocre

Paint badly. Dance awkwardly. Start a writing project and switch gears halfway through. Be unpolished and weird and curious. The most beautiful parts of life are rarely the most impressive.

3. Curate your inner circle

Find your people, the ones who are interested in the deep cuts and B-sides of your life, not just the highlight reel. Text them weird thoughts at midnight. Tell them you’re tired. Ask for encouragement. Offer it back.

4. Use rituals just for you

You don’t have to livestream your sabbat altar or explain your metaphysical aesthetic. Just burn your incense. Say your words. Lay your offerings. Your practice is between you and whatever watches.

5. Redefine "success"

I'm realizing that while I wouldn't exactly reject a book deal, maybe that's not success after all. Maybe success is writing things that heal me, whether or not anyone reads them. Maybe it’s getting through the day without crying. Maybe it’s planting morning glories and teaching them to climb the trellis I built with Seth last year. I decide that for myself now, and you should, too.

6. Get comfortable being unseen

At first, it might feel like disappearing, especially if you've been chasing attention for a long time. But then you realize you're actually seeing yourself more clearly for the first time in a while. You’re not gone. You’re just finally back in your own field of vision.

The Magic That Hides in the Quiet

The most spiritually powerful moment of my month so far wasn’t anything dramatic. It didn't involve a spell, a vision, or a sign from the sky. It wasn't a big, fat bonus from a client magically appearing in my inbox. 

It was a moment of awareness while standing barefoot on my cracked patio, drinking herbal tea on a quiet morning, and watching the alyssum wave in the breeze. I could smell French fries in the air because of the Burger King on the corner, and it reminded me of being a teenager standing on that same patio so many years ago, so full of hopes and dreams for the future. 

No thunderclap moment. Just quiet wholeness no one saw and that I never even mentioned out loud until now.

There is a quiet magic in knowing who you are when no one else is watching. In knowing your worth without the mirror of someone else’s reaction. In growing something — a habit, a soul, a garden — without needing to prove it exists.

That’s what being unimportant has given me. Room to grow, space to breathe, and time to become someone I actually enjoy being. It’s not that you shouldn’t share yourself, because you can, you will. But let the sharing come from fullness, not lack. Let it be a gift, not a cry for permission.