When the goal is simply to enjoy the journey.

We live in a culture that doesn’t know how to rest. Everywhere you turn, you’re told to monetize your hobby, hustle harder, reach for more. The undercurrent of modern life is this: if you’re doing something, it should either be profitable or productive. Even joy must have a payoff. And somewhere in the noise, we’ve forgotten how to simply live for the sake of living.

But deep inside, many of us long for a different way.

We want to make soap not to start a business—but because we love the feel of the warm oils, the gentle stirring, the magic of transformation.

We want to culture milk not because it’s cheaper or because we’re prepping for a future sale—but because it brings us joy to see something living unfold under our care.

We want to slow down not to increase efficiency—but because it feels right.

This is the heart of simple living for the joy of simplicity. Not to escape life. Not to become someone else. But to return to who we are.

The Transaction Trap

Most of modern culture operates on transactions. I do this, so I can get that. Time is money. Value is output. Success is a finish line.

Even hobbies have been absorbed into the machine. You sew? You should open an Etsy shop. You garden? You should start a YouTube channel. You write? Better turn that into a newsletter, a brand, a following. It’s almost radical now to do something simply because you love it.

Simple living challenges this mindset. It says you are not a machine.

You don’t need a transactional reason to do what you love.

The joy is enough.

When the Process Is the Product

When I make a bar of soap, I’m not just creating lather. I’m entering into rhythm. It’s the soft melting of the oils, the earthy scent of herbs, the care in pouring and cutting and curing. It’s the act of giving my hands to something beautiful—and letting it be enough.

When I culture milk, I’m not just preparing kefir. I’m watching life happen in a jar. I’m tasting change. I’m noticing the subtle shifts in texture and tang. There’s no urgency in it. Just a quiet satisfaction.

And when I share what I’ve made—not to sell it, not to market it, not to promote my “brand”—but simply to bless someone else, I’m reminded of the kind of life I really want. A life rooted in presence, not pressure.

A Different Kind of Rich

We measure wealth in bank accounts and square footage and social metrics. But what about the wealth of a day lived well?

What about the richness of bread rising on the counter while children play underfoot?

Or the peace of folding clean towels fresh off the line, still warm from the sun?

What about watching your hands, worn with work and full of care, gently transplanting a seedling you started weeks ago on your windowsill?

This is a different kind of rich. Not showy. Not shareable. Not scalable. But deeply satisfying.

Letting Go of the Finish Line

Simple living invites us to let go of always aiming for the finish line.

When the journey is the point, you can slow down. You can stop measuring yourself by what you’ve done and start asking instead: Was I present today? Did I notice the beauty? Did I give myself to what matters most?

It’s not that goals are wrong. But when we’re so focused on getting somewhere that we forget where we are, something precious is lost.

Simple living gives us permission to say: This is enough.

Not because it’s perfect.

Not because it’s profitable.

But because it’s true.

Creating Without Capitalizing

Not everything we create needs to be marketed. You can knit a scarf and never sell a single one. You can keep a journal that no one reads. You can bake loaves of bread just to give them away.

This kind of creating is deeply human. It’s not for show. It’s not to get ahead. It’s not part of your personal brand.

It’s a return to the sacred act of making—of using your hands, your time, and your heart to bring something good into the world.

That, all by itself, is worthwhile.

The Sacred Ordinary

Simple living isn’t always glamorous. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s repetitive. Sometimes it’s just… ordinary.

But the ordinary isn’t meaningless. It’s sacred.

There’s something holy in rinsing dishes, in kneading dough, in hanging laundry on the line. There’s meaning in the everyday, if you slow down long enough to see it.

In a world that shouts for attention, the ordinary whispers, You are home.

Sharing Without Selling

There is deep joy in sharing the fruits of your hands—not for money, not for recognition, but simply out of love.

When I hand a neighbor a jar of cultured cream, I’m not trying to grow a customer base. I’m giving a gift.

When I send a bar of soap to a friend, I’m not upselling—I’m honoring connection.

When I invite someone to learn with me, I’m not building a platform—I’m building relationship.

This kind of sharing has no strings. It asks nothing in return. It flows from abundance. And it leaves both the giver and the receiver better than before.

Restoring the Human Pace

Simple living returns us to the pace we were made for.

You can’t rush sourdough. You can’t hurry a garden. You can’t fast-track healing or friendship or wisdom.

Much of what truly matters in life requires time, presence, and patience. And when you lean into that slower rhythm, life stops feeling like a sprint and starts feeling like a song.

One verse at a time.

One breath at a time.

One day at a time.

**Choosing Simplicity in a Complicated World**

Let’s be honest—simple living isn’t always easy.
It means swimming upstream. Saying no when others say yes. Making choices that might not “pay off” in a measurable way.
But what you gain is immeasurable:
Peace in your spirit
Clarity in your mind
Joy in your work
And connection that goes beyond the screen
You don’t have to throw out all technology or live in a cabin in the woods. You just have to choose simplicity where you can.
In how you spend your time.
In what you say yes to.
In how you measure “enough.”

A Life You Don’t Need a Vacation From

What if your daily life was so rooted, so meaningful, so you—that you didn’t feel the constant pull to escape it?

Simple living doesn’t eliminate struggle. But it does anchor you.

It gives you rhythms that nourish, work that fulfills, and quiet moments that refresh.

It gives you the kind of life you don’t need a vacation from.

Come Home to the Journey

So maybe you make soap. Or grow herbs. Or raise a few chickens. Or learn how to stitch a hem or make your own yogurt.

And maybe you never post about it.

Maybe you don’t sell it.

Maybe no one ever claps for you or clicks “like.”

But you will know.

You’ll know the joy of making something with your hands.

You’ll know the peace of tending something living.

You’ll know the satisfaction of doing something simply because you can.

And that, dear friend, is enough.

You don’t need to chase the finish line.

You can live in the joy of the journey.

A Moment with Remy: The Skill of Being Quiet

Today, as my barely 14-year-old granddaughter Remy and I stirred a fresh batch of goat’s milk and honey soap, our conversation drifted—gently, like the scent of lavender—from lye temperatures to something far deeper.

We talked about the skill of being quiet.

Not just being silent, but being still in spirit. Not needing to race from one thing to the next. Not chasing productivity, performance, or perfection. Just… being.

Remy told me that she sometimes—often, even—enjoys just sitting still. No phone. No agenda. No distractions. Just the quiet hum of the world around her and the deeper hum of her own soul settling in. She said it helps her feel calm. Centered. Real.

And I thought to myself: What a rare and beautiful thing for a young woman to say in this loud, busy world.

We forget, don’t we, that we are human beings—not human doings.

Sometimes the greatest act of living is simply sitting still and letting your soul breathe.

If this speaks to your soul, I’d love to hear how you’re living simply—what small joys are filling your days?