A funny thing happens when you stop trying to grow everything.
That side project you tinkered with for months but never launched? Maybe it was perfect in its quiet little corner.
That tiny garden you planted with three herbs and zero experience? Still pretty magical the first time you snip your own basil for pasta.
It’s not laziness. It’s not giving up. Sometimes, choosing to keep something small is the most radical thing you can do.
The Coffee Shop That Never Grew
I used to go to this coffee shop tucked behind a florist and a dry cleaner. It had two tables. No Wi-Fi. The menu was just coffee, tea, toast, and one type of muffin that always sold out by 10 a.m.
The owners didn’t want to franchise. They didn’t want to expand to wholesale, or sell branded tumblers, or add smoothies to the menu. You could tell people offered. But they weren’t biting.
They just liked coffee, quiet music, and seeing familiar faces. Somehow, that made the whole place feel like it was on your side.
The Trap of Optimization
Everything these days feels like it has to become something more.
Your hobby has to become a hustle.
Your recipe has to become a reel.
Your Sunday hike? Better track it. Share it. Rank it. Monetize it.
We all know this cycle. We sign up for platforms to connect — and end up optimizing ourselves for strangers.
The weird part is, it starts to make you believe that if something isn’t growing, it’s failing.
Which is wild, because most of the things that bring us joy are wildly unscalable.
A nap on a cold day.A book you read slowly.
A song that reminds you of someone you used to know but don’t need to call.
Making Things with Your Hands (Remember That?)
Sometimes I scroll Etsy just to see what people are making.
Handmade dice. Embroidered pillowcases. Paintings of toads drinking tea.
There’s so much odd and beautiful stuff that exists just because someone thought, “Huh. That’d be fun.”
I ordered an oatmeal soap bar from a maker in Arizona because the packaging had a doodle of a sheep in glasses.
It arrived smelling like honey and dirt (in a good way), and I’ve kept the wrapper for no real reason.
No algorithm told me to buy it.
I just wanted to support a stranger who makes soap with whimsy.
Unscalable Friendships
Group chats. Inside jokes. People who know the shape of your laugh.
You can’t automate that. You can’t plug it into ChatGPT or turn it into content.
Real friendships don’t care about your reach or your résumé. They care if you show up.
One of my friends still sends postcards. Not “aesthetic” ones, either — just whatever she finds at gas stations.
I’ve got one with a blurry photo of a giant ball of yarn taped to my fridge.
It says: “This reminded me of you.” No context.
The Coolest Objects Are the Ones That Last
I know it sounds like a tangent, but hear me out.
I bought this rose gold razor on a whim last year.
It came in this plain box with no branding, no influencer unboxing moment.
It’s just well-made and oddly satisfying to hold.
It doesn’t break.
It doesn’t rust.
It doesn’t hum, buzz, or beep.
And every time I use it, I think, “Oh yeah. Things used to be built like this.”
I think people are starting to crave that again — slower things, better things.
Stuff that doesn’t demand attention every three minutes.
Why You Don’t Need to Scale Your Joy
Here’s the secret no one’s putting in the productivity newsletters:
You don’t have to make everything efficient.
You don’t have to monetize your joy.
You don’t need a five-year plan for your Tuesday night craft hobby.
You can just… enjoy things. Let them be small. Let them be yours.
Write letters no one will see.
Bake cookies without posting them.
Wear mismatched socks.
Eat cereal for dinner.
Dance terribly on purpose.
None of this will go viral.
But maybe that’s the point.
A Final Thought from a Forgotten Road
I once pulled off a highway because a sign said “Antique Donkey Figurines – 2 Miles.”
I had zero plans, $11 in my wallet, and no idea what that even meant.
But I followed it.
The shop was closed. Obviously.
But there was a dusty rocking chair on the porch, so I sat.
Listened to the wind.
Watched two birds fight over something shiny in the gravel.
I didn’t get a donkey figurine that day.
But I remember that moment more vividly than most things I’ve scheduled this month.
So yeah, maybe follow some weird signs.
Choose the smaller thing.
Let some parts of your life not scale.
You might like where it leads.