I've always loved flowers.

Even when I lived in a tiny 4^th floor, walk-up studio apartment on 96th Street in New York City, I always had a houseplant or two. And every few weeks I'd buy a bouquet of carnations because they were cheap and lasted longer than most flowers. My apartment was small, but I loved it, and those flowers always helped make it feel like a home.

I come from a long line of flower lovers…my grandmother, my dad, and my mom. I learned to appreciate beautiful spaces and to notice beauty in ordinary things from them.

These days, I spend a lot of time in the garden I used to dream about when I lived in that tiny studio. I actually grow two huge pots of carnations as a tribute to manifesting the garden I always wanted. And every year I'm amazed by the same thing. Each winter, I place the smallest of little seeds in soil, water it, give it light, and then... wait. And in the spring, that tiny little seed produces strawberries, tomatoes, and enough bouquets of flowers to fill every room in the house. Every year, it feels miraculous to me. Something that begins as what looks like a speck of dirt becomes food that nourishes us or flowers that fill our home with beauty

This morning, as I enjoyed my morning routine of a cup of coffee and some journaling on my deck, sitting amongst the flowers and plants, enjoying the birds singing, I started thinking about how often we expect that kind of audacious growth from ourselves without creating the conditions that make it possible.

I believe in hard work. I always have. Some of the most meaningful things in my life have come from showing up consistently over a long period of time, often under harsh conditions, and when I didn’t want to. I grew up believing that sometimes life is hard. And sometimes you have to function over and around difficult things to get what you want. Full stop.

But I've also learned that hard work alone isn't enough. Like seeds, ideas need space. People need care. Dreams need nurturing.

What I know now is that life isn't only about working hard. It's also about making time to stop, even, or perhaps especially, when you're convinced you don't have a single minute to spare

To sit in the garden. To write in my journal. To lock yourself in the bathroom stall and take a few breaths. To routinely pause to ask the challenging questions. Even if for just 5 minutes a day.

Sometimes nothing profound comes from these moments. Sometimes everything does. Taking time to be still, to breathe, to journal, or just intentionally sip a hot cup of coffee, is a lot like gardening.

Just as I wouldn’t yank on a seedling to help it grow, I've discovered I can't force an idea into bloom through stress or simply working harder.

For a seedling to grow, I have to make space for it. I have to water it, protect it, and give it what it needs. And then I must trust the process, that at some point, I’ll have fruit or a flower. I think that nurturing ourselves and our goals requires the same kind of patience.

I think we aren't so different from the gardens we tend. Perhaps the most meaningful things we grow in our lives also need time, care, patience, and space before they're ready to bloom.

A Few Quiet Questions

• What “seeds” are you nurturing in your life
• Am I learning, evolving, and growing as a person?
• What in life needs more attention? What needs less?
• This time next year, what do I want to see growing?

At  Kellie Box Company, we believe peace is a practice and begins with each of us. The things we nurture deserve a beautiful place to grow. Whether it’s a journal for capturing your quiet morning thoughts, a beautiful mug to sip one of our comforting teas, or our signature Quiet Time Box, our thoughtfully curated items are created to support rituals of quiet and care for yourself or someone you care for. Visit our store here.