Diary: Practicing the Art of Intentional Rotting

Spring is here, and in Virginia, we’ve had a handful of warm days. But what truly signals the season’s arrival for me—after a very, very cold winter (and a household bout of sickness to round it out)—is the quiet emergence of green. My grass is deepening in color, and the nearby forest has the faintest understory of minty green. These small changes bring a quiet joy—a glimmer in my day.

I can feel the world waking up, but instead of rushing to meet it, I’m leaning into stillness. At the start of every season, I find myself drawn to new rituals that slow me down.

Lately, I’ve been experimenting with a new one: intentional rotting—a term my therapist introduced to me. The name makes me laugh, but it struck a chord. It’s the practice of doing nothing—not scrolling, not cleaning, not filling every quiet space with purpose. Just being. Sitting in a patch of sun, watching the wind move through the trees, letting the kettle boil without distraction.

an afternoon flipping through cookbooks, here is a list of my favorites.

This isn’t a new concept to me. Slowing down—quelling worry and truly enjoying the moment—is something my dad is always instilling in me. I know how to do this—at least, I used to. In Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert writes about Il Dolce Far Niente—the sweetness of doing nothing. I embraced that idea long before I had kids and became an entrepreneur, but somehow, I let it slip away (I mean, clearly—if my therapist is prescribing it!).

This spring, however, I’m reclaiming it. And I’m reminded that stillness isn’t wasted time. It’s where inspiration gathers, where presence blooms, where sweetness lingers a little longer.

So this season, I’m letting myself soften. Less striving, more savoring. Less rushing, more resting. One little exercise? Finding my rotting timewhile my cakes bake—instead of speed-cleaning the kitchen the moment the batter goes in.

Tell me—how are you welcoming slowness this season?