The quiet we forgot

We live in a consumeristic world. You don’t need me to tell you that—we all know it. We are consumers, maybe even addicts.

Usually, I talk more about how we consume material things—what we think we need, what we buy to fill a void. But lately, I’ve been thinking about another kind of consumption. One that’s far less visible, but maybe even more destructive: Noise.

Not just audible sound, but all the input we absorb—words, opinions, arguments, headlines, notifications, updates, constant commentary. It’s soul-destroying. And we are drowning in it. We are overstimulated, overwhelmed and over it.

As a parent, I often find myself in moments where several people are speaking to me at once.
My kids asking questions, needing things. A spouse needing my attention. The background noise of life buzzing around me. In those moments, I feel like my brain short-circuits. I can’t process. I want to help, I want to respond—but I don’t know which voice to tune into first. It’s overstimulating, and I shut down. I can’t even hear myself think.

And yet this got me thinking … we voluntarily do this to ourselves every single day.

We open our phones and absorb hundreds—maybe thousands—of voices all at once.
We scroll, we listen, we compare, we consume.
And then we wonder why we feel broken, exhausted, exasperated, and frayed at the edges.

We’re on our knees—but we’re doing this to ourselves.

What Is All This Noise Doing to Us?

It’s making us resentful—of people we’ve never even met.
It’s keeping us in a constant state of overstimulation and dysregulation.
It’s making us quick to anger, quick to compare, quick to despair.
And it’s stealing the things that matter most: peace, presence, clarity, and joy.

So ask yourself honestly: Who are the people you want to be around? Who do you gravitate toward?

It’s not the loud ones.
Not the ones with endless hot takes, aggression, or chaos.

It’s the calm ones. The grounded ones. The ones who still laugh.
The ones who make you feel safe. The ones who don’t take themselves too seriously.
The ones who feel like a breath of fresh air in a room full of shouting.

These are the people who are regulated. And deep down, I think we all want to become that kind of person again.

Sometimes silence Speaks Louder

Psalm 19 stopped me in my tracks this week. It reminded me that the most profound voices aren’t always loud.

1 The heavens declare the glory of God;
2 Day after day they pour forth speech;
3 They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them.
4 Yet their voice goes out into all the earth...

What a stunning thought—that creation itself, without a literal voice, speaks constantly.
The skies, the stars, the quiet of night, the rhythm of the earth... they say something.
They remind us of God's presence, of beauty, of peace.
And they do it all without shouting.

There is a beauty in wordless wonder

This morning I watched a blue jay in my yard. Birds don’t talk—not in our language anyway—but as I stopped to watch it, it said so much. It reminded me of life. Of wonder. Of simplicity. It was stunning!

Or think of a baby who babbles, coos, or just looks up at you with wide, blinking eyes. They don’t have words, but they speak of life, beauty, innocence, and the miraculous.

A painting can say a thousand things without a sound.
A kind gesture can shift the atmosphere of a room.
Silence can heal. Presence can restore.

We live in a world that’s loud, reactive, always online, always talking.
But maybe what the world needs isn’t more noise.

Maybe what we need is people who listen more than they speak.
Who can sit with the uncomfortable silence and not need to fill it.
Who live deeply, slowly, and intentionally—without needing an audience.

Maybe what we really need is to stop trying to always say something,
and instead start becoming someone—present, peaceful, grounded, kind.

We know that noise isn’t going anywhere. But we can choose how much of it we consume.
We can choose to step out of the chaos and into the quiet.
To find beauty in the wordless.
To be people of peace in a world of noise.

What would it look like today for you to consume less noise… and create more calm?

Speed Limits: A Soul Check-In

By Kendal Beard

In a world where we feel the need to fill every waking moment—scrolling, listening, watching, doing—I’ve been trying something different.

I’m trying to stop.
To stare into space.
To daydream.
To relearn how to be bored again.

It’s harder than I ever imagined. But I know it’s possible. We used to do it all the time—waiting in the car, standing in checkout lines, sitting in actual waiting rooms - flipping through something called a magazine.

The other day, while sitting in the car rider line waiting for my daughter, I caught myself doing it—daydreaming. I was zoning out when my eyes locked onto a speed limit sign.

Twenty-five miles per hour.

I just stared at it.
And then I kept staring.
And honestly? I had this realization - I am allowed to do this.

That simple sign got me thinking.

Speed limits exist for a reason

We know that already, right? They keep people safe. But they do something else too:
They remind us that speed has consequences.

And it hit me—there are other speed limits in life. Not posted on signs, but just as real.

Our bodies, our minds, our souls—they all have built-in limits.
But for some reason, I think I’m exempt.

I push myself.
I chase perfection.
I tell myself, “Just one more thing, and then I’ll rest.”

But here’s the truth:

The faster I go, the uglier I get - yeah ugh
Sometimes to the frightening point where I don’t even recognize myself anymore.

Slowing down is not laziness — It’s wisdom

You’d think doing more would make us more productive. But it doesn’t really work that way. Truth be told I don’t do anything well or good when I am rushing, and I am certainly not kind.

The mantra that I use for my home organizing and decluttering work is Less stuff more fun, but I am realizing this also is true when it comes to speed because when we rush rush rush there is very little time and space for fun - the old - “all work no play makes Jack a dull boy” and then we wonder why we are so miserable and boring!
It’s like our bodies were engineered by someone who knew we’d try to outsmart the rules…
…that we’d try to become our own mini gods.

Because when I ignore the limits:

  • I snap at my husband and kids.

  • I’m dismissive of others.

  • I rage in traffic.

  • I start to believe I’m more important than I am.

  • I lose patience for anything that slows me down.

  • I become self-absorbed.

  • I stop apologizing.

  • I’m always right.

  • Everyone else is wrong.

  • And everything just… sucks.

What If We’re Measuring Productivity Wrong?

We don’t need more hustle.
We need more awareness.

More margin.
More stillness.
More soul check-ins.

What if real productivity looked like honoring our limits?
What if true wisdom meant slowing down—before we crash?

That speed limit sign wasn’t just about traffic.
It was a moment of grace.
It was a reminder to check in with my soul.

When Was the Last Time You Checked Your Soul’s Speed?

When did you last pause for a kind of soul service—
Not just asking how fast you're going, but why? Who is it all for?

When did you last consider the damage your speed may be causing—
To your relationships?
To your joy?
To your well-being?

We often talk about breaking limits like it’s a good thing.
But some limits?
Some limits are exactly what save our lives.

A few reflection questions you can take or leave…

  • Where in your life are you moving too fast?

  • What is your body or soul trying to tell you?

  • What would it look like to honor your personal speed limits this week?

Belongings & grief

Belongings & Grief

The Story of Packing Away Our Son’s Nursery…

In 2018, at 36 weeks pregnant with our second child, our son Laken was stillborn.
There were no warnings, no signs—nothing. Just ten days before, at our routine scan, everything had looked perfect. We were getting ready. We were excited. Then, suddenly, everything stopped.

There’s nothing—no class, no book, no person—that can prepare you for that kind of moment. Time stands still. It feels like you’re underwater. The world slows, and all the sound becomes muffled. People speak to you, ask you questions, need you to make decisions—but you can’t really hear them. You can’t really think.

We were surrounded by so much love—family, friends, our community. The kindness we received was overwhelming. But it was still horrendous. I had never wanted to die before, but in those early days, I did. If every day was going to feel like that, I truly didn’t know how I could go on. How was it even possible to live through that kind of pain?

Grief is a monster we all face at some point. No one is immune. And it hurts like nothing else.

One of the hardest things we had to do after losing Laken was packing away his nursery.
Going through his little clothes, his blankets, his toys. But were they really his? He’d never worn them. Never touched them. He’d never seen that room.

It was confusing and excruciating.

But there was one small mercy. Some dear friends, who had also walked through loss, came to help us. They understood. They didn’t say the wrong things—those well-meaning but painful words. They didn’t try to fix anything. They just were. Present. Gentle. Trustworthy. I handed them items, and they quietly placed them in the attic. It was still hard. But their empathy made it bearable.

Our belongings—especially after loss—carry so much: grief, love, stories, sentiment, memories, and hope deferred. That’s why I created Minimalist Mischief.

It’s more than just simplifying. It's about walking with people as they navigate the deep emotional layers attached to the things they keep—or let go of—after loss. It’s a safe place for messy, sacred moments. A space to process, to honour, to breathe.

You don’t have to do it alone, I would be honored to help you work through your loved one’s belongings.

For more information and scheduling please me

Email - minimalistmischief@gmail.com

Or

Feel free to reach out via the Minimalist Mischief IG page by DM.