It started, as many things do for me, with a tarot card. Over and over again, the Four of Swords appeared—flipping out of the deck like a persistent whisper: rest. Not the performative kind. Not “self-care” with a to-do list. But actual rest. The kind I resist.
I’d pull the card, nod, and then keep going. Surely it didn’t really mean me. I’m strong, efficient, full of ideas. I get things done. Productivity has always been braided into my sense of worth. If I’m not making something, fixing something, contributing something—what am I?
But the Four of Swords kept showing up. And then came a flurry of other signs:
A meditation download telling me to slow down.
A dreamlike vision of a coyote in the snow, motionless and unbothered.
That low hum of knowing that says, You’re being asked to stop, not because you’re broken, but because you’re becoming.
So I made a deal with myself.
One cup of tea, every day. Fifteen minutes. No phone. No notebook. No music. Just me, the tea, and whatever arose.
The first day, it was awful. My fingers twitched. My brain urged me to pick up something, anything, to occupy it. I itched to scroll or read or notate. But I stayed. I sipped. I breathed.
The second day, something shifted. The silence didn’t feel as loud. My shoulders dropped. I felt the tiniest bloom of comfort in the discomfort. And when I looked down at the Oura ring on my finger, it had turned red—something it usually only does when I’m asleep.
My body thought I was dreaming. Maybe I was.
That’s when it clicked. This wasn’t just a personal experiment. It was a ritual. It was a club.
And so, I founded the Do Nothing Tea Club.
There are no dues. No newsletter. No scheduled meetings. Just a quiet invitation to join me in reclaiming the sacred art of doing nothing.
We brew with intention. We sip without scrolling. We let the world spin without us for a while.
If you’ve been craving rest but feel guilty taking it, this is for you. If you’ve forgotten how to just be, this is for you.
If you secretly long to step out of time and into stillness, even just for a moment—this is for you.
I made a Club Charter and you can find it below. Download it, or print and tape it inside your tea cabinet, or slip it into your journal. Let it be your permission slip.
And if you do decide to join me, even for one cup, I’d love to know. Tag me, write me, whisper it to your mug. You're in the club now.
We steep. We sip. We stay.
— Kelley
