Becoming A Soul Minimalist

Walking into a new writing room, shaking in my *Pons.

"At crucial moments of choice, most of the business of choosing is already over." — Iris Murdoch

When it comes to discernment and decision-making, we usually start at the end, asking ourselves: What should I do? But the work required for the kinds of decisions we want to make as grown people — clear, honest, aligned, reflective of our values — starts before you even have a decision to make.

It’s the work of our daily lives. And that work is all about who we are becoming.

For my own life, I know I can’t live a scattered, restless, distracted life and then expect to be able to make a clear, honest, aligned decision at the moment of choice. I want to cultivate clarity, honesty, and alignment in my regular days so that when the crucial moment of choice arrives, I show up ready. Ish.

For the last three years, when it comes to my work, specifically the part of my work that is writing, I’ve felt somewhere between the deep end and the edge, unsure how to dive all the way in but not wanting to get all the way out.

Instead of moving fully in one direction or another, I’ve been treading water in my work, telling the truth but not the whole story.

I'm glad to now begin to tell a bit more of the story.

*Standing on the coast in my Spanish Pons.

Not all at once, but in time. We’ll get there.

How, when, and how much to share is a decision all writers carry. Regardless of the outcome, the process of discerning the answer to that question (and others) is a forming process.

As we all navigate the small and giant decisions of our lives, I continue to be fascinated by this process of formation. When I started The Next Right Thing podcast in late summer of 2017, I had no idea I was launching what would become the core focus of my work.

Since then, I’ve released a book and a guided journal to help readers and listeners cultivate simple, soulful practices for making life decisions and I’ve continued the podcast with the same intention.

But my artistic instinct has been restless for a new iteration of my work.

I’ve been in the middling time, figuring out what it looks like to continue to do the thing I love (Write! Connect! Discern and decide!) in a way that invites you into the process with the possibility of bringing in some revenue without having to put ads on the podcast.

Instagram has been fine, but it’s public and not interactive. My monthly letter is great but it’s mostly only one way, from me to you.

Enter: the Substack. I’ve been a paying subscriber on this platform for a few years now, gladly supporting the work of some of my favorite writers.

And so in this introduction (or a re-introduction if we’ve been connected for a while), it seems only right for me to begin as a soul minimalist and invite you to do the same.

Me, laughing at my kitchen table because being a writer is so funny.

In this new-to-me medium, I’m setting an intention to explore communally what discernment looks like in real time to the extent that I am able. I hope you'll join me as I put words and language on a framework that has been most helpful for me in my own decision-making process over time - what I call soul minimalism.

Despite what the name may seem to imply at first glance, this isn't an attempt to reduce our inner life but to expand it, to create space for what matters most.

To become a soul minimalist is to embrace two primary movements: reflection and practice. Here is where I’ll continue to explore both.

While the Internet is a place vast enough to find our people, it’s way too vast to hang out in. Substack feels like the internet but not the internet. This is me, admittedly hesitant to dive all the way in, but too invested to get all the way out.

But I can't keep treading water, either. So I’m finding an island in the sea, setting up camp and hopefully bringing you with me.

I look forward to sharing more about my own decision-making processes, telling the stories beneath the stories, and hosting conversations about the things that keep us stuck in our faith, work, and life.

I hope you’ll find welcome here,

Emily