If the world feels overstimulating lately, these 10 soft activities are for you

If your brain has felt like a crowded subway lately—lights, noise, news, and a thousand tiny pings—you’re not alone. I come from years in finance where my day lived and died by spreadsheets and Slack pings, so I know the jittery, “always on” feeling well.

These days, I reach for gentle, low-input rituals that soften the edges without asking me to perform or produce. Think of them as pressure relief valves for your nervous system.

None of what follows is about “fixing” you. It’s about giving your mind and body the kinds of inputs they recognize as safe, slow, and sane.

Let’s exhale and begin.

“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.” — Anne Lamott. I keep this line taped to my desk, because it’s my reminder that there’s wisdom in stepping away. (source)

1. Take a noticing walk

No steps goal. No podcast. No phone in your hand.

Just a short walk where the assignment is to notice five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, and one you can taste (even if it’s just the mint you popped in earlier).

I do these loops around my block, and the shift is almost immediate. When I switch from thinking to noticing, my shoulders drop. The world becomes a collection of textures—a cracked sidewalk, damp soil, a dog’s soft snore behind a fence—instead of a to-do list.

Try this: cap it at 12 minutes so it doesn’t feel like “exercise.” If you want a prompt, find one splash of color and one new shape each time you go.

2. Make a one-cup tea ritual

Turn on the kettle and treat the next five minutes like a tiny ceremony. Watch the steam rise. Hold the warm mug with both hands. Take three slow breaths before your first sip.

That’s it.

Why it helps: warm temperature + steady scent + bilateral (two-handed) holding tells your body, “We’re safe.”

And if you want a mantra, borrow mine: “Warm cup, slower clock.”

3. Practice legs-up-the-wall

This isn’t a workout; it’s gravity doing you a favor. Scoot your hips near a wall, extend your legs up, and set a timer for 5–8 minutes. Cover your eyes with a washcloth if the light is harsh.

As noted by mindfulness teacher Jon Kabat-Zinn, “You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.” (source) Legs-up-the-wall is one way to surf—less flood, more float.

Micro-upgrade: place a folded towel under your hips to reduce pressure on your lower back. No yoga mat required.

4. Do a three-line journal

Blank pages can feel like pressure. So I keep it tiny. Three lines, handwritten. Line 1: “Right now I feel…” Line 2: “I want less…” Line 3: “I’m choosing one small thing…”

The habit matters more than the poetry.

On overloaded days, my entry reads like: “Foggy. Less notifications. Choosing to silence one chat.” Not pretty. But effective.

If you prefer drawing, make three boxes and fill them with shapes for your mood (storm cloud, sun ray, scribble). Your nervous system speaks pictures, too.

5. Cloud or candle gazing

Pick your element. If you’re near a window, lie down and watch the sky shuffle. If it’s nighttime, light a small candle and gaze at the flame (about arm’s length away). Let your eyes soften; let your thoughts pass like weather.

Candlelight gives you a single, gentle focal point. Daylight gives you distance and perspective. Both invite your mind away from tabs and back into time.

Tip: set a two-song timer. It’s easier to honor a practice when it has an automatic start/stop.

6. Watercolor washes (or adult coloring)

I’m not a painter, but I love a soft, watery mess. I keep a brush, a cheap set of pans, and a cup on the corner of my desk.

On tense afternoons, I’ll paint loose color fields—no shapes, no judgment, just gradients. Watching pigment bloom in water is built-in biofeedback: you slow your hand, your breath follows.

If painting isn’t your thing, use a coloring book with big, simple forms and muted pencils. Keep it on your coffee table so it’s easy to reach instead of your phone.

7. The 10-piece puzzle

No, not a thousand-piece masterpiece. I mean a literal 10–20 piece jigsaw you can finish in five minutes.

I picked one up at a farmers’ market booth where I volunteer, and it’s now my favorite reset. You get a quick hit of completion without the trance of a screen.

Why it works: soft focus + tactile feedback + finite finish line. Your brain gets “I did it” chemistry without overstimulation.

8. Kitchen puttering (chop and stir)

I call this “putter cooking.” Dice cucumbers. Stir a pot of soup. Peel citrus slowly. Keep the flavors simple and the motion steady. Let the metronome be the knife tapping the board.

Some evenings I’ll make a single-pot lentil stew I could do in my sleep. While it simmers, I breathe in the steam, rinse a few sprigs of herbs, and remember I have hands. Screens can trick us into feeling like floating heads.

Puttering reunites you with your body.

9. A drawer reset

Forget “decluttering your life.” Overstimulated brains don’t need another giant project.

Pick one drawer: the nightstand, the junk drawer, the makeup bag. Dump, sort for five minutes, wipe, and return only what earns its keep.

Tiny order creates surprising calm because it reduces visual noise. And tomorrow, when you reach for lip balm or headphones, you’ll get a quiet “past-me had my back.”

10. Nature minutes

Even in a dense city, there’s usually a patch of green, a leafy street, or a pocket park.

Step outside for 10 minutes and look for living things.

The research in environmental psychology is pretty consistent: brief contact with nature can lift mood and replenish attention, even when the dose is small. 

If you can’t get outdoors, a nature window helps—plants, an image of a wooded path, or a recording of rain. I keep a basil plant by my kitchen sink. When I rub a leaf and breathe in the peppery scent, my mind unhooks a little.

How to weave these into a noisy day

A few principles I follow as a former analyst turned writer who still loves a clear framework:

• Make the bar low. If an activity requires an outfit change, a special app, and a block of time, it turns into procrastination bait. Aim for five to twelve minutes.

• Use friction to your advantage. Set your phone to grayscale, or keep it in another room during one ritual. Making the tempting thing a little harder gives the soft thing room to happen.

• Bundle with anchors. Attach the activity to something that already happens: kettle boils → tea ritual; home from work → drawer reset; lunch break → noticing walk.

• Let your senses lead. Ask, “What input feels kind right now—warmth, dim light, quiet, softness, fresh air?” Choose the ritual that matches.

• Track results lightly. I draw a tiny dot in my planner each time I complete one soft activity. Watching the dots collect feels like a gentle pat on the back, not a report card.

What if you feel “too busy” for even this?

I get it. On some days, even five minutes feels like a luxury. That’s exactly when it matters. And ironically, these soft practices often give you time back because they clear the static. After legs-up-the-wall, I write faster. After a drawer reset, I spend less time hunting for things. After a tea ritual, I answer messages without spiraling.

If you need a starting point, pick just one of the ten and try it daily for a week. Notice not just how you feel during the activity but how you feel in the hour after. That’s where the dividends show up.

A 7-day “soft reset” plan (steal this)

• Day 1: Noticing walk (12 minutes)

• Day 2: Three-line journal (5 minutes)

• Day 3: Candle gazing (two songs)

• Day 4: 10-piece puzzle (finish the whole thing)

• Day 5: Tea ritual (3 deep breaths before first sip)

• Day 6: Drawer reset (nightstand)

• Day 7: Nature minutes (10 outside, or window + plant)

Repeat, swap, remix. The only rule is to keep it kind.

Final thoughts

We tend to think relief has to be loud, novel, or expensive. I’ve found the opposite: quiet, familiar, and small carries me when the world is busy shouting. Pick one soft thing. Let it be simple. Let it be enough.

And if you forget and scroll for an hour? Same. Put the phone down, make tea, and begin again. As Kabat-Zinn would say, we’re learning to surf, not trying to stop the ocean.