The Quiet Way In

I didn’t grow up reading horoscopes. I wasn’t gifted my first tarot deck at sixteen. Manifestation, if I ever thought of it, made me roll my eyes.

And I can't even claim some deep part of my soul was always drawn to the mystical or attuned to the quiet hum of something more. I was raised Catholic by a doctor and a nurse, and I liked my tidy, facts-based world. For most of my life, I've been perfectly content taking things at face value—practical, grounded, and skeptical of anything that couldn't be measured.

My journey started into this world started when I was 40, and "self discovery" played no part in it. I was a full-time romance author with an book idea for a physicist who decides to study astrology which meant I had to study astrology. That's all it was. Book research, like I'd done dozens of time before.

But the complexity of astrology caught me off guard. As did my intrigue in it.

What surprised me most is that even after I'd turned in the manuscript, I didn't close the door on astrology. I kept reading. Learning. Then added tarot into the mix. Dipped my toe into numerology and manifestation. The more I learned, the deeper I went—until one day I realized I was more invested in learning the mystical than I was in writing romance.

For over a year, I treated my interest in astrology like a shameful secret until I finally gathered the courage to not only embrace it but make it my career.

That said, even with the instant interest, it wasn't an immediate fit. When I first started exploring the metaphysical world, I felt like I had accidentally walked into the wrong room.

Everything was loud. Sparkling. Overwhelming. The energy was theatrical and unapologetically bold.

Or, alternatively, it was gauzy and ethereal—crop tops, reiki circles, and sitting on pillows. There seemed to be two dominant aesthetics, and I didn't fit into either.

And while I admired the expressiveness of it all, I also felt like I didn’t belong.

Because here’s the truth: I’m a minimalist. A quiet type. The kind of person who thrives on white space, symmetry, and clean lines. I don’t wear flowy skirts. I don’t resonate with goddess archetype aesthetic. My altar, if you can call it that, looks more like a curated shelf from CB2 than a sacred display, and my candles are from Diptique.

But my curiosity? It was real.

I wanted to understand how we fit into the universe. I wanted to learn the stories inside the tarot deck and explore this newly discovered idea of intuition. But I also wanted a relationship with the mystical that felt more like me—and maybe even expanded what it could look like to be spiritual.

Minimal Mystic was born from that desire—to create a space where mysticism feels grounded and calm. A place where you can be spiritually curious without looking like you just got back from Coachella or have to change your desktop wallpaper to the night sky.

Here, you don’t need a crystal collection to feel connected (though you’re welcome to have one). You don’t need to speak the language fluently to start learning. You don’t need to fit into any aesthetic mold to explore the mysteries of the universe.

Being quietly curious means you’re open, but on your own terms. It means you trust that meaning can live in stillness. That the sacred can show up in simplicity.

It means you believe, maybe quietly and maybe for the first time, that there’s more—and you’re allowed to seek it in your own way.

Welcome to Minimal Mystic. A softer space for seekers like you.