When life feels overwhelming, the solution isn’t always to do less.
Sometimes, it’s to feel smaller. Not in a powerless way—but in a cosmic, grounding way.
I recently read a BBC article about the growing practice of star bathing—lying under a dark sky and simply looking up. Not to name constellations or chase meaning, but to remember how vast the universe really is… and how not everything rests on our shoulders.
It struck a nerve. Because lately, I keep hearing the same word—in conversations with clients, friends, and family:
OVERWHELMED.
That bone-deep kind of weariness that makes you forget what stillness even feels like. And here’s what landed for me in that article:
The light from the stars we see tonight began its journey thousands—sometimes millions—of years ago.
It can’t be rushed.
It doesn’t care about deadlines, inboxes, or who hasn’t texted back.
It just arrives when it’s ready.
For me, there’s something profoundly calming about that.
Emerging research suggests that awe—those moments that make us feel small in the best way—may influence our physiology, including lowering markers of inflammation and expanding our tolerance for uncertainty. While the studies are still preliminary, the early signs are promising.
The best bit? You don’t need to travel to the middle of nowhere or check into a retreat to feel it.
Just step outside on a clear night.
Look up.
And if you’d like to try it for yourself—this is all you need:
Wrap up warmly.
Leave your phone inside.
Take a blanket if you like, or just lean against a tree or fence and tilt your gaze upwards.
Let your breath slow.
Count four stars.
Then five.
Notice how some shimmer and others burn steadily.
Feel how quiet the sky is—and how indifferent it is to your worries.
Not cruelly. Just gently, matter-of-factly.
Then ask yourself:
What have I been carrying that’s too heavy for one human to hold?
What can I let go of, even just for tonight?
You don’t need the stars to give you answers.
But asking the questions under their light might be exactly what you need. It’s enough to be still under them.
Sometimes the most regulating thing we can do isn’t to fix or control anything—but to remember we are part of something ancient, beautiful, and still unfolding.
And that might just be enough.