Little Ways I Live as Though I’m in the Era of Outlander

I know I don’t live in the 18th century. . . yet I wish I did.

I have electricity, running water, and a phone that never truly sleeps.
But—there are small things I've started implementing in my day that let me step sideways in time.

Not to escape the present, but to soften it. 

These are the little rituals that make my life feel slower, quieter, and closer to the world Outlander evokes—the world of candlelight, herbs, hands, and song. Join me in bringing a little history, a little whimsy, and a little slow to  your days.

 

1. Carrying Candles to Bed

At night, instead of flipping on a lamp, I carry a candle with me to bed.

The flame changes everything. Shadows soften. Time stretches. Reading by candlelight makes words feel precious again, as if they cost something to arrive on the page.

It’s a small act, but it reminds me that evenings don’t have to be loud or efficient. They can be reverent.

2. Making Tea from Loose Leaves and Dried Flowers

There’s something grounding about measuring herbs by hand instead of tearing open a tea bag.

I keep jars of dried leaves and flowers—things chosen slowly, blended thoughtfully. The act of making tea becomes a ritual rather than a reflex. Water heated, leaves steeped, steam rising.

It feels less like consumption and more like care.

3. Keeping Jars of Herbs for Baths and Healing

On shelves and windowsills, I keep glass jars filled with dried herbs: for baths, for rest, for comfort.

Some are practical, some are intuitive. I don’t always know exactly what they’ll be used for yet—and that feels right. Knowledge doesn’t have to be immediate to be meaningful.

These jars remind me that healing doesn’t always come in bottles. Sometimes it comes in warmth, scent, and patience.

4. Baking Your Own Bread

Bread is one of the simplest ways to feel tethered to another time.

Flour on hands. Dough rising slowly. The quiet wait. Baking bread asks for attention and rewards it with nourishment that feels earned.

When I bake, I’m reminded that food was once a daily act of care, not an afterthought.

5. Knitting and Crocheting

There’s a quiet magic in making something useful with your hands.

Knitting and crocheting slow my thoughts down. Stitch by stitch, my body remembers rhythms my mind forgets. These crafts don’t demand speed or perfection—only presence.

It’s comforting to work at a pace the modern world no longer rewards.

6. Forest Bathing and Time Without Technology

Spending time in the forest without technology feels like stepping into a different language.

No notifications. No performance. Just breath, trees, earth underfoot.

Forest bathing reminds me that attention is sacred, and that I don’t have to document an experience to let it change me.

7. Singing

I sing when I’m alone. Not for an audience. Not for perfection.

Singing feels ancient. Like something humans did long before they explained themselves. It connects breath, body, and feeling in a way few other things do.

It’s one of the most direct ways I know to feel alive and unguarded.

 

8. Writing Letters by Hand

There’s something about putting pen to paper that makes time feel slower and thoughts more deliberate. I write letters to friends, family, or sometimes just to myself, curling words into sentences that aren’t meant for a screen or a post.

The act is intentional. Each line asks for presence. Each envelope carries a piece of me, a choice to reach out rather than simply send a message.

Letter writing reminds me of how people communicated across distances in Claire’s world: carefully, patiently, and with thought. It’s an act of connection that demands attention, and in return, it creates a sense of closeness and belonging that digital messages rarely provide.

Adding a wax seal completes the feeling and adds a touch of you for the next person to discover.

Living Slowly Is a Choice

These rituals don’t just let me feel as though I'm living a little bit in the past—they also help me to live more fully in the present.

They remind me that life doesn’t have to be optimized and always productive to be meaningful. That slowness is not laziness. That quiet is not emptiness.

Sometimes, the best way to feel at home in your life is to let it feel a little older, a little softer, and a little more handmade.