I Developed My Own Problem-Solving Method Called S.E.E.D.S

Sometimes, the smallest tasks can unravel the deepest knots within us. Not because the task itself is complicated—but because the way we approach the task becomes entangled with thoughts, feelings, and subtle pressures we don’t immediately recognize.

That realization came gradually for me. I wasn’t trying to create a new method or claim ownership over wisdom that already exists. Rather, I was trying to find a way to untangle the invisible threads that so often hold me back from moving forward—especially when something meaningful is at stake.

This is how S.E.E.D.S. came to be. It’s not a revolutionary method. It’s a refinement. A personal compass drawn from existing ideas, grounded in intuition, but steady with realism. It helps me pause, reconnect, and gently work through life’s everyday challenges—without losing myself in perfectionism or hesitation.

Let me show you how it quietly revealed its value, in a moment I didn’t expect.

S – Stop & Sense

The first step is simply to pause. Not to overthink, not to fix—just to breathe and sense. What am I feeling right now? What tension is present?

This week, I tried building a Berkeley-style hot composting system for the first time. The method is known to produce finished compost in as little as 18 days—much faster than the traditional passive piles that take months. As someone growing food organically, I saw this method as a way to turn kitchen and garden waste into rich, usable compost more efficiently.

But as I gathered materials, I began feeling unusually overwhelmed. I had questions about the ideal structure, the wire mesh cage, the proper layering, the moisture levels, and whether I needed a cover. Even before I began, I felt drained.

Stopping to sense, I realized: this wasn’t just about composting. I was carrying tension—mostly from wanting to do it right on the first try. That pressure was clouding my clarity.

E – Examine the Roots

Once I slowed down enough to notice the emotional weight, the next step was to ask: Where is this coming from? What are the underlying causes?

Was I afraid of failing?
Was I caught in the desire to make it “perfect” from the start?
Was I holding myself to an ideal that didn’t match my current resources?

Looking deeper, I found a quiet expectation within me—the idea that I needed to follow the Berkeley method exactly, or it wouldn’t be “valid.” But in truth, I was trying to recreate a system designed in a different context, with different tools and climate conditions.

Examining the root of my discomfort allowed me to soften that expectation. I didn’t need to abandon the method—I just needed to adapt it to my current environment, gently and gradually.

E – Explore Possibilities

With the root tension uncovered, the next step was to get curious again. What options do I have right now? How can I move forward in a more forgiving, creative way?

I asked myself:

• Can I use what’s already around me instead of looking for exact materials?
• Can I start small—a trial version—to understand the rhythm of hot composting before scaling up?
• Can I use old wood planks, bricks, or laundry baskets instead of a metal cage?
• Can I cover the compost with a gunny sack or mat instead of plastic?

Exploring possibilities helped shift my mind from stuck to spacious. The task became playful again. It no longer felt like a test I had to pass—it felt like a process I could grow with.

D – Decide & Do

Now that I had clarity and a few options, it was time to gently decide—and begin.

I chose to create a smaller compost pile using what I had on hand: some wooden frames, dried leaves, kitchen scraps, and a simple fabric cover. I didn’t try to perfect it. I simply focused on getting it started.

To decide and do isn’t about rushing. It’s about movement. About choosing one clear, manageable step—and allowing yourself to grow from there.

S – Study the Outcome

After a few days, I reflected. How did it feel to start, even imperfectly?

What worked well? What felt challenging? What would I do differently next time?

I noticed that I felt more grounded. Less mentally cluttered. The compost pile hadn’t transformed yet—but I had. I had shifted from pressure to presence.

Studying the outcome isn’t about measuring success. It’s about noticing. Honoring the learning. And gently preparing the soil for the next round of growth.

This is the heart of S.E.E.D.S.—not a rigid structure, but a living rhythm. A way of responding to life’s moments—whether big decisions or small daily tasks—with awareness, flexibility, and compassion.

I didn’t design this to teach others. I developed it to better understand myself. But perhaps in sharing it here, it might find resonance in someone else’s path.

Even compost starts as a mess—unpolished, uncertain, yet full of potential. And sometimes, so do we.