I live in Brooklyn, where noise and motion are part of the daily rhythm. Sirens, car horns, neighbors chatting, dogs barking—it’s all part of city life. But within that buzz, I’ve carved out something quiet and sacred: a rooftop garden that’s become my sanctuary. It’s not just a place to grow herbs or enjoy a breeze—it’s my version of urban Zen.
Creating a peaceful garden space in the middle of the city wasn’t something I set out to do all at once. It started small, with a few potted plants and a desire for stillness. Over time, it evolved into a space that reflects both my love of nature and my Buddhist practice. If you’ve ever wished for a little more calm in your city life, I hope this story inspires you to make your own oasis—even in the unlikeliest of places.
Why I Needed a Garden
For a long time, I was caught in the fast pace of things. Work, errands, social obligations—it never seemed to stop. But after a while, I started to feel stretched thin. I was constantly on my phone, my thoughts scattered, and I had trouble sleeping. It felt like my mind was always racing ahead.
When I began exploring Buddhism, I learned about mindfulness and the importance of being truly present. That led me to ask: where in my life do I feel the most grounded? The answer surprised me—it was the moments I spent tending to the one basil plant I had sitting on my windowsill.
That little plant became my teacher. Watering it, watching it grow, and simply pausing to notice its scent and leaves brought me into the present moment in a way nothing else did. From there, my garden slowly grew—one plant, one pot, one breath at a time.
Making Space in Small Places
I don’t have a backyard. In fact, like many New Yorkers, I barely have storage space. But I do have a rooftop with decent sunlight, and that became the starting point.
At first, I worried it wouldn’t be enough. Could I really create something peaceful up here? But I soon realized that it’s not about how big the space is—it’s about how you use it.
I brought in a few large containers for vegetables, repurposed crates for herbs, and added climbing plants to create a sense of privacy. I tucked in a small bench and laid down an old yoga mat for meditation. Within a few weeks, it already felt different up there. Softer. Quieter. Alive.
Bringing in the Zen
For me, Zen is less about design and more about feeling. It’s about creating a space that invites presence, reflection, and breath.
In my garden, I focus on simplicity. I choose earthy pots, natural materials, and calming colors like green, brown, and soft whites. I added a few wind chimes, a small water fountain I found at a thrift store, and a Buddha statue that reminds me to return to stillness when life gets noisy.
Most importantly, I try to keep the space uncluttered—not just physically, but emotionally. I leave my phone inside when I’m in the garden. I try not to multitask. It’s my time to slow down and just be.
Daily Rituals That Ground Me
Each morning, I step into my garden with a cup of tea. Sometimes I sit quietly, other times I water the plants or check on what’s blooming. This small ritual centers me for the day ahead.
In the evenings, I often spend a few minutes pulling weeds or harvesting herbs for dinner. It’s not about productivity—it’s about connection. Gardening, for me, is a dialogue with nature. I care for the plants, and in return, they care for me—reminding me to breathe, to observe, to be patient.
When I meditate in the garden, I focus on the sounds around me: leaves rustling, distant traffic, the buzz of insects. Even in the city, nature speaks if we slow down enough to hear it.
Encouragement for Fellow City Dwellers
If you’re reading this and thinking, “I don’t have space,” or “I don’t have time,” I hear you. But you don’t need much to begin. A single pot on a fire escape can be enough. A windowsill with a few herbs. A balcony with one comfy chair and a plant that brings you joy.
What matters most is your intention. Bring your full presence to the space, no matter how small. Let it be a place of rest for your spirit. Water the plants with care. Notice the details. Let the natural world guide you back to yourself.
And know that this practice, this tending of space and soul, is valid and meaningful—even if it happens in a corner of a noisy city.
My rooftop garden isn’t perfect. Some plants die. Pigeons dig things up. The wind sometimes knocks over my pots. But even with its messiness, it’s sacred to me. It’s my patch of peace, my connection to the earth, and my daily reminder to live with more intention and less hurry.
In a world that often feels overwhelming, finding a quiet space—however small—can be a radical act of self-care. So if your heart’s been craving stillness, I encourage you to begin. Plant one seed. Make one corner calm. And let that be the start of your own urban Zen.