I began in 2006 with one paperback, a box of tealights, and a great deal of anxiety. I was sure that everyone else knew something I did not, and that I was doing all of it wrong. Twenty years on, here is what I would say to that nervous person if I could.
1. You are not behind
There is no syllabus and no graduating class. The person online who seems to know everything began a few years before you and is still unsure about plenty. You start where you are, and that is the only place anyone has ever started.
2. The basics are the practice
I spent my first year hunting for advanced material, as though grounding, watching the moon, and keeping the festivals were a waiting room for the real thing. They are the real thing. I do the same four or five simple practices now that I learned then. They have simply grown deeper.
3. Most of what I bought, I never used
There was a cast-iron cauldron that is now a flowerpot. There was a wand that cost a week's food money. The tools that I use daily are a kitchen candle, a chipped blue cup, and a notebook. Buy nothing in your first six months, and then buy only what you have found yourself wishing for. Maren has written a whole article on practicing on a small budget.
4. Write it down, even when it is dull
My early notebooks are the most valuable things I own, and I very nearly did not keep them. The entries that matter most are the plain ones: the date, the moon, the weather, what I tried, and how I felt. Patterns that are invisible in a week become obvious over a year.
5. You may say "I do not know yet"
I believed that I had to decide what the gods were before I could begin. Are they real beings? Symbols? One power with many faces? I worried at it for months. You can light a candle, say thank you, and leave the question open. I have changed my mind three times since then, and the candle has worked throughout.
6. Nothing terrible happens when you get it wrong
I once forgot to close a circle and lay awake, convinced that I had left a door open onto something. I had not. I have mispronounced every festival, called the quarters in the wrong order, and knocked a chalice of juice into my lap in the middle of an invocation. The Craft is forgiving of honest mistakes. Take care with fire and with plants, be kind, and the rest will sort itself out.
7. Find one other person, eventually
I practiced entirely alone for four years, and I would not change that. But meeting one friend who also kept the full moons transformed my practice. It was not validation that I needed. It was someone to laugh with when the incense set off the smoke alarm. Take your time, and be careful about it, but do not assume that you must be alone forever.
And one more
Be patient with yourself. The year turns slowly, and it cannot be hurried. You have every season still to come, and then you have them all again.
If you are just starting, our first steps guide is the gentle beginning that I wish I had been given.