Can I Ask You a Question and Tell You a Secret?

There will be jelly donuts. Also a little black dress with angel wings.

This is the latest of many personal dispatches on culture, healing, and spirituality from a dual Canadian-American living in Thailand. Find popular free essays here and access the rest of PERFECT HUNGER (including The Practice and Link-Ups) by upgrading here:

Dearest Reader,

I almost sent you a survey on “food noise” this week—one that asked a series of questions about internal food noise (the preoccupation with food inside our own minds), external food noise (the messages about food and eating that surround us), and the interaction between them.

My hope was that even contemplating the questions would be useful—helping you uncover new places of awareness and make new connections. Then, I could share the (anonymous) results inside The Practice, along with some supportive practices for reconnecting with your body and cultivating hunger for what’s truly nourishing.

But.

After spending last Saturday drafting the survey, I had second thoughts. Looking over the questions, I wondered whether the whole assignment would feel too heavy or tedious for you.

Maybe it’s the season—this kind of thing isn’t exactly light, fun, “summery” fare.

Maybe it’s my own internal state, which honestly is…

Kind of all over the place.

More than ever, I feel aversion to the too-much-ness of online consumption and content. More than ever, I’m questioning what’s even worth it.

No doubt this connects with moving to Thailand last year—and with turning 50 just a few months ago. It’s less about physical aging—my health and vitality feel pretty great.

But my excitement over career… solopreneurship… the online game in general? It’s plummeted. Even a year ago, I found being online and strategizing about business genuinely fun and exciting. Now, I suppose due to internal shifts combined with the sheer volume of online content and noise, it’s just not anymore.

Geesh. I set out to write a light, summery letter instead of a serious, potentially tedious survey… and look where we landed. 😅

Know what though? The specifics may differ but, actually, the gist is the same:

• Our internal ecology interfaces with our external ecology (online and off). Something original arises from there.

• We always have choice and agency. We can always change how we relate to both the internal and external—ending up someplace (and someone) entirely new.

So let me just ask:

1. What do you think about all this? How does the online game feel for you lately? Have an existential crisis to share?

2. Would you want to participate in a food noise survey? Be honest—would you actually take the time to complete it? Would you want to see the (completely anonymous) results and hear my feedback and ideas inside The Practice?

You truly won’t hurt my feelings either way; I just want to see if this interests you. Could you spare ten seconds to answer two polls?

Thank you. I have no idea what your responses will be, but I’m so curious to see the results. ❤️

Meanwhile, here’s a glimpse of WHAT’S NOURISHING ME and WHAT I’M HUNGRY FOR. I find putting these together a surprisingly simple, effective way to feel more grateful, joyful, inspired, and connected. I highly recommend the practice—and hope you’ll share yours in the comments.

WHAT’S NOURISHING ME

You. I mentioned this last time, but it bears repeating. The more disillusioned I feel with online shenanigans, the more conscious and grateful I become about real connections and conversations with you, the thoughtful, caring, kind-hearted people with whom I connect almost every week—reading and engaging with each other’s work in ways that feel genuine and rare. I appreciate you. I thank you.

Dribbling jelly donuts. Truth be told, I haven’t had an actual jelly donut in decades. But no lie: I think about this conversation—and this quote specifically—at least once a day.

“I feel like somebody on the park bench on a Sunday morning eating a jelly donut and like dribbling it on herself while other people like jauntily scurry by.

I’m on that (Substack bestseller) list, and I’m just watching every day as I fall down the list, dribbling jelly globs upon myself while other people are offering promos and sales and I’m like ‘go run along. I’m just going to go buy another donut.’” —

Isabel Cowles Murphy

in conversation with

Alex Dobrenko`

Replaying this in my head not only makes me giggle every time, but also gives me a massive hit of inspiration in my (arduous, not-particularly-successful) quest to care less about external validation. Someday, Isabel, someday. I’m gonna meet you on that bench.

A perfectly timed masterclass. The other night, I stayed up way past my bedtime to attend Africa Brooke’s live masterclass, The In-Between. It was designed for those of us in transition—no longer who we were, not quite sure who we’re becoming, sitting in the in-between and not knowing.

One of my favorite parts was when Africa reminded us that we can reintroduce ourselves—both to ourselves and to others—any time, as often as we need. Crucially, this reintroduction starts internally. It doesn’t have to be loud, and it’s not a performance.

Rather than banging out a post or newsletter proclaiming: This is the new me! I’m a potter now! I eat healthy food! I never gossip! I use exclamation points sparingly! (.), this sort of reintroduction means minimizing outside messaging, getting clear internally about what’s shifted and what feels aligned, then embodying that clarity through behavior and actions.

Any day, any moment you choose, you can simply show up as a more attuned, more integrated, more up-to-date version of yourself. No social media posts or hard launch required.

Btw, I’ve noticed that a lot of people are writing about liminality and transition lately—from myriad angles. If this topic feels alive for you, some recommended reading:

Dr Vicki Connop

(perimenopause, health),

Jeffrey Davis

(mid-life courage, creativity, wonder),

Allison Deraney

(motherhood, desire),

Kaitlyn Ramsay

(home, stability),

Holly Whitaker

(career, identity, meaning).

Summer serenades. Each evening, as night falls and I settle into my routine—yoga, a dharma talk, and meditation, followed by binge reading sci-fi or fantasy—I’ve been savoring the sounds of what must be hundreds if not thousands of geckos and frogs outside in our alley. They’re especially prolific during Thailand’s rainy season, making for the most lulling, summer-coded white noise I know.

Marriage. Twelve years ago last Sunday, my partner Randy and I exchanged vows in a small Buddhist center in West Palm Beach, Florida. We were both barefoot. I wore a casual little black dress adorned with silver sequins shaped like angel wings, purchased for sixty bucks at a beachside shop. Randy’s teenage son Tyler—the only other person present besides the Buddhist officiant—stepped in as photographer, snapping pics with his iPhone. Beforehand, we’d gone to hot yoga and fasted all day. Afterwards, we drove to Miami for an all-night ayahuasca ceremony, then crashed at a nearby hotel before heading to brunch. It was all perfect.

Our relationship, on the other hand… it’s been quite the journey—one that included a brutal Winter of Divorce followed by a second marriage conducted through Zoom, separated by an international border, closed during lockdown.

We’ve learned and changed so much over the past 12 years, and we’re still learning and changing individually and as a couple. I feel blessed and beyond lucky to have a partner who tells me multiple times every day how much he loves me. Who, even after all these years, greets me each morning with an enthusiastic embrace. Who reaches for my hand each evening on our walk to the market.

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WHAT I’M HUNGRY FOR

Excitement. Can I tell you a secret? I actually miss being excited by the game: the strategy, the online networking, the hustle. I miss finding it fun, and I miss being oblivious to the fact that it fairly predictably left me feeling empty and worse.

(Those of you who’ve come to similar awareness with alcohol or other drugs, unsupportive eating patterns, or drama-filled relationships probably know what I mean. Whether we act on it or not: you just can’t take back awareness.)

I don’t hunger for a return to that kind of excitement, exactly. But I do hunger for something with spark. Something playful enough to balance my serious side, but also meaningful. Something that feels good in the moment and leaves me feeling better, not worse. Something we might even call a more perfect hunger. 😉

In the past, my default would’ve been to do more, to double down on the game, to keep going through the same motions. But maybe because I just turned 50, or because of the direction of my decades-long spiritual practice, or because I increasingly find online life downright impossible, I’m not pulled to do that anymore. I already know it won’t bring me any closer to how I want to feel or where I want to be. It’s a carousel that might be moving… but it’s going nowhere.

So I’m practicing what Africa taught in her masterclass, what senior Buddhist teacher Gil Fronsdal teaches, and what so many other wise teachers counsel and model. I’m waiting and witnessing. I’m doing what I know creates wholesome conditions. I’m choosing to find peace in the not knowing. All part of humanness. All part of this miracle.

I’d love to hear yours.

Part of what excites me most about writing these My Soulful Life letters is knowing I’ll get to hear about your lives—what’s supporting and helping you, what you want more of in the days, weeks, and months ahead.

That in mind, I’d love to hear:

• What’s nourishing your mind, body, and spirit this week?

• What are you hungry for?

• How are you feeling these days? On solid ground? Trying to find your footing? One foot on, one foot off?

Before you go, could you do me a favor and tap the little ❤️? It’s a small thing but helps people find this newsletter and genuinely inspires me to keep writing it.

Thank you, with love,
Dana

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