How to just do the thing

Plus, why living our values is extra-important in times of crisis

Oct 18, 2025

Dearest Reader,

Last week’s conversation with

on practical, ancient wisdom for metabolic health brought a lovely wave of new readers and subscribers to PERFECT HUNGER. If that includes you, thank you—and a very warm, heartfelt welcome ❤️.

I send personal letters like today’s at least once a month (you’ll find all of them here, and an overview of my approach here).

These letters might be my favorite part of PERFECT HUNGER. They offer a glimpse of the human (me) behind this newsletter—including what’s nourishing me, what I’m hungry for, and how I’m learning to show up more beautifully.

They also give me a chance to ask how you’re doing, what’s feeding your body-mind-spirit, and what the deepest part of you is craving. Please share and say hello in the comments!

As for life lately, and to dovetail my last letter on feeling lonely…

Life shifted, and at this moment, I’m no longer feeling lonely! Without question, this will shift again, ebbing and flowing with humanness.

But I think it’s especially helpful to witness when we feel good in our body and mind. That witnessing, that place of remembrance, is a message to our subconscious as much as our conscious self. It’s also a message to others and to the Universe.

What feels truly and deeply good? What do we want to invite more of through our thoughts, words, actions, and inactions? What ripples are we setting in motion, reaching shores we may never see?

As for what turned loneliness around for me this past while? It was so incredibly, almost laughably, simple! Over the last two weeks, I took a couple of rideshare trips into Chiang Mai City.

In contrast to the “project” I’d built up in my head, the logistics for visiting my old city were easy. The rides came within minutes of typing my location and destination into the app. The drive was shorter than expected (only around 25 minutes to the northwest corner). I spent it gazing out the window on the way there and studying my Thai notebooks on the way back. The total was less than 15 U.S. dollars round-trip.

I’m realizing how much I can feel blocked around doing the most ordinary, everyday things.

For example, I’ll spend all day creating a five-notebook system for Thai vocab and grammar—no problem… but I own next to no clothes, and the ones I do have are literally threadbare, because I can’t seem to overcome my block around clothes shopping. (And I’m not talking about curating an entire wardrobe or capsule collection. If I could buy even one shirt or pair of pants without holes in it, that’d be a win.)

My typical pattern around mundane, totally-not-a-big-deal tasks that, for whatever reason, feel overwhelming to me goes something like this:

I keep putting them off… busying myself with other tasks while “the thing” looms larger and larger. I can pretend I don’t notice, but I do. Energetically, it seeps into my mood, my work, my relationships, everything.

When I finally just do the thing, so much space opens up. Emotionally, spiritually, physically. In the ecosystem of self, others, surrounds. I can breathe again. I can stretch and extend. I can be more fully present.

My recent “unblocking” assignments were two, one per week, each requiring that I call a rideshare to/from Chiang Mai without advanced scheduling (partly as a test to see how hard or easy that’d be):

Go to an English-language bookstore to buy two novels. (I read fiction every night before bed.)
Get a haircut at a fancy salon. (My thick, wavy-curly hair is tricky in Thailand.)

In the lead-up to these assignments, I imagined waiting for rides for hours, only to have drivers cancel… being late to my hair appointment or getting home too late for yoga… wasting entire days getting to the city and back… not to mention hurtling myself into scenarios that usually have me sprinting in the other direction: getting overheated while stopped for minutes at a time in traffic, having every sense organ mauled by The Mall, missing out on daily practices and rhythms that leave me feeling at peace and at ease. In sum:

I’d envisioned these as day-long projects involving excruciating wait times and mental-emotional exhaustion.

Turns out, they were anything but! Everything was easy. I was in and out. I got to enjoy the city then feel the relief of leaving it behind, returning to our green, rural refuge.

The night after my second assignment, reflecting on how much my mindset shifted just knowing I can get back to the city so easily, I realized that the loneliness I’d been feeling since our move was less about being alone and more about feeling cut off.

Giving myself experiences that proved I wasn’t cut off—that, on a whim, I could get myself to the middle of the hustle and back again, that it’s actually easy to see people and interact and then leave—suddenly, being alone had a whole different feel.

I also honed in on why “loneliness” isn’t something I’ve experienced much in the past handful of years. Quite simply: I’ve always loved being alone. It’s the only time when I fully relax.

Don’t get me wrong: I still miss daily interactions with our neighbors in our last home. This feels closely linked to living in Thailand, and wanting to learn the language and culture.

And yet, time alone feels essential for knowing how my body-mind-spirt is feeling and for taking a precise inventory of my thoughts, emotions, and actions. It’s also how I touch into Source, God, Nature, the Divine, whatever we call it—something that expands far beyond human understanding and perception, yet also contains and connects us.

I realize this isn’t true for everyone, but I find it difficult to access those forms of attention and connection unless I’m alone. Do you have this, too? Or do you feel more attuned and connected when surrounded by others? What helps you feel most at peace?

I’ll tell you what did not help me feel at peace…

I try to keep things real in this newsletter. And to be real with you, our “refuge” in the Thai countryside was in some ways more challenging this week than my trips to the city!

In an unexpected turn of events, the Buddhist temple across the street from our house hosted a wild, rockin’ two-day event that literally shook the neighborhood. Imagine live music (in Thai, a mashup of too many genres to count) blasted through speakers so thunderous that our walls and furniture were vibrating. From 6 p.m. until midnight both Saturday and Sunday, I’d never heard music so loud and genuinely feared for our eardrums.

There weren’t any specific holidays happening that I’m aware of, and when I texted our landlords (whose home is across from ours), the husband replied: “I think some villagers sure had fun but my family was not happy at all 😵. Hope they do not do it again for years!”

I found this particularly funny, because when I inquired, I tried to be super diplomatic and culturally sensitive—and they were like: THIS SUCKS. MAKE IT STOP. 😂

Anyway, around 9 p.m. the first night, as Randy and I were chatting and stretching on my bedroom floor, I looked at him and said, “I can’t even write about this. I have no idea how to describe it.” Because it was so loud, and the walls of our large house were shaking so unbelievably, and the music was such a technicolor kaleidoscope of genres, that truly: I don’t know how to describe it.

I had earplugs in, but they were useless. I worried it was damaging not just my ears but those of my cats (though, as Randy pointed out, the oldest is already half-deaf and seemed completely unbothered). I gained an all-new understanding of how music can be used as torture.

As many of you know, I struggle with any machine noise—including background sounds most people don’t notice. Thankfully, I’ve discovered internal practices that have been helping tremendously with this. But, like the Thumper situation at our last place, this was another occasion where I sensed the Universe saying: Oh yeah? You think you’re doing better dealing with noise sensitivity? Try this.

And believe you me, a meltdown was totally in the cards that first night. What with the noise, the fear, the traces of panic, the not knowing how many hours or days it’d go on… Collapsing into heaving sobs was so on the table.

But! As we continued stretching on my bedroom floor and the live band crescendoed into an even louder, more outrageous surge of emotion and vocals, Randy and I looked at each other and burst into laughter.

The wave of panic rolled through and subsided. I landed in a place of surrender. I embraced the undeniable hilarity of it all—and stumbled, unexpectedly, into wondrous delight: What is this life?! Living in the Thai countryside, the entire house rattling from the temple rager next door. What a crazy ride we’re on! I love it. I treasure it.

And while I won’t always be able to pull off that response, I’ll tell you one thing—it sure felt better than the alternative.

Very gratefully, the festivities wrapped up after two days. The only sounds coming from the temple this evening were the monks’ usual, serious, beautiful chanting. Sitting here in my quiet room, enjoying a soothing symphony of insects and geckos, I’m noticing the absence of loud partying, the absence of discomfort, the absence of nervous system alerts edging towards panic.

Here in that absence, I’m feeling extra appreciative of serenity and stillness. Here in that absence, I can more clearly know…

Siamese cat resting her head on her paws and gazing at you — Image of LingDao by Brian Limoyo

WHAT’S NOURISHING ME

Dharma and dialogue. I attended an online event at the Sati Center for Buddhist Studies last Saturday (overlapping with the temple blowout, which helped me stay awake). Senior teacher Gil Fronsdal hosted Dr. Muna Shaheen and Dr. Stephen Fulder, leading Palestinian and Israeli dharma teachers, to talk about the role of mindfulness, dharma practice, and core ethical principles such as non-harming within the context of crisis and chaos.

Dr. Shaheen offered one of the most striking insights, that teaching mindfulness and the dharma is an act of social activism the world urgently needs. She also pleaded with people outside of Israel and Palestine to avoid making things worse by inciting further outrage, division, and hatred. She expressed understanding for people’s intentions, but was clear: inflaming the situation through words and actions will only make things more polarized and worse for those (like her) on the ground.

She asserted that the most important, most impactful place of practice during times of major crisis and devastation is both internal—how we’re responding on the inside—and external—actually living our values, not just proclaiming them. When things go really, really wrong, that’s the time to anchor even more deeply into internal practice and ethical action.

“Local” community. I’m putting “local” in quotes because the community I’m referencing is technically online but feels close-in and personal. For all the potential downsides of online-ness, wow have I been grateful for genuine, heart-sourced online connections.

The other evening, as I was reviewing my day, I realized I’d exchanged meaningful, heartfelt emails with at least five people I know from Substack’s sober community. I’d also received beautiful, tender messages from new subscribers—notes that reminded me why PERFECT HUNGER is truly my heart’s work, and how much love and care I hold for you all. And the comments on my letter about loneliness meant more than I can put into words. All to say: thank you. You are part of what lifted me out of the lonely place.

WHAT I’M HUNGRY FOR

Fall! For me, the hardest thing about living in Thailand is not having full-on Fall and Winter. My nostalgia for previous homes in Nova Scotia and British Columbia is especially strong this time of year.

Preparing last week’s guide on How to eat this Fall, according to Chinese Medicine had me daydreaming about crunching leaves underfoot, listening to the melancholic calls of geese overhead, and seeing my breath in the cold, clear air. Is it Fall where you are? Are you bundled up in a warm woolen sweater?

I’d love to hear yours.

Part of what excites me most about writing these 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 body, mind, spirit?
What are you hungry for?
What one simple assignment could you give yourself in the coming week? Something small, but that feels big. Something that’s taking up loads of energetic space and would feel so good to check off your list. (Also feel free to report back once you’ve done it—external accountability can be surprisingly helpful!)