Because it will be true

On shrinking, belonging, and bringing my inner and outer worlds together

Heart-sourced congrats to Patti Clevenson for winning this month’s $100 Bookshop giveaway! A reminder that there’s a chance to win each month as part of the Link-Up series.

Dearest Reader,

Last Thursday evening after yoga practice, I was lying in my infrared sauna blanket, eyes closed, listening to an episode of The Tim Ferriss Show about ways people had simplified their lives. My thoughts drifted and I was only half paying attention until…

Around minute 17, at the start of “conscious leadership disruptor” Diana Chapman’s segment, one line jolted me:

“Simple happens when your inner and outer worlds are in agreement.”

I think the line hit me so hard because I’ve been realizing how much energy I spend negotiating between what feels true internally and what feels safe externally.

And I think that’s also part of why the themes of simplicity and consistency, then quiet and solitude, have been so alive for me lately. Simplicity in terms of possessions, routines, and daily life, yes. But also simplicity in a deeper sense. The simplicity that comes with less hypervigilance and risk assessment. Less code switching and fragmentation. Less back-and-forth between versions of self.

Truthfully, much of what followed in the podcast made me glaze over. It felt like a distraction from that essential point I wanted to linger with longer. After a few more minutes, I turned it off and spent the rest of my sauna time 1) savoring the silence, and 2) contemplating that one line—how right it felt, where I’m already living it, where I’m wanting to hurtle myself into it more fully, madly, completely.

The funny thing is, I rarely listen to The Tim Ferriss Show—so the fact that I happened to tune into this latest episode on a complete whim, and that line jumped out at me that evening, would soon feel especially auspicious. But I didn’t know that yet. I just knew that when I emerged from my sauna blanket, dripping with sweat and trying not to fuck up my laptop keyboard, the line felt important enough to email myself.

Cut to the next morning. I was up earlier than usual, around 5:30 am, to give myself space for an unrushed movement practice and meditation outside, an unrushed cup of hot cacao with local raw goat’s milk, and a quiet moment to gather myself before my session with Maria Luz O'Rourke.

I’ve spoken about Maria here before. We know each other through sober community connections. She’s a former pharmaceutical industry scientist turned organizational leader turned astrologer, hypnotist, podcaster, psychic medium, herbalist, and writer. It’s hard for me to sum up our sessions because they feel intuitively and spiritually guided rather than following a particular framework. But if you’re looking for a wise, tapped-in guide whose messages feel sourced from pure Love, I wholeheartedly recommend Maria.

In this particular session, I brought some angst that’s been gnawing at me and that, honestly, relates to how I show up in this newsletter.

I’ve always been honest and real with what I share here. But I’ve also tended to shrink parts of myself and my life for fear of rejection—in the form of lower engagement, fewer hearts, unsubscribes, being cancelled, who knows. My life and choices don’t all fit within acceptable narratives. Since 2020 especially, I’ve learned painful lessons about what is and isn’t allowed in some online circles.

And for a long stretch, I worked with an amazing editor who I know helped protect me. But some of that protection—which is on me, my choices—involved extra softening and omission and trying to make myself relatable and unassailable. Because I’m not working with an editor currently, and because on some level I just can’t take shrinking anymore, a lot more of me has been coming through. And even more wants to come through.

I want my inner and outer worlds to be in agreement.

Even if it costs me subscribers, my bestseller badge, approval, belonging—all of it.

And what’s complicated is that I know for a fact that my readership spans exceptionally diverse beliefs and ways of living. This means the world. And I personally read, respect, and love people whose beliefs and ways of living differ dramatically from my own. But I also know that different parts of me run counter to different groups, and I’m not sure there’s a single group that aligns with me fully—which is totally fine. It’s just that, in my lived experience, this has too often looked like rejecting the whole of me because of one part of me.

That’s the space I brought into my session with Maria last Friday morning. What came through felt almost uncanny because I hadn’t mentioned the podcast line—or anything remotely similar. And yet, she immediately began speaking into the exact tension I’d been turning over the night before.

Where is my inner self negotiating with my outer self? Where am I exhausting myself trying to manage reception, perception, and belonging? Where am I endlessly recalibrating what’s safe to reveal?

And then, from there:

What if, rather than making those calculations over and over and over again, I made more global decisions around where and how I show up? Around how much of myself to let through?

Knowing there will always be risk. Knowing some people will absolutely reject me. And knowing that every global decision brings more simplicity and serenity.

She literally said at one point:

“It’s like coming to that alignment of your internal self and your external self in advance in as many categories as possible to prevent that exhaustion.”

Rather than every piece of writing becoming: should I share this or shouldn’t I? How will people react? How should I adjust myself? Oh fuck, what did I do?

All those stories and negotiations that slowly erode alignment with my fullest expression of self—an expression that, by the way, will always be changing for as long as I’m breathing.

Hearing Maria articulate this felt like relief. I responded with something along the lines of: “I love that. Because it’s like I only need to decide once, and then surrender the rest. However it’s received is not up to me.”

And she reminded me that even the global decisions aren’t final. I can revisit them monthly, seasonally, whenever I need. I’m free at any moment to reassess, change my mind, rewrite the decisions. But making them creates a container to get used to the bumps and reactions that come with being more fully seen. (Maria thinks this will become less wearing on my psyche over time, and I’m inclined to agree.)

She also said:

“In that way, you’re bringing your inner and outer self closer together so you will always feel like you fit in. Because there’s no negotiation. Either you find belonging—and that goes both ways—or you don’t, and that is for the best. Because it will be true.”

Because it will be true.

Another realization that came through is that much of my tension around all this is rooted in wanting to be of service. And Maria reflected that when we make ourselves overly broad or generic or even so-called relatable, people may see our work as just part of the endless parade of things moving past them online. But when we really put ourselves out there—trusting that our message won’t be for everyone but will be for someone—there’s a possibility for something much deeper to happen.

As Maria put it: “Our gift is for someone—or many people—to receive. And when they receive it, it will be deeply received, as opposed to just scanned.”

YES.

---

What we ended with was this: as long as I come from my heart, it’ll all be okay.

And the truth is, despite all my internal angst, I do come from my heart. The heart of my “global decision” is something I’ve already been practicing.

I run my writing—specifically, what I ultimately publish—through a few filters. (By the way, I endeavor to apply these filters to anything I write—newsletters, Substack notes, comments, emails, you name it. Also to anything I say or do, online and off. Which is not to say I always succeed—but I find having a clear compass helps me show up more beautifully more often.)

First, what I call my “Gil filter.” As I’ve mentioned countless times in this space, Gil Fronsdal has been my primary spiritual and ethical teacher for twenty-plus years. And I see tremendous value in asking myself: What would Gil think if he read this? Or even: Would I feel ashamed if Gil read this?

I don’t relate to any other teachers or figures like this. But this is the level of faith and trust I have in Gil’s teachings and in the path of practice I’m on with him—now in a more formal way through the Certificate of Theravada Buddhist Studies.

My second filter aligns with the first. It’s asking: how will I feel about what I’ve published when I sit down to meditate tonight?

That answer alone reveals almost everything I need to know. (I’ve written more about this daily inventory here.)

And my third filter aligns with both of those and my wider path of practice: Is this true? Does it create division? Does it come from my heart?

To be clear: something could pass through all three of those filters and still be rejected or triggering or even enraging to some people reading it. Honestly, that’s pretty much guaranteed! But this is the essence of the global decisions I’ve already made… and am working to embody more fully.

I’m still thinking through and feeling into what this means in practice—and I always will be. It’s an unended process. But even naming it—even realizing I’m reaching for more and more places to rest from the tug-of-war between my inner and outer worlds—brings a feeling of rightness.

Not in the sense of right or wrong.

In the sense of: yes. Yes. This feels very right in my mind, my body, my heart.

For now, I’ll leave you with what’s nourishing me and what I’m hungry for—and I’d love to hear yours in the comments.

Spoiled princess cat + tiger from the temple next door

WHAT’S NOURISHING ME

Thai grammar. I feel like I mention Thai studies all the time in these letters, but language learning nourishes me in so many ways. There’s the actual practice of sitting outside in the mornings with my notebooks—especially now, with everything so alive and green during rainy season. There’s the mental project of working through grammar rules, then applying them in writing. There’s how it pulls me out of thought loops and helps me climb out of the internet.

It’s also a reminder of the tremendous gifts that come from living in—and truly opening to—a place other than where I grew up. Beyond the obvious aspiration of fluency, learning another language opens into another worldview and new way of thinking. It expands and enriches my perspective. It even makes me smile to myself when I think about how the people in my everyday life here don’t know or care what’s happening on Substack or in English-language discourse online.

Laughter. We have what we call a “fuck-you lizard”—technically a tokay gecko—living in our living room. (I’ve mentioned this roommate briefly before, but I don’t think I mentioned that the sound she makes is an extremely loud “Fuck you! Fuck you!”)

This particular one’s torso, not including the tail, is bigger than my forearm. Every night, when we go upstairs to bed, she emerges and starts yelling “Fuck you!” at the top of her little lizard lungs. The funniest part is that on the rare occasions we actually spot her, she freezes and goes completely silent. Then the minute we head upstairs again: “Fuck you! Fuck you!” As you can imagine, she adds extra laughter to our evenings.

Our old street in Chiang Mai + a “fuck-you lizard” in Mae Rim

WHAT I’M HUNGRY FOR

Parts of our old life in Chiang Mai. Randy and I were talking the other day about how, despite preferring life in the countryside, and being truly awed and overjoyed by the lush green surrounding us and the view of the mountains, we miss parts of our old life in Chiang Mai. Things like walking to the market each evening, saying hello to the alley and street cats along our route, chatting with our regular juice and food vendors, getting that daily, in-person interaction as part of a bustling community. Thankfully, Chiang Mai is still only a short drive away. And though our interactions are fewer here in Mae Rim, they’re dependably lovely.

I’d love to hear yours.

Part of what excites me about writing these letters is hearing about your lives—what’s supporting you, what you’re wanting more of in the days and weeks ahead.

With that in mind, I’d love to hear:

• What’s nourishing your body, mind, spirit?

• What are you hungry for?

• Do you run what you write or say through some kind of inner compass?

• What one decision could you make to simplify your life, bringing your inner and outer worlds into closer agreement?

If this resonated, a heart ❤️ helps these letters find their way.

Thank you, with love,
Dana

If you’re returning to the basics and wanting something steady to stay with, paid subscribers receive my Guide to Transformative Eating (you can preview it here).

A paid subscription also includes full access to the TCM Deep Dives series, where we’re currently exploring the seven emotions in Chinese Medicine. Most recently: worry and overthinking. Next, we turn towards sadness and grief.