Practice is perfect

New practices in a new home, a writing opportunity, and what’s ahead for PERFECT HUNGER

Sep 05, 2025

Dearest Reader,

I’ve been immersed in settling into another part of Thailand this week… and wanted to share a glimpse of how things are going.

You’ll find that personal snapshot below, and my mind is already buzzing with ideas for how to turn today’s in-the-moment reflections into more structured editions of The Practice, the place where I deliver holistic, heart-sourced guidance you can try at home. Make sure you’re subscribed so you don’t miss that or the next link-up (I’ve been collecting great resources for you!).

I’ve also been working on a beautiful collaborative post behind the scenes. I won’t give too much away just yet, but I have a feeling it will resonate with those of you who’ve been asking for more about food noise—or who are curious about Chinese Medicine, health, and diet more generally.

Lastly, in case you don’t already know: alongside my personal newsletter (the one you’re reading right now!), I work as newsletter manager and editor for

Sober App Substack

(a totally free publication for people who are sober or even just curious about an alcohol-free lifestyle). Part of my job there is finding guest contributors—so if you’re sober and would like submission guidelines, email me here: hello AT danaleighlyons DOT com.

You don’t need to consider yourself a writer to take part.
There’s no need to follow any particular path or program of recovery (though if you do, that’s great too!). You don’t even need to call yourself “sober.” We only ask that you be fully alcohol-free, so we can create a clearly defined container for those seeking resources, support, and community.
Contributions are unpaid, but you’re welcome to include your newsletter or other links in your author bio. If you’re on Substack, we’ll tag you as the author in the byline, and you’re welcome to crosspost the piece on your own publication or elsewhere. With more than 16.5k subscribers and nearly 43k monthly views, it’s a great way to expand your reach and introduce your work to new readers.
Alternatively, you’re welcome to stay anonymous or use just your first name.

I don’t usually share much about this “professional” side of my work here (it’s completely separate from PERFECT HUNGER and from SoberStack™, the directory I host). But as newsletter manager for the Sober App team, I love being able to highlight sober voices reflecting diverse stories and paths of recovery. With so much division online—including in sober circles—my hope is to create a space where we can honor our differences and connect over all that we share.

All to say! If you’d like to contribute, reach out for the guidelines. You can find my recent post on

Sober App Substack

here, and if you click around you’ll get a sense of the kinds of content we feature.

Now for those personal updates…

Leaving our previous home, alley, and neighborhood was so sad! For the past year, our evening routine was to walk to one or both outdoor markets nearby. Over time, we’d come to know our neighbors (often outside during that hour), our regular market vendors, and even the familiar faces we’d pass on the way.

All the cats know us, too! Truly—we befriended nearly every cat within a one-mile radius, including this sweetie who lived right next door and stopped by each morning for goat milk:

A white alley cat with blue eyes pours on the charm — Baby! (Careful, though… she gave me a feisty nip when we first met.)

I find it can take months, even a year, to build that kind of daily, familiar connection with people. When Randy and I left it behind to start over this week, we both felt a real sense of loss.

On our last evening, we brought fancy chocolate bars bundled with incense sticks to the vendors we’d shopped with most often. Randy also gave a generous gift to a kind vendor who’d just lost his 30-year-old wife to lymphoma. (I’m sure Randy would never mention this himself, but I want to share it because it was both beautiful and heartbreaking.) The man had been missing from the market for a few days, and when Randy asked why, he told the devastating story—how he’d tried to keep working but couldn’t stop crying, and how he’s determined to stay strong for his four-year-old daughter. God, you all, this life is a lot.

Anyway, we said tearful, heartfelt goodbyes… packed up our things on Sunday… and on Monday got a ride with Nai to our new home in Mae Rim, a 40-minute drive away.

So far… we love it! Looking back, I honestly don’t know why it was so hard to choose—this one feels the most perfect. And of course, “most perfect” doesn’t mean everything’s perfect. Here’s a quick, honest look at how things are going.

Psst: Did you guess which home we picked? See the contenders here, and scroll down in that post for many more pictures of the winner—inside and out.

My wing of the house (bedroom upstairs, office downstairs)—though these pictures really don’t do it justice. There are more trees and lovely mountains in the background, but you can’t see them here. — My “wing” of the house (bedroom upstairs, office downstairs)—though these pictures really don’t do it justice. There are more trees and lovely mountains in the background, but you can’t see them here.

The perfect

All the green! And the life! Upstairs, downstairs, all around—we’re surrounded by lush tropical trees and a constant chorus of birds, insects, and geckos. I can feel the greenness and nature sounds soothing my nervous system. The surrounding area is gorgeous, too. The mountains are so close and present.
The house itself is spacious and open, furnished simply with Thai pieces from another era. I have so much space that feels entirely mine—basically, the left wing of the house. My office is downstairs, quiet and shaded, with a wall of windows opening onto green, and a huge en-suite bathroom. My bedroom sits right above it, also lined with windows that frame mountains and trees. Randy seems just as delighted with his rooms on the other side of the house. And the wrap-around porches give each of us space for morning movement practice outdoors.
The cats love it, too! They rotate between beds and chairs all day, luxuriating in the many good options. One likes to lounge on the bed in my office, watching me work or practice afternoon yoga. At night, they reclaim their usual spots—one in my arms under the covers, the other settled into a favorite chair a few feet away (she really has a thing for chairs, and this is our best “chair house” yet). They’re both fascinated by the wildlife, peering through screened windows and doors, tracking lizards that dart across walls and ceilings, staring wide-eyed at all of the birds.
Every evening, at precisely 6 p.m., the house fills with the deep, resonant chanting of monks in the Buddhist temple across the street. Oh, how I love this.

The practice

We miss our evening strolls to the market! Not only because of all the people we interacted with along the way, but also because the walk marked a transition into the more easeful, Yin time of day and gave us a chance to check in with each other. Sure, we still spend tons of time together—that hasn’t changed. But Randy and I have said more than once that holding hands and walking every evening was one of the best parts of our day. We’ve both shared how much we miss that since moving, and we’re hungry for a new evening ritual.
Our new lifestyle is a bit rustic, which we knew going in and are fine with. But it does mean I’m adjusting to some things—like the house (and my bare feet) being dirtier than I’d prefer and softening my expectations around that. Really, though, it’s not a big deal. We’re in a more rural spot, which I love, in an older house, which I also love, and those things naturally come with tradeoffs. (I grew up in a rural area, in a house in the woods, so this isn’t entirely new to me.)
Here’s a bigger one: stray dogs hang around the temple (as is common throughout Thailand) and sometimes erupt into howls late at night. Despite my sensitivity to noise (and my all-too-recent thumping neighbor), the howls don’t bother me much… but they’re Randy’s version of hell. Thankfully, the worst night for this seemed to be the first—since then it’s gotten way better. Still, as he does his own internal practice around the noise, I’m practicing staying sensitive to his experience without absorbing it—without letting myself become panicked or hypervigilant about the dogs, too. This isn’t easy for me, but it’s one of my most important places of practice: how to care deeply without feeling responsible for fixing things, or for managing someone else’s emotions. (There’s a whole edition of The Practice here—about how our patterns interact with other people’s patterns, and how to bring gentle awareness and caring communication to that so it doesn’t spiral into painful dynamics.)
When we first moved in, I also had to come to terms with another source of noise: periodic traffic on the main road nearby. We can’t see it, but we can hear it. You might remember I even double-checked other houses we toured for “ambient machine noise” that no one else seemed to notice. Somehow, we didn’t pick up on the traffic here—maybe it was the rain or the time of day when we visited. That first night, I was freaking out about it while also taking on Randy’s stress over the dogs, which only made everything worse. But the next day, I discovered an internal practice that made the traffic feel less like a threat, more just part of the background. (There’s a Practice piece in this story too, and I’ll probably write that one first, since I know many PERFECT HUNGER readers also struggle with noise.) In the meantime, I’m happy to report that the traffic is almost completely drowned out—by the birds, the insects, the geckos.
For now, everything above feels okay. These are places of practice, yes, but honestly, they’re less challenging for me than our previous rental.

And so, a few days in, many parts truly are perfect—even better than we’d imagined. And some parts are offering me plenty to practice with (which I’ll share more about in this newsletter ☺️).

In the end, it’s all part of the whole. In the end, practice is perfect.

I’d love to hear how you move through transitions—whether it’s changing homes, starting a new job, watching kids head off to school or college, getting sober, or something entirely different.

I’d also love to hear about your relationship with noise, or how you meet those places of discomfort—whether on your own or in a relationship. Please share, or simply say hello in the comments!