This is the latest of many personal dispatches on culture, healing, and spirituality from a dual Canadian-American living in Thailand. Access the rest of PERFECT HUNGER (including The Practice and Link-Ups) by upgrading here:
Dearest Reader,
Recently, plumbing the dark depths of existential uncertainty, I surfaced with a truth: I miss having single-pointed focus and a clear purpose guiding my days.
I’m not talking about some vague, overwrought, hashtagged-to-death notion of “finding your purpose” or “transforming passion to purpose.”
Good god no. Not more of that.
What I’m missing and hungering for is the sense of having a very specific mission that requires a very specific type of immersion and discipline.
One that also requires, within the container of that mission, not questioning the purpose or process. One that requires faith, in other words.
And wise, trusted teachers and guides.
And a lineage of something that goes beyond any one person—and definitely beyond my personal desires, comforts, and whims.
College and especially grad school were like this for me. So was a post-grad fellowship in Cairo for Arabic language studies. So was my five-year Doctor of TCM program after that.
But you know what? Sixth grade was like this for me, too.
In sixth grade, I was dumped through an artfully folded note passed from him to her to me. I sobbed for a month. I ached in a way I’ve only experienced a few times in my life.
Then, I stumbled into something that would quietly shape me for decades: difficult, focused, dedicated work. I threw myself into a social studies project, and somewhere in the process noticed the shift. Immersing myself—broken yet whole-heartedly—soothed the hurt. It steadied and expanded my heart and mind. It made space for pain and for spirit.
This took me by surprise. And while I’ve written before about this very same incident—about how it taught me to numb out and even planted the seeds of addiction—it also planted something else.
Seeds of goodness and wholeness. Seeds of fulfillment and wonder. Moments of creative delight and deep inner joy. And, most of all, the understanding that fully committing to a process—showing up for that commitment with unwavering discipline—can be both freedom and life-giving.
That’s the way of things, often. Destruction and creation, same source.
Anyway, I eventually (mostly) got over that sixth-grade crush. But from that point on, I had this secret in my back pocket: If the pain and anxiety and world are too much, I redirect. I channel my time and energy and passion into a clearly defined container.
Something bigger than myself. Something requiring inner fortitude and outer direction. Something led by those who have vital wisdom to share and precious lessons to teach me.
After all that schooling (so much schooling!), just as the internet was becoming more of a thing, I looked to “business” and the “online game,” thinking this too could be that container. My new place for deep learning and mission. My new source of focus and purpose.
After years of study, I told myself: Now’s the time to create a secure, sustainable living. Now’s the moment to focus on money and so-called success.
I enrolled in online business courses and programs. I threw myself into learning about and building a business online and off. I then became a college instructor and dean, and threw myself into that.
And look, I learned a whole hell of a lot. I developed skills I’d never have developed otherwise. I braved challenges I’d never have attempted—or even imagined attempting—in any other phase of my life. But compared to the fully focused immersion of my earlier studies, this “career” phase always felt like a stand-in, too surface, not the real thing.
Somewhere along the way, my days became meta—about the work but not the work itself, like pacing the paved perimeter of an old growth forest, snapping beautiful photos but never stepping inside. I kept circling until, eventually, circling became the point. The work still waits, rich and overgrown at the center.
Years passed. Then, around the time I turned 50, something in me started to stir. I can’t fully name it yet, but I knew “this” wasn’t it. The onlineness—the constant pull towards what’s next and new, towards narrow perspectives, towards posturing, performance, success, and distraction—has carried me in the exact wrong direction. Away from the depth I crave. Away from myself. Away from connection.
I have both sobriety and daily disciplines to counter the disconnect: yoga, meditation, studying Thai, taking classes…
But even done consistently and woven throughout my days, those practices often feel like medicine—something to restore me after being thrown off by everything else, especially the “everything else” that lives on the internet.
Because the truth is, even with all I do to stay resourced, clear, and connected, being online undermines every healthy, nourishing, life-giving habit I have. Being online—and getting caught up in the conscious and subconscious manoeuvrings that come with onlineness—scatters my shen 神 (heart-mind or spirit). It fragments my focus. It sabotages how I show up.
And now, I know what I need. I need masterful teachers in a craft or area of study. I need to trust those teachers and the process. I need to lean into a lineage instead of assuming I—or my immediate peers—always know best. I need to loosen my grip on validation, opinions, comfort, and answers.
I need to focus, shut out the noise, rest from choice, dare to go deep.
Chopping wood, carrying water. Showing up day after day, even when it feels boring or hard. Staying on the path—not because I “have” to, but because where that path leads is somewhere I’ll never find otherwise.
Some call it pursuit of mastery. I call it presence. Whatever the name, I change in the process. The process—the discipline sourced from devotion—is kind of the point.
After my own schooling, when I became a college instructor and dean, I loved witnessing students who got this and got down to work, who entered that place beyond quick fixes, shortcuts, and ego—the place that forges truly intuitive, skillful practitioners.
And now, though I don’t have the resources to do more formal schooling, I would if I could. I want that again. I want external accountability feeding internal accountability. I want to feel less like I’m floating.
Because sometimes what looks good on paper—what promises real peace and belonging—doesn’t deliver. Sometimes, having more choice, more comfort, more validation just makes me feel worse.
I find myself skimming and searching. I’m pummeled by hot takes and “expert” opinions. All the while, I lose touch with deep study, learning, and practice. I pull away from the slow, quiet work of putting my head down, pouring over teachings, making connections.
I’m perpetually doing and trying… but hollowed out, as though the real thing is just out of reach.
As overwhelm and noise fill the void. As I wake one day, years into flitting about on the surface, only to find myself with pretty pictures… but the opposite of what I was seeking.
I’m thinking hard about what this means for me in this next phase, and how it relates to what I observe living in a society and culture so different from where I was born and what bombards me online.
Being in Thailand expands my perspective and feels like an exhale. In the pause at the bottom of that exhale, I see more clearly: I don’t want more distraction, more flailing, more of the internet.
I want single-pointed focus and clear purpose again. Not career, posturing online, or molding the clay of identity. But rather, purpose embodied in daily details. Purpose that remembers the macrocosm is always expressed in the microcosm. Purpose that isn’t numbing or hiding, but a deepening expression of what’s in my shen, what’s in my heart.
Coming soon in The Practice, I’ll share an exercise helping me explore this place—one that brings a little more purpose to my days, strengthens patterns and pathways, and offers a bridge to whatever comes next.
Meanwhile, I’d love to hear from you:
I’m intentionally (lovingly ❤️) nudging you to choose which of those two options feels most true for you… but of course, feel free to expand in the comments.
I’d also love to hear what’s nourishing you and what you’re most hungry for this week. Find mine below.
WHAT’S NOURISHING ME
Early morning alley sweeping. One of the things I’ll miss most when we move next month are the early mornings here. I do a 15-minute yogic breath and movement practice on the small balcony off my bedroom, overlooking our narrow alley, listening to the roosters, tropical birds, and the rhythmic sweep of straw brooms.
Every morning between dark and dawn, up and down the alley, a few seniors sweep the section of ground in front of their homes. They never miss a morning. They’ve probably been sweeping this alley for decades.
While I’m new here and can’t know for sure, this daily ritual seems to be about more than just clearing dust and debris. There’s discipline and devotion in it. Also serenity.
WHAT I’M HUNGRY FOR
Deep learning. The letter above captures what I’m ravenous for these days: a container of rigorous study and learning that feels meaningful, aligned, guided by masterful teachers, and connected to a long—even ancient—lineage.
This doesn’t have to be academic or scholarly. I could just as easily commit to an intense program centered around meditation, yoga, Buddhist ethics, or similar paths. The key is this: I want to throw myself fully and intensely into something, rather than simply weaving it into the rest of life, as I do now.
Is this realistic for this moment and phase? Maybe not. But I notice the hunger there—the deep longing. I’m opening to what it might look like.
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 mind, body, and spirit this week?
What are you hungry for?
Any plans to dive into intensive studies? Or to commit to a small but sacrosanct practice?
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
Postscript: Another part of me finds the idea of embarking on an intense path of study bone-deep exhausting, and wonders how it would even work right now, logistically, or whether I’d even want it, once in it! I realize this admission might seem at odds with my primary message, but I’m sharing it anyway—first, because it’s the most honest thing I can say, and second, because I believe more than one thing not only can be true, but usually is.
Dana, I really enjoyed reading this article. You have always searched for truths and your lifelong journey has brought you joy and sadness, but one thing remains the same: the quest.
Love you!
This is great, Dana. Thank you.
I have found that claiming lineage and respecting lineage has been super freeing to me in many ways. I am also a believer in the individuality of our lineages. Far from the traps of fanaticism that unfortunately we still see in those who desperately try to hold onto a _ particular _ teacher or lineage something much more in line with the respect and love for "those who have come before", those who have stayed open and continued with over (at least one) lifetime of persistent and intelligent inquiry.
There are many! And there are also many pretenders...as I know you know so well. :)
I really do love reading your work.
xoxo, Patty