is a London-based writer and cook. She runs Food Relics, a multimedia project spanning language, food, and desire.

What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?

I see myself as quite feral. I think less about being “healthy” than I do about taking care of myself. I experience a kind of mothering distance between my caring self and the self being cared for: I want to look after myself as though I am my own plant. When I cook something beautiful just for myself, I think, Look what you have done. Look how you have cared for yourself.

And I want to always be allowed to be dirty, too. I think that is important in a way, those wild parts of the self.

For me, health is less about discipline and more about kind routines. I usually know what feels good for me, but I am not always in a position to give myself those things. I feel like a Sim, with all these needs constantly rising and falling, trying to attend to each one. It can be difficult to get everything right.

At the moment, I am really thinking about health in relation to money. A lot of the things we associate with being healthy are privileges. You are not going to buy supplements when the choice is between those and a supermarket shop.

Health, to me, is also about how cared for we feel by the world, and how we care for it in return. I believe in a reciprocal relationship with the world: listening to it, noticing the seasons, and paying attention to what is growing and changing. I think that is how we find newness, without the destructive search for instant dopamine highs.

How would you describe your current lifestyle?

I think I am slowly moving closer to the life I want to live. I have more time to write and more time to read, although I still work a part-time job for money. I am out of the swamp, for the most part, but I still have to scrounge and hustle because I am broke as hell.

I have found ways to live luxuriously in the city without having much money. I know where to find free things, and I rely on a kind of reciprocal hospitality. I go to private views and events with free drinks and food, so I can spend time chatting to a friend without spending money. I visit friends at their workplaces and they feed me or give me a drink, and I do the same for them in return. I walk places, I get given clothes, and I strap myself to my desk at home because, in London, the moment you leave the house you start spending money.

How do you start and end your days?

I wake up with a lot of energy. I tend to open my eyes and almost shoot upright. I feel very excited by life at the moment, especially in the mornings. It is affecting my sleep slightly because I wake up too early and immediately start thinking about all the things I want to do.

I make coffee in my big blue Le Creuset French Press and have it with a square of dark chocolate. Then I sit in monkey position at my desk for a long time. Now that it is sunny, I sometimes sit in the garden instead. I like to read for a while before I begin writing, to bring myself into the right headspace.

If I am not at my desk in the morning, I either go to a coffee shop to write or to the gym. I am quite into the gym at the moment, and I like going most in the mornings.

I have a mental block around moving from one space or activity into another without showering or bathing in between. It is my way of marking the end of whatever I was doing before, although I am trying to unlearn the need for it, as it was getting to a point where I was having three baths a day.

Now that it is summer, I do not have much of a nightly routine; I want to be outside all the time. I gain a lot of energy from the sun — sometimes too much. I experience myself like a dog that needs to be continuously walked but can never quite be tired out. I spend summer running around a lot.

Before bed, I like to take time over my skincare. My mum always taught skincare for me less as a beauty ritual but as a way to take time with ourselves. I would watch her lathering herself in body cream, in the orange bedroom light before bed, and it felt like an act of love more than anything else.

When I am doing my skincare routine, or applying makeup, I make sure to really look at myself in the mirror and remind myself who I am, keeping that relationship going. To take time with it. I struggle with dissociation. It is much better now, but I still have to make sure that I remain tethered to my body and do not allow it to become disconnected from me.

Can you recall a moment when you became more aware of your health, or your relationship to it changed?

When I turned 25, I began to appreciate taking care of myself in a new way. I noticed the same thing happening among my friends. Destructive tendencies no longer felt the way they once had, and there was a new pleasure in looking after ourselves.

I wanted to become that person for my friends, too. I wanted them to know that they could come to my house and be fed, given a cup of tea, and made to feel safe. At the same time, I felt a stronger desire to be kind to myself, and more disappointed when I was not.

It was not really about becoming healthier. It was about becoming kinder to myself.

What’s your relationship to self-healing?

I try to reconnect myself to my body. Whenever I experience trauma, my body is the first thing to escape me. I have found the gym helpful in preventing a complete disconnection. I go to the gym because I love it, not out of any self-hatred. I feel very safe in there; I like to play around and roll on the floor and do sudoku on the StairMaster, and sometimes fight demons, and sometimes just feel really horny and lift weights while listening to Kylie Minogue, or play baile funk and walk sexy on the treadmill. You have to enjoy yourself. I have my one specific gym I like and I don’t want to go to others.

I also try to do things that make my brain feel alive, to remind myself that there are things outside the pain. I go to galleries alone, read a lot, write a lot, and try to turn pain into art so that it feels as though it has become worth something.

Reading has carried me through so many things. I can always find meaning in books. They are a cure for so much existential dread.

And I like seeing my friends. I love making my friends take baths with me; I think a lot of important conversations happen in the bath together.

Do you work with any practitioners, texts, or modalities on a regular basis?

Mostly books. I mainly read non-fiction, particularly essay collections and auto-theory, although there are works of fiction that I love too.

I have certain books that I return to again and again because they reliably make me feel something or bring me back to myself. I find a lot of meaning in writers such as Maggie Nelson, Jackie Wang, Annie Ernaux, Elena Ferrante, David Wojnarowicz, and Hélène Cixous.

Also my own journal, and my favorite pen, I bring it with me everywhere. Truly everywhere...and it’s heavy! Even on nights out, I write whenever I feel like it, even if it's inconvenient. I love reading and writing while walking, it's my guilty pleasure.

Do you have a favorite meal?

I was brought up eating a lot of Italian food because my dad is Italian, and I think it will always feel comforting to me.

I have also found similarities between Italian and Japanese food, which is partly what drew me towards Japanese cooking. Both can prioritize delicate flavors and allow good ingredients to remain at the center of the meal.

I am easily overstimulated, and I like to eat food that does not make me feel that way: things that are light, simple, and well-balanced. I cannot eat too much very rich or overwhelming food. I love sashimi, tartare, udon in broth, a good tomato pasta, and salads.

I love cooking for friends and hosting dinner parties. I want my friends to know that if they are ever in need, they can come to my house and have a cup of tea and a warm meal and a bath. Any meal eaten with friends is a favorite meal.

What advice would you give your younger self?

Keep being strange. Keep talking too much and having too many thoughts about everything. I did not have many friends at school, and I often felt like a weirdo, but I always had a rich inner world. I liked doing things alone and I always had loads of hobbies. I think enjoying doing things alone and having your own personal interests is so important, and I think those things draw people to you later in life. Now I am lucky enough to be surrounded by so many beautiful friends who appreciate me for exactly who I am. I am glad I did not try to minimize myself.

What advice would you give to the person reading this?

I think everyone should read more.

What would you like to see or create more of in the world?

I have just come back from Paris, and it made me realize how devoid of community many of our bars and restaurants can feel.

I think it is important to have local places where you are a regular, where the staff know you, and where you feel a sense of belonging. As someone who has worked in hospitality for a long time, I see it as a form of care work. Building those relationships feels important.

That can be difficult in a large city like London, where we have a different culture around going out to eat and drink. I like going to bars by myself and chatting to the bartenders. I have my regular places in London, and I try to get to know the people working there. I like to feel that I am being cared for, and that I am participating in that care in return.

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I have written about my mother many times. I have sat beside her and spoken for hours. Over cups of tea reheated, coffee zapped in the microwave. Pains halved, grief shared, opposite experiences of life brought to bear.

Before I was born, she worked for what she would call the fashion service. As a journalist, critic, designer liaison, flying collections to Paris and Milan. Gorgeous and resourceful, she made her own way. As she started having children, she moved towards health; co-authoring and ghost-writing books, and undertaking homeopathy training. For a while she worked on a high-level gardening team, and finally as a music therapist.

In the last decade, after the dissolution of her marriage, fundamental changes to her life, and the minesweep of COVID, which saw her music therapy career unable to continue as before, she found a way back to sound. This time, as a healer.

I called her on a Wednesday afternoon, having just listened to a piece on the re-emergence of weight loss drugs and how health terms get co-opted by marketing. An apt introduction to the health-related spaces we have most closely shared.

There are many echoes. As many parallels as there are opposites. A woman of all-embracing taste, self-effacing wisdom, deep kindness, and radical commitment to joy. I give you my mother, Claire.

—Animal Vegetable Mineral

Can you remember the “health holy grails” being touted when you were growing up?

It was closer to the era of Weight Watchers. I think there are so many layers to the weight thing. As in every other area of life, there are people who are developing unhealthy habits, but they’re well disguised. I think the whole discussion about eating disorders was not nearly as open as it is now.

I knew one person who became very anorexic and left school for a while. And somebody else who was restricting their eating and lost weight but sort of carried on. But there was no information. It was desirable to be glamorous, svelte, and tan. Cosmo philosophy.

And what was said about health in your home? What did that word mean?

It was very general. We weren’t indulged, but it wasn’t a harsh environment. We ate nourishing food and we would go out for walks. So in that sense, health started and stopped in the body. The term mental health seems to have been almost dreamed up in the last 10 years.

I didn’t even grow up with that term.

No, the fact that it’s acknowledged is so new. There wasn’t much trouble taken over how we were feeling about things. Physically, it always came back to the eyes, teeth, and throat. I wore an eye patch when I was 10, which was not easy. And this tonsillitis thing came in quite early.

I remember being really unwell and getting special treatment. I can even see the nightie that my mother bought me.

I remember the pajamas you bought me once. I probably bent your arm about buying them because it’s not really your vibe. They were black. Velour, maybe. Almost a jazz pant?

I remember that. You were projectile vomiting. You had to be hosed down.

So worth it. For your attention, and putting on those lounge pants to eat matzo crackers on the sofa.

It’s a fascinating one. The idea that we have to be unwell to get attention. So damaging, really.

You have tremendous strength. But your downtime was not built into the framework of our family life. As a result, you often ended up removing yourself entirely in order to replenish. This chronic fatigue and tonsillitis would flare up, right?

I recently heard a wonderful practitioner, Eileen McCusick, talking about fatigue. She designed these Biosonic tuning forks, and a whole training program around them. They’re part of every sound treatment really, because they sound C and G, which is a perfect fifth, and a very balancing harmonic.

Eileen says that when we feel tired, it’s to do with what we’re carrying in our energy field. So if we are porous by nature, it can be a huge weight.

What does this new frame of understanding, through sound healing, give you?

I think it represents a simplification. Unhitching from earlier phases, putting stuff down. The sound healing training has just been a great gift. It’s really different to the music side of things—

You worked as a music therapist before.

Yes, and although you have to go through all the training for that, we are already constantly therapizing ourselves musically. But when one looks at the sound as a whole, it’s supported by quantum physics. It’s your breath, your body, your voice, your veins, your oxygen levels, your nervous system. We have the possibility of doing some really simple things and making a difference to ourselves.

It’s empowerment, authorship, self-knowledge. And it’s just saying “I do this because it makes a difference to me.” I need to do the thing that helps me look after myself, helps me navigate life. The simpler you keep it, the better you feel.

I’ve only been able to see this in a hazy, far-off way until now. Can I share something?

Of course.

There’s a symbolic loop around you, from your first experience of physical trauma to your sound practice now. This violation happened through sound; it was a sharp scratch at your sound body.

It’s incredible that you would think of all those things.

But there’s something so beautiful about the healing that you are doing now, for other people and for yourself through that medium. Like going back and darning holes.

In homeopathy, the remedy for grief is Ignatia, which I associate with the heart and the throat. The periods in my life when I have struggled to eat, the obvious catalyst was having to mine down into deep layers of loss and grief.

And I know that when I was doing the sound healing training, that thing came up about the lump in your throat — it’s when the emotion is coming up. If it’s too much, the throat constricts to keep it down. I think the word healing made me a bit uncomfortable, until I realized it came from the word “whole.” That’s the project I can get behind, reclaiming lost parts and staying intact.

What does it feel like to have a daughter?

It feels like a precious gift and also a responsibility. It’s a really beautiful and also delicate thing. To be able to share the feminine space without presuming on it. I treasure the fact. I feel blessed to have a daughter, to have you as my daughter.

That’s beautiful. Ok, if you wake up in the morning and feel terrible, what do you do to reset?

The five Buddhist affirmations, with some sound. Either a crystal bowl or four Himalayan singing bowls with a bunch of mallets and wands…I just sound my way through.

What’s the best part of your day?

A cup of Modhpur tea, which my twin sister brings over from Bangladesh, and a hot roll dripping in butter.

Shag, marry, kill: butter, salt, sugar.

Kill sugar. It’s got to be shag salt. Marry butter.

What would you like to see or create more of in the world?

Less forcing and pushing through. I think there’s something about being force-fed, being told what to do and not having agency. And then you find yourself up shit creek having followed everybody else’s advice.

Is there anything that you’d like to ask me about health before we go?

I would like to ask you how you’re feeling. Where are you with your health?

For a long time I’ve allowed my body to happen to itself rather than making a choice about what state it’s in. I don’t take comfort from having reasons to explain why I might be weak anymore. I’m ready to do whatever is required to be stronger, because I know now that I’m going to try and live.

That’s absolutely huge. It reminds me of something you wrote recently, that only we can work things out for ourselves. If we’re going to sustain ourselves, it has to come from us, and it has to be sustainable.

Thank you so much, Mama.

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Amanda Lee Burkett is a creative consultant and the writer behind YOU CAN TALK ABOUT IT, BUT ONLY WITH ME — a fashion newsletter that’s part-diaristic, part-voyeuristic, always fabulous, and often makes me miss New York. She also serves as Air Mail’s Market Editor, where she recently launched their new style column, Dress Code.

Below: notes on overcoming claustrophobia, being a pork maximalist, and her and her boyfriend, chef Flynn McGarry’s, very chic apartment.

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What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?

Health is positivity! I am at my most healthy when I have an honest and positive outlook on who I am and how I live.

Health depends on freedom and autonomy. Right now, I have that. I’m very lucky.

How would you describe your current lifestyle?

My current lifestyle is a work in progress. I’m trying to manage myself but not judge myself.

Monday to Saturday, I work at home during the day. My weekly newsletter, You Can Talk About It But Only With Me, goes live on Sundays, so I often work most of Saturday — I don’t mind. I reserve Friday and Saturday evenings for relaxing by myself or having dinner with friends.

Monday-Thursday evenings, I usually have an invitation that is important for me to attend. I have recently joined the team at Air Mail as the Market Editor for their style section, Dress Code, where I share a weekly dispatch on stylish happenings. I find myself having a lot of 5pm coffees.

Sunday is reserved for resting and catching up with my boyfriend, Flynn. He’s a chef so his hours are…unique. We have kept our Sundays clear for the better part of five years.

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Kelly Chapman () is a culture writer and the co-editor of Secret Ballot, a Washington, DC-based “cultural salon in newsletter form” (I contributed to their issue on steak). You may also know her as X’s Audrey Horne.

What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?

Being able to sleep on your back in the middle of your bed with your arms over your head. Singing for the joy of it. A generative spirit. Thinking of new things to make or do or see. Being able to do 30 pushups in a row, or hold a plank for 2 minutes straight, or run three miles without feeling like dying.

How would you describe your current lifestyle?

Civilized. I’m in a much less social period of my life. I thought I would hate it but I don’t. It’s like a temporary state of enforced rest. It’s making me become more mysterious, a quality I thought was out of reach for me in my twenties (I’m 32 now). I’ve also started working out a lot more frequently, getting my steps in, going to Pilates three times a week. I drink natural wine and wear weirder clothes than I used to. I’m trying to explain myself less, to match.

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Ginger Jones (@plaything______) is a poet from California.

What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?

Freedom.

How would you describe your current lifestyle?

Right now I’m living and working on a farm in northern New Mexico. I spend most of my days outside in the sunshine. I weed gardens, hoe fields, build structures, fix whatever is broken, care for animals, ride horses, and swim in creeks and lakes whenever I can. I like being dirty. I like making my body useful. Physical labor quiets my mind in a way nothing else can.

How do you start and end your days?

Farm life wakes me up at six. I stretch for half an hour, drink black coffee and Xiao Yao San tea for my liver, then feed the chickens, collect their eggs, water the greenhouse, check the fences, and feed the other animals and eat. Breakfast is usually three fresh eggs and half an avocado. I also take a B-complex and omega-3 supplements. Hours will go by before I speak my first words.

In the evening I water the gardens and cook dinner, usually chicken with whatever greens are growing nearby. I make a shandy with beer and lemonade and watch the sky change colors while I talk to people I love on the phone. After a while I go inside and sit on my bedroom floor and write until my eyes get heavy. I crawl into bed naked and silent with the moon watching over me. Sometimes I play music to lull myself to sleep.

Can you recall a moment when you became more aware of your health, or your relationship to it changed?

One of the hardest things I’ve had to learn is what to do with pain. A few years back, two old friends of mine died just a month apart. One overdosed on fentanyl and the other killed himself while high. I was so overcome with grief that life became almost unbearably precious to me. I now know that grief is just love with nowhere to go, so you give it new places to live. Whenever I choose beauty over bitterness, kindness over resentment, presence over fear, I am more alive and thankful to live life beautifully because I know love is infinite.

There are things you can’t see but your mind still recognizes. Sometimes what I feel is more true than what I know.

What’s your relationship to self-healing?

I’m not interested in understanding myself too much. I’ve become very protective of my own mystery. There are parts of myself I don’t want to fully understand. I think the soul deserves some privacy. I heal when I release myself from expectations of knowing. I want to be the kind of person who can humanize herself. I want room to become someone I haven’t met yet. That feels closer to healing than certainty ever has.

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Med Gold writes about male-female dynamics and the American condition.

What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?

That’s a great question. On the surface, being healthy means “doing that which slows decay and death.” Exercise and proper diet. I imagine someone running on a treadmill while eating a carrot. But merely extending the length of time that you aren’t dead isn’t necessarily good. If you aren’t pursuing the enjoyment of life, there’s no point. Living well matters far more. That’s the difference between merely existing and being alive.

Being healthy means embodying health. This mode of being requires more than just frequently raising your heart rate and not giving yourself diabetes. Health is downstream of your relationship to yourself and how you manage reality.

The concept of “mental health” has been diluted by people who just want 3-day weekends, but it’s a serious matter and goes much deeper than your mental state. What does a “healthy mind” even mean? No negative thoughts? Images of sunrises and cute kittens? A blank slate?

No. Humans are animals with physical needs. We are programmed to avoid death. Men are programmed to fight enemies and impregnate women. Women are programmed to nurture children and attract men. We’re competitive beings who just happen to be aware that we exist. An honest mind isn’t supposed to be clean.

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Welcome back to Health Gossip Top Shelfies, a series peeking into the medicine cabinets, vitamin shelves, and beauty rituals of our dear readers. Today, we have a fridge and supplement shelfie by Audrey Lee, a runner and writer living in Philadelphia.

Can you tell us a bit about yourself, and how you like to spend your time?

My name is Audrey Lee. I am a writer living in Philadelphia. My debut short story collection, Utter Goodness (from Farthest Heaven), was released earlier this year. I go by @tinndfishmonger on X and write Audrey’s America on Substack.

When not reading or writing, you can find me running around the city, in a vinyasa flow, cooking, at Sunday evening mass, shopping at the Tuesday Rittenhouse farmer’s market, or sunbathing next to the Delaware River.

How would you describe your approach to beauty and wellness?

My approach to wellness is all about balance — literally in the form of yoga, and figuratively. I am constantly finding a medium between operating with the rigidity of an n=1 clinical trial and not taking myself too seriously. I joke that I subscribe to the Gwyneth Paltrow school of wellness: “It’s what makes life interesting, finding the balance between cigarettes and tofu.” To no surprise, I am a Libra sun.

Most of my life has been spent in extremes. I was a three-sport athlete in high school, but was sedentary in college. I moved between different homes, across the country to a mountain town in Utah, and back again to Philadelphia. I am a product of my environment, and my East Coast neuroticism was aggravated by the instability and uncertainty of my teen years and early twenties. Some of my best stories owe themselves to this time, but I prioritize structure, schedule, stability, and balance in my late twenties over lore acquisition — possibly a reactionary swing of the pendulum against my prior lifestyle, but for the better nonetheless.

Throughout all, my most firmly held wellness belief is that quality food comes before any supplement or beauty product. I went to college in the most Amish county in the world, and worked early mornings at a dairy and a farmer’s market before my 9 AM classes. This taught me about buying and eating locally, regenerative agriculture, and what a sustainable supply chain looks like. My college budget went to grass-fed meat, local produce, and vodka Red Bulls at the campus dive bar that I closed down every weekend. My budget still goes to grass-fed meat and local produce, but I stopped drinking alcohol about a year and a half ago.

I introduce supplements and beauty products one at a time. If I like them, they stay in my routine. If I don’t or if there is a negligible impact, I move on. Because of this, my routine — of supplements, diet, and beauty — is relatively minimalist and highly vetted. The products that I latch onto stay in my routine for years. I appreciate long-term stability and efficacy.

“Balance” is boring. It is unsexy. It does, however, work as a guiding principle for consistent, disciplined, and highly effective wellness.

What are some of your kitchen must-haves?

I am constantly in motion and have no intentions of slowing down. I run 35 to 50 miles a week, love a hot vinyasa yoga or Pilates class, strength train, and am always stretching in my kitchen while dinner cooks. An object in motion, however, cannot stay in motion without consistent fuel. My diet is structured to support this: whole foods that are high in protein, complex carbohydrates, fatty acids, and electrolytes. I avoid seed oils, processed food, milk and meat substitutes, and minimize foods high in phytoestrogens.

I eat a tin of fish every day, and have done so for the past two years. No food or supplement has helped my physical and mental well-being more than eating copious amounts of sardines and other oily fish. I owe my skin and hair to tinned fish. They are a great protein source and are packed with omega-3s, selenium, and vitamins D and B12. Women in particular benefit from DHA omega-3 fatty acids that support fertility, brain health, and lower inflammation in the gut and joints. I love artisan tins — my favorites are from Les Mouettes d’Arvor and Island Creek — but I keep a backstock from Wild Planet and Trader Joe’s for everyday consumption.

For all of the blessings that running has brought me, it wreaks havoc on my gut and brain-gut connection. My fridge is stocked with jars of pickled and fermented food: kimchi, sauerkraut, carrots, red onions, dill slices, and blueberries, all for their probiotic benefits and to get some sodium in my system.

My current supplement stack is a magnesium and B6 complex from Source Naturals, DHA fish oil from Nordic Naturals, D3+K2 from Zhou, creatine, Vital Proteins collagen peptides, colostrum, Amazing Herbs black seed oil, ConcenTrace electrolytes, and a spoonful of Coconut Cult. I also make my own ginger shots and take two ounces a day.

Any health or beauty secrets you swear by?

Sweating it out. Dry brush and stainless steel gua sha for lymphatic drainage. Vellum Street Soap Co. tallow lotion over another moisturizer to lock it into my dry skin. Lying on an acupressure mat. Making my own bone broth, butter, pickles, and ginger shots. Incandescent lightbulbs and only incandescent lightbulbs. Going to mass every Sunday, and when I’m feeling spiritually fatigued. Kinetic chain release massage before I run a race, or when I’m feeling out of alignment. Fresh flowers throughout my home. Living Libations sea buckthorn oil on the ends of my hair. Thinking about anything else besides myself to avoid incessant self-criticism. The world around me is much more interesting!

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Sakura Smith is the creator of Bagel Bunny, hand-rolled bagels made using a starter passed down from a Japanese monk. She writes about her travel and food escapades on The Bunny Diaries.

What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?

Health is ever-changing and a balancing act. Beyond all of the minute details, being healthy is wondering what makes me feel the best. What food? What drink? What movement? What people? Health is a practice of learning to listen to yourself.

How would you describe your current lifestyle?

My lifestyle is definitely in a transition phase right now. My fiancé and I are traveling this year, and so much of making myself feel good is dependent on the routines that I have in place while we bop around. How do you feel while being in a bunch of places with one suitcase? Simply accessing different ingredients or herbs has been super interesting. Taking care of yourself in a new place is an exercise for sure. With this, I am practicing control and less control.

How do you start and end your days?

This depends on where I am going. I usually wake up and immediately brush my teeth (oil pull when I have time). I can’t do anything until I brush my teeth and put on my contacts. I drink room-temperature water and then make tea. When it is a slow day, I will meditate in the morning, but if it is a fast-paced one, I will do it in the evening. I try to move immediately, otherwise I just don’t have the will. These days, that either looks like boxing, stretching on my floor/yoga, or going to walk in Yoyogi Park. This is dependent on my menstrual cycle and general mood and time management.

I always get a coffee at my favorite shop in my neighborhood and sit and read or use this time to call people around the world. I say hi to all my neighborhood friends and dogs. This part of my routine brings me probably the most joy. When you are in an ever-changing state, I find a physical place to have routine extremely grounding.

I end my day as chill as I can. My favorite time is dinner, I feel like I live a whole day only to sit down and have dinner. It is the celebration. I like to eat grilled or steamed veggies, a protein, and rice. If it were up to me, I'd eat rice porridge for every meal.

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GROUP CHAT

High-Agency-Living-Gossip.

In the comments section of our last post, a reader rightfully pointed out that I had only interviewed recent transplants for this series, and that it failed to portray the complex feelings that can come after the two-or-so-year honeymoon period wears off. But this, in fact, was the whole point. I wanted to speak to people, particularly women, who were close enough to the decision-making process to remember its intricacies; to recall the fears and the doubts, and how they moved through them anyway. To me, this process deserves as much airtime as whatever’s waiting on the other side. In a moment marked by consumption over creation, by comfortable suffering over the unknown, we need more stories of high-agency living. Of choosing to lead a life that is radically your own.

Perhaps this is the goal of the newsletter at large. My favorite interviews are with those who have a stubbornness about them; who maintain high standards for themselves, an awareness of what they are capable of, and a relentlessness in pursuing all that is good and true.

As put it in her advice to the reader: Exercise the freedom you have in your life. Wherever you are free, live it and love it.

Or as wrote, in his definition of health: …not avoiding your destiny, not distracting yourself with the wrong things. Believing in your mission, even or especially if no one else understands why you must.

Having the courage to chart your own path is probably the “healthiest” thing you can do. With that, I bring you part two of our city-to-rural series.

P.S. if you have a story to share, feel free to message me.

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“I THOUGHT TO MYSELF, ‘OH, SO I LIVE HERE NOW.’”

Blakely Spoor

Marketer, brand strategist, and writer of Cabin Nine.

Location: San Juan Islands, WA
Time there: About 2 years

Where did you move from, and why?

I was freshly graduated from college in Nashville, Tennessee, with no idea where to go next. All I knew was that I couldn’t see myself moving to New York City, where 90% of my peers were headed. I decided to spend the summer at my family’s cabin in the San Juan Islands. It turned out that the place I had escaped to in an effort to “figure my life out” was the place where my life began to take root.

How did you ultimately make the decision to move?

Coming here happened easily, and staying here happened unexpectedly. I grew up spending a few weeks every summer of my life on this island. My mom spent every summer of her life coming here with her siblings, as well. It is a place that has always felt like “home” in that it was familiar, etched in my blood and my bones. But I never expected to actually live there, especially in my mid-20s. It was supposed to be my perching spot, but a few weeks turned into a few months, which turned into many, many months. And here I still was.

One morning after a chat with my neighbors asking when I would be headed off-island next, to which I responded that I didn’t have any current plans to. I thought to myself, “Oh, so I live here now.”

What were your expectations going in? How did reality compare?

Living here is rural living, most definitely, but it is remote rural living. Its remoteness — no grocery store, no gas station, no hardware store, no ferry, no public access — has always been a part of its appeal for my family and me. It requires a generous amount of forethought, of which I am blessed and cursed to have in excess. What I anticipated being a challenge, however, was the isolation. During the off-season, the island population withers down to under 50 full-time residents, and the majority of them are at least 30 years my senior. There also aren’t any natural wine bars or specialty coffee shops to enjoy in the company of girl friends. And lord knows, I was very, very single at the time that I moved out there.

Through many baked good drop-offs, I befriended my elderly neighbors. Living in such a remote place necessitates a genuine companionship with your neighbors. They are your lifeline when there is a big wind storm, if a king tide brings water lapping at your front door, or when your heat goes out. It has become one of the biggest joys of my life to spend time with them, to learn from them, and to care for them, and them for me.

It surprised me how interesting I found the residents of the island, and how uninteresting people of “interest” subsequently became.

As for my love life, it took moving to a remote island in the middle of the Salish Sea to finally have some good luck. While living there, I met my now-boyfriend, a treehouse carpenter. I anticipated loneliness in the isolation of life here, but it only engendered connection, companionship, and love.

What does your day-to-day life look like? How do you like to spend your time?

All days are different, shifting majorly with the seasons, the tides, and the weather. But every day includes three things, no matter what: starting and ending the day with candlelight, enjoying a salted maple latte, and going out on an agate beach walk.

In what ways has rural living shaped or changed your sense of health or vitality?

Here, health is a very physical thing. Are you able to physically do what is required of you to live happily and comfortably, in a place where there is true friction of living? We don’t have the safety net of most modern conveniences here, so your physical capabilities are the first and foremost requirement of living out here.

I used to perceive health, as many of us do, in boxes. Oura rings for tracking progress, gyms for strength, yoga for mobility, 10k steps for longevity. In all of these examples — health lived in that little, contained box, with numbers, percentages, and checkmarks. You would go out of your life to accomplish them.

Here, health is not contained — it’s weaved into your everyday. It’s how you live — strength and mobility work is picking berries, lifting bags of soil, and scrubbing the underside of your boat. It’s the ability to balance on a dingy or on driftwood, to pull crab pots or swing an ax to chop your firewood. It’s schlepping grocery bags through sand and walking a mile uphill to your car. Health is having the physical capacity to move, walk, run, lift, hike, jump, bend, and pull, easily and without strain. Physical competence is not a luxury, it’s a necessity.

Since living here, I care increasingly about my actual physical strength and resilience — the kind that affords you the freedom to move as you must.

What have been some of the hardest or most surprising aspects?

It surprised me how interesting I found the residents of the island, and how uninteresting people of “interest” subsequently became.

I stopped listening to every podcast I had found necessary and enticing before. My time scrolling through the lives of West Village influencers dwindled down to none. Staying “up to date” on the recent creator events and the award show outfits and the big celebrity breakups became cumbersome.

I stopped doing all of those things, not because I had made a negotiation with myself to lower my screen time or to wrestle myself into being offline more — I simply found the people in my real life to be more interesting.

Many of my neighbors and the island residents haven’t traveled much beyond the West Coast, if the state. They never had any desire to. I love hearing the stories of how they met their partners, what it was like to be a logger, if they enjoyed living full-time on a commercial fishing boat, who taught them to mill their own lumber, which apple trees they planted, and the story behind the garden light they built for their wife.

You’d think that living in a place that is “devoid of culture” would be suffocating, and that you would fall behind in all that is important and necessary and relevant in life. It’s not like there are any museums, talks, live music, restaurant tastings, entrepreneurship summits, exhibits, or college campuses to keep you informed. Here, it’s just ordinary people living ordinarily fascinating lives.

I am not totally out of touch. But living here has recalibrated how central these things are to my universe.

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“AT ONE POINT, I FELT LIKE I WAS ABOUT TO FORGET MY OWN NAME.”

Rachelle Robinett

Writer, herbalist, and author of Naturally.

Location: Costa Rica
Time there: About two years

Where did you move from, and why?

I left NYC (something I never thought I’d do) because I fell in love completely, and immediately, with this place. It stole my heart and changed my life. The first day I walked through this tiny beachside jungle town, I wrote in my journal, “This is it.” I also left a marriage, a career, and essentially my entire old life.

How did you ultimately make the decision to move?

I made the decision based on feeling; it didn’t seem rational, I hadn’t planned it, and I didn’t know what was going to happen. But, I did know that I had to do it. I “had” to do it because I trust myself deeply, and despite the fact that it was going to completely upend my life, I knew that I was at one of those crossroads that appears infrequently. It was an opportunity for me to live the way that I am meant, and able, to. I had to do it, because I am that kind of person — the kind who will leap blindly into the unknown if that still, small voice inside says “go.” Ultimately, I believed whatever parts of me knew that it was right, and I resolved to understand it all later.

Logistically, it went like this: I visited, fell in love with the land itself (I knew no one), happened to see a home, happened to be able to afford it, and decided to buy it. (I also wept every day, which was probably relief and anticipatory grief. I often felt like I was losing my mind.) I thought I’d spend a month or two in it during NYC winters, but on my first trip down, which was supposed to be two weeks, I stayed for two and a half months. From that point on, I haven’t wanted to leave.

I had to do it, because I am that kind of person — the kind who will leap blindly into the unknown if that still, small voice inside says “go.”

What were your expectations going in? How did reality compare?

I didn’t have any real expectations because I didn’t have any real sense of what I was doing. I didn’t know if I was fully relocating, or just spending the season here — or maybe a couple of seasons, or years, or a couple of years. I still haven’t attempted to define that for myself, but what I do know is that this is where I deeply want to be right now, and that is enough.

The “reality” of what then transpired was actually surreal. I had never before been surrounded by so much beauty, joy, health, pleasure, and vitality. I immediately forgot most of what had felt so important before: matrix things like time management and algorithms, insider-culture things like food and music trends, basic things like clothing and makeup — at one point, I felt like I was about to forget my own name. I have mostly acclimated to the new normal of living in what feels like an actual dream, but all it takes is leaving (or considering leaving) to remind me that this reality is my ideal.

I believe that my continued lack of expectations allows me to exist in a state of wide-openness, which invites constant transformation. I made some very big, very hard decisions in order to launch myself into this unknown, but other than getting out and diving in, I have directed my course very little. That feels important. It seemed unhelpful, if you will, to bring my old life or old ways into this newness. It was a chance for a completely blank page, which is an opportunity few of us get (and I’m not sure how many of us truly want).

What does your day-to-day life look like? How do you like to spend your time?

My daily life now could not be more different than it was before moving. Whereas before I was generally desk-bound and inside, I now spend most of my time outdoors and in motion (surfing, walking, cycling, swimming, etc). I work when I need to, from home, on no certain schedule, and usually a few times a week rather than for most of every day. I often have no idea what day of the week it is, and frequently forget the month as well.

All it takes is leaving (or considering leaving) to remind me that this reality is my ideal.

It’s also important to note that time is treated differently here. Punctuality doesn’t exist, making plans is generally considered absurd, and activities flow into each other in an unpredictable rhythm that is culturally recognized as subject to change down to the minute. At first, yes, this broke my brain a little bit. For the most part, I’ve acclimated. Occasionally I need to exert some rigidity in order to be productive, or to ensure that I’m not completely lost in the wind. But I also came here to both get lost and see what I would find.

In what ways has rural living shaped or changed your sense of health or vitality?

I am fully immersed in all of the elements here every single day: earth, air, fire, water. I’m highly active, because it’s simply the way of life. All of the food is local and fresh. The water is drinkable from the tap (a huge plus IMO). I’ve never slept better. The community is dynamic, joyous, and close-knit (I live in a very small town). I know my purpose in life (to write). These are the pillars of health, and always have been. Because these elements are present, which is much of what drew me here, I need very little more to be healthy, or happy — and I’ve never been healthier, or happier.

What surprised me most of all, health-wise, is how quickly and dramatically my body transformed in response to this lifestyle, which is ultimately so simple. I have never been stronger, yes, but the tells were when friends and family remarked that I was glowing, that I looked like I’d aged in reverse, that my eyes were different, that my voice was different, and — most of all — that I’d never looked more like myself. That is vitality.

What have been some of the hardest or most surprising aspects?

The first hardest part about moving was disentangling myself from the life I’d built in NYC. I own a home there, made my career there, and was married. But, I had a conviction to leave and in that sense, it was easy. The logistics of buying and living in Costa Rica were impressively simple and I acclimated to the lifestyle fairly immediately (though I had to eat and sleep twice as much in order to keep up with the physical exertion, lol).

The second hardest part for me has been the welcome challenge of choosing my own adventure. I wrote recently that “freedom is a decision tree.” Having fought so hard to be free of the ties that bind, I am now navigating anew which entanglements to welcome.

Could you see yourself living in a city again?

One thing I’ve learned through all of this is that I simply cannot anticipate what I will want — or who I will be — in the future.

What advice would you give to someone thinking of moving?

Our greatest lives depend on our living according to our deepest desires.

Follow Rachelle on Instagram and Substack, and read her Health Gossip interview here.

“I NEVER REALLY UNDERSTOOD WHAT ‘GOD-FEARING’ MEANT BEFORE LIVING HERE.”

Lauren Bailey

Birth doula and student of Human Nutrition and Functional Medicine.

Location: East Helena, Montana
Time there: A few months (2.5 years in MT)

Where did you move from, and why?

I moved from St. Louis, Missouri. It’s funny because I’ve never lived more than ~20 minutes from the Missouri River in my life, which starts its journey in Three Forks, MT, before making its way down to the Mississippi River in St. Louis. It felt like a guide to me when I drove to Montana while moving here. I would catch glimpses of it along the drive, and it oddly made the transition very simple. I’m a river person; I don’t like to live very far from a river.

I moved because my life in St. Louis began to feel more and more unaligned. Many such cases. I was working a corporate sales job, traveling a ton, and drinking a lot! I always joke that St. Louis is only good for sports and drinking, and it’s true. It’s the home of the St. Louis Cardinals and Budweiser, and lovingly referred to as a drinking town with a baseball problem.

How did you ultimately make the decision to move?

I started to feel really antsy. I had started diving more into wellness again since experiencing a bout of mono the year prior. I had grown up my whole life with a mom who was very wellness-minded and a dad who hunted, fished, and foraged for mushrooms, but somewhere in college, that had been lost a bit in me. A friend brought up the term Ikigai, a Japanese concept designed to help you find your reason for being, and I realized that becoming a practitioner was that for me. So I quit my job, moved out west, went back to school, cut some bangs, started saying howdy, and snagged the blessing of waking up in Montana every day.

What were your expectations going in? How did reality compare?

I honestly expected life to continue at a fast pace, just different. I envisioned myself swapping drinks with friends for high-adrenaline activities. But my life has actually ended up being much slower (which is what I needed). I found myself gravitating towards foraging, hiking, ski touring, some trail running, camping, and river hangs with some high-adrenaline activities sprinkled in.

I love that in Montana, seasonality is demanded of you. In the winter, the nights are very long, and I find myself naturally wanting to hibernate — sometimes getting in bed as early as 8 or 8:30! On the other hand, the sun rises so early in the summer. I’m naturally okay with only six hours of sleep in the summers, and I never need an alarm; my bedroom window is east-facing, so the sun wakes me up as soon as it crests the mountains.

You have to respect the mountain, or else you might hurt yourself. There’s a lot of getting out of the way and trusting God lately.

What does your day-to-day life look like? How do you like to spend your time?

My life is very crazy right now with full-time grad school and birth work. Every day is a little different, and I have clients up to 1.5 hours from me, so depending on the day, I have a lot of driving to do.

I generally wake up and try to immediately get some morning sun. In the winters, I turn on a chicken lamp. If I have bone broth made, I will sip on that or some orange juice with collagen. In the sun, I do the big 6 lymph routine, then a short qigong routine, which I love. I actually do the qigong routine after every meal! For breakfast, I love skyr with fruit, honeycomb, bee pollen, and a raw egg yolk mixed in — sometimes I switch up breakfast but I always come back to this.

After breakfast, I either go on a short walk to ease into the work day, or I do a strength workout. The rest of the day is work and school, and I always make sure to break it up with frequent walks. I get lazier and lazier the less I move, so I consider them essential. Lunch is almost always leftovers from the night before. When I’m done for the day, I like to go for a hike or sit by the river and knit or read if I’ve already lifted. Dinner lately has been lots of curries. I typically wind down with knitting, sometimes some trashy reality TV (I can’t help it), my legs up the wall, a small glass of raw goat kefir when I can get it, and my skincare routine. I’m on call all the time now for births, and clients sometimes text at 2 or 3am with questions, so sleep can be hit-or-miss.

In what ways has rural living shaped or changed your sense of health or vitality?

Living in the mountains has brought me closer to God, and I consider myself a Christian. My faith is only growing.

I never really understood what “God-fearing” meant before living here. I wasn’t raised religious, so the term always bothered me — I think I’d only ever heard it used in a way that made it sound like coercion. I now understand that to be God-fearing means to be in a state of genuine awe and respect. It’s like when you’re in the high country and you know you should turn around soon because afternoon thunderstorms are rolling in. You have to respect the mountain, or else you might hurt yourself. There’s a lot of getting out of the way and trusting God lately.

At the root of it, I believe connection is everything. Connection to yourself, to others, to the earth, to cycles, to God.

What have been some of the hardest or most surprising aspects?

I miss my family dearly. It’s the only thing that ever makes me second-guess my decision. They are almost all still in the St. Louis area, so visiting is made easy, but we grew up really close and still are so the distance is hard. We talk every day.

Could you see yourself living in a city again?

No! In fact, we’re probably only going to get more and more rural. My boyfriend is a wildland firefighter, so depending on what he does next year, we might go back towards the Three Forks area or to the northwestern part of the state.

What advice would you give to someone thinking of moving?

Just do it. If you let yourself, you will talk yourself out of it, or talk yourself into it being the “wrong time.” The reality is that it will never be the right time — just go!

Follow Lauren on Instagram and Substack.

Other words of wisdom…

It’s been freeing to realize that I don’t need some of the things I took for granted working full-time. We spend way less money, partly out of natural consequence of moving to a lower cost-of-living area, partly out of necessity…It’s allowed me to relinquish lifestyle extras I would have sworn were necessary when working full-time and living in the city. Turns out many of these preferences were just ways to cope with the stress of work and being at odds with my deepest values.

—Aumaine Rose Smith, Poet, Editor & Mother
Moved from Cleveland to northeast Ohio

It is easy to stay where we’ve been; there is less resistance in doing more of the same. However, I found there to be huge value in continually assessing whether where I was aligned with who I was becoming. Be willing to seek out the environment your soul — and nervous system — craves, even if it surprises you. Even if it scares you.

—Maya, Writer & Naturopathic Doctor
Moved from Vancouver to a small town on Vancouver Island

It took me over a year to finally leave. It was difficult to accept the things I wanted and needed had changed, and they were different from the people around me. Growing up, I had a very rigid idea of what my life needed to look like to be a writer, and part of that was living in the city…A month before I made the decision, my best friend said to me, “I wonder what your life would be like if you actually did the things you wanted to do.”

—Kathleen Wallish, Writer
Moved from Baltimore to Lusby, Maryland

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Rose Lyddon is a writer and researcher with a focus on theology, medieval history, and contemporary culture. She writes the newsletter, Keep Your Mind in Hell and Despair Not, and has had work published in Unherd, The Mars Review of Books, and The Spectator.

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What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?

I’ve had pretty serious mental health symptoms since I was a child, so my priority has always been to figure out and manage whatever’s going on with my mind. Over time, I’ve come to see that my psychological and emotional health is always connected to the physical, spiritual, social, and environmental domains. A big focus is keeping my hormones balanced and minimizing stress, but I also need a lot of stimulation and like living in a big city where there’s always something going on. I find that what I need to stay well changes frequently, so the most important thing is to be attentive and respond flexibly.

How would you describe your current lifestyle?

I’m not a lover of routines. I like having the freedom to do whatever I want day to day. My worst nightmare would be having a mortgage and working a nine-to-five, batch-cooking all my meals on Sunday, probably something like lentil stew that’s full of phytoestrogens and promotes endotoxin in the gut.

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GROUP CHAT

Dear City Girl,

There’s a phrase I return to often: “Lying to ourselves about what we want prevents us from getting it.” In New York and London, Paris and Los Angeles, it often feels like we’re lying to ourselves about how much we actually want to live there. About how much we’re receiving in exchange for our enormous financial, energetic, and emotional investments.

This disconnect can become more pronounced as we get older, when the appeal of skipping around the city, hot, bothered, and primed to be seen, starts to fade. At the gallery openings, and the bars and clubs, a refrain starts to ring. What is this even for?

When I poll my New York friends about why they choose to stay, they offer some variation of, “All of my friends are here, how could I leave?” My reason for staying offered some variation on that, too. I had one foot out of New York long before I finally moved last year, enjoying existing in the cultural context even as I spent significant periods of time physically removed from it. There was a sense of gravity that came with living there, like everything I did automatically had meaning. Even if I was suffering, at least I was suffering in New York.

The idea for this piece came shortly before I left for a solo road trip in Washington state, an area I’ve been drawn to for years and am considering moving to. It was more fulfilling than I could have ever imagined, and surprising, too, mostly because I didn’t feel alone or lonely for even one second. Even though I knew only a handful of people there, and it was technically my first time driving alone, I felt far more at home than I do in the city where I currently hold a lease. I felt fundamentally available for the life I was being called to live.

The women featured below are at different stages of their moves, from a few months to many years. But what they share is an unwillingness to keep trading their truth for a life that only looks good from the outside. Enjoy :)

Note: this is part one of a two-part series. Next week, we’ll be hearing from three more women who left marriages, families, and dreams behind to pursue what was true for them.

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“MY LIFE BECAME VERY FULL VERY FAST.”

Surya Milner

Writer of and Creator of Empress of Ghee

Location: Montana
Time there: Two years

Where did you move from, and why?

In the most broad sense, I moved because I felt spiritually misaligned with my immediate environment, which privileged competition, a distrust in the very idea of God and also of each other, and a focus on self and pleasure as the ultimate site of inquiry.

(This is not a blanket statement about the city but rather my experience of it.)

My foremost goal in leaving was to live in a place that fostered my ability to connect with God and the Divine, because I knew that everything else (the job, the friends, the life partner) would follow. They did.

How did you ultimately make the decision?

After a couple of years of living in the city, I took a mental survey of what I call my habits of living: the activities and rituals I engage with daily. In the city, I lived in a milieu of young writers and creatives; our main activities were reading, writing, dissecting, and, when all of that proved tiresome, partying. I recall yearning to get out of my head — to stop thinking as much, and to start doing. I wanted to live in a place that commanded my physical presence.

It also struck me while living in Chicago that a lot of young people live in large urban areas because they feel like they “should” or because some widespread and cultural idea of success has been borne of the great American cities: they house our most prestigious universities and are the seat of many culturally significant industries. My generation, which was weaned on TV shows like Sex and the City, has fully imbibed the fantasy of the young and upwardly mobile woman who, with grit and aplomb, climbs to the top of her field, “makes it,” gets the guy, has the girlfriends to grab drinks with, etc.

I wanted to live in a place that commanded my physical presence.

After earning a degree from one of those universities and being immersed in all that city life had to offer, I reckoned that none of it would make me happy. I didn’t want to be an observer anymore, sipping martinis with the gals and contemplating what it means to be alive today. I wanted to press my face up against the world.

I had been contemplating moving for several months when, while on an afternoon jog, I witnessed a fatal shooting in the park near my house. It took me a while to process the senseless violence; once I did, I booked a one-way ticket to Montana.

What were your expectations going in? How did reality compare?

Montana is a fantasy-addled place, and I wasn’t immune to that. I’m still not, even though I live here. The myths of this place, and the American West more broadly, run deep in all of us. I think that can be a healthy thing if we harness that energy to create a nurturing and just environment.

When I moved here, I assumed I was opting into a more quiet life. That was only half true. Montana does not have much of the noise and chatter that burdened me in Chicago, but what I wasn’t expecting was how much easier it is to find your people when there just aren’t that many people to begin with. Here, everyone knows everyone. I always joke that living in a Montana town is like going to a liberal arts college, because you’re always running into someone you know. Some folks crave anonymity and run from that; I think being known is one of the greatest privileges of being alive.

When I told my city friends about my move to Montana, many of them served me expressions of disbelief and asked how I could live in such a place...they were of course assuming all of the unflattering things about rural folk. Inwardly, I felt like those assumptions were part of the problem and the very reason I had to leave. I’ve never felt more at home in Montana, and part of the reason is that people don’t carry those assumptions — and at the end of the day, many of us just don’t care. We care more about the land and how we treat one another.

What does your day-to-day life look like? How do you like to spend your time?

I open the day with prayer, then writing whatever thoughts come to me on my yellow legal pad while sitting on my back deck with my dog, Phil. We walk around the neighborhood and admire the mountains that cradle our town.

Then I’m often off to the university to teach, or running an errand for my business, Empress of Ghee. Sometimes I’m prepping for a farmer’s market, making a butter run, fulfilling orders to one of our local retailers, or teaching a cooking class. It varies by the day.

Social life usually consists of a wholesome activity: a bike ride through Yellowstone National Park, a run through the trails near my house, crafting with a girlfriend, attending a reading, cooking a communal meal. Last week, I met a girlfriend for a sound meditation in a yurt. Morgan, my fiancé, loves to hunt, so sometimes I’ll meet him for an evening mission, which is just an excuse to walk around the woods.

In what ways has rural living shaped or changed your sense of health or vitality?

Living in Montana has strengthened my connection with God and the Divine in an unexpected way, which has to do with the social atmosphere. There’s an open-mindedness about this part of the country that gives me hope and lends itself to seeing the divine in others. People here care less about labels: queer, straight, atheist, vegetarian, vegan, left, right, etc.

Who am I and why am I here? How can I best serve? This is the foundation of health for me.

Of course, all of those ways of being exist here, in abundance — it’s just not what people lead with. Being given permission to shed those categories has been freeing for me, and allowed me to direct more energy into being curious about the questions: Who am I and why am I here? How can I best serve? This is the foundation of health for me.

In many other ways, living in Montana has supercharged my physical health. I eat more local and seasonal food than I have in my entire life, and I know exactly where or who the food comes from. I live with a fiancé, soon-to-be husband, by whom I am cherished and protected. On any given day, I am able to go outside and run, bike, ski, forage, swim, fish, or hunt. Or sometimes I just go and sit. The literary community here is small, which makes it easier to plug in — attending readings or even leading workshops fills my cup and stokes my creative fire, which also makes me feel vital and alive.

What have been some of the hardest or most surprising aspects?

My life became very full very fast. Within one week of landing in Montana, I met the man who would become my husband. Since then, we’ve built a business together, and our lives have merged and become busy.

I’m still learning how to balance the business of the season with the reason why I moved here in the first place, which was to slow down and connect to God’s path and purpose in my life.

I suppose I assumed that life out here would be slow by default, and I didn’t expect living here to, at times, feel busier than living in a city. But this is also an extraordinary season — wedding, businesses, family moving out here, etc.

Could you see yourself living in a city again?

I can’t. The benefits of rural living far outweigh those of city living. For folks who really care about where their food comes from, the city simply can’t compete with the country.

[And] the city things — museums, art, shows, insane culinary experiences, etc — are only a plane ride away. It’s a lot easier to drop into a city for a weekend to experience city things than it is to drop into rural Montana for a weekend to ice fish, forage for wild rose, wander in the woods, dip into the hot springs. Those experiences take years of trial and error to get right.

Plus, it’s just so beautiful here, that to leave would feel like losing a cherished friend. Montana is a part of me.

Follow Surya on Substack and Instagram.

“I DON’T THINK I UNDERSTOOD HOW MUCH THE CITY WAS COSTING ME UNTIL I LEFT.”

Madison Joseph

Publicist and writer

Location: Park City, Utah
Time there: <1 year

Where did you move from, and why?

Los Angeles. I spent my twenties building a life that looked really good on paper, the career in PR, the apartment, the social calendar, etc. I didn’t leave LA because I didn’t enjoy living there. I left because I had a feeling there was something better, not better objectively, but better aligned for me.

How did you ultimately make the decision?

I didn’t wake up one day and decide to move to a mountain town. I’m way too rational for that. But I couldn’t ignore the voice that kept telling me: You don’t belong here. So I gave myself permission to experiment first. I found a site called Trusted Housesitters and started applying to housesit in small towns I’d been curious about. Low stakes, no commitment.

My first “scouting mission” changed everything. I called my mom about a week into my stay and she said she hadn’t heard me sound that happy in a really long time. That was the moment I stopped treating it like an experiment.

On feeling unaligned: I think I knew for a while before I admitted it. There’s a tiredness that isn’t about sleep; it’s about performing a life that looks good but doesn’t quite fit. I felt that throughout the entirety of my twenties.

On what stood in the way: Fear. The feeling that this wasn’t a typical path. There’s a very loud voice that says: But this is what you’re supposed to do and want. Learning to hear a quieter voice underneath that one, and trust it, took a really long time.

There’s a tiredness that isn’t about sleep; it’s about performing a life that looks good but doesn’t quite fit.

What were your expectations going in? How did reality compare?

I braced for loneliness, for the novelty to wear off, for the crash of “what have I done?” that follows a bold (some might call it unhinged) decision. But it hasn’t come.

What came instead was a feeling of peace. And no matter what comes of this chapter, I feel proud of myself for having the courage to carve my own path.

What does your day-to-day life look like? How do you like to spend your time?

My morning routine is coffee on the deck listening to the birds, then a walk on the trail behind my house before I open my laptop. I work remotely in PR, and that flexibility made this whole thing possible.

I’ve been having fun trying out the local brands, so breakfast typically includes a local sourdough and eggs paired with coffee roasted here.

Evenings look like puzzles, cooking at home, reading actual books. I got a library card within my first week here and I’ve used it more than I expected.

On social life: In LA, my social life revolved around going out for dinner and bar hopping after. Here, the social scene revolves around being active together outdoors — skiing, hiking, biking. The culture here is just different. There’s no social climbing. Just mountain climbing.

However, being new here, I don’t know many people yet. I actually took a chance and DM’d a woman I found online who lived here and asked if she wanted to go for a walk. She said yes and we ended up having a ton in common.

In what ways has rural living shaped or changed your sense of health or vitality?

Getting outside here isn’t a workout, it’s just what you do. The trails are literally steps from my door. The birds are my alarm clock. Nature is not a destination; it’s just the backdrop of an ordinary Tuesday.

In LA, stress and anxiety were my constant low-level companions. The city amplified everything — the noise, the congestion, the comparison. Here, getting out of the house alleviates it. I come back from a walk so much lighter than when I left. I think there’s something about being surrounded by nature that puts everything back into perspective.

As physical proof, within a month of moving here, my hormonal acne, which I’d been dealing with for years, completely cleared up. The only thing that changed was my environment and my stress levels.

What have been some of the hardest or most surprising aspects?

The hardest part was trusting my gut when this isn’t a typical path. There’s a version of this decision that looks irresponsible from the outside — leaving a major city, networking opportunities — for a small mountain town most people associate with ski trips.

The fear doesn’t go away. You just have to decide it’s not the one calling the shots.
The most surprising part is [that] I don’t feel lonely. Not for a single day. I actually feel less lonely than I did in a city of four million.

Could you see yourself living in a city again?

No. I don’t think I understood how much the city was costing me until I left. Not just financially, but energetically. I got so much out of that chapter, but it just wasn’t a fit for me long term.

What advice would you give to someone thinking of moving?

Don’t wait until you’re ready. By the time you feel ready, you’ll also feel resentful. I wasn’t ready, I was just willing to try.

Follow Madison on Substack.

“IT’S SO EASY TO GET SWEPT UP IN OTHERS’ WORLDS IF YOU AREN’T CAREFUL.”

Jenny Bourn

Writer, artist, and YouTuber (you may know her channel, Wear I Live)

Location: Madrid, New Mexico
Time there: 6 months

Where did you move from, and why?

I moved from Los Angeles, where I had been for four years; prior to that, NYC for six. I started to notice I had one foot out of the door in LA. I had been feeling an oncoming pivot for quite some time and was having trouble making that a reality. I was being sucked into old ways of being or pulled by distractions that weren’t lighting me up in ways they once did. Most of that work is internal, but I do find that certain places bring certain things out of us naturally. Sometimes an external shake-up is potent.

I felt intrigued to go check out New Mexico at the end of 2024, and by early 2025, I circumstantially ended up in the Southwest for about a month. I reconnected with someone I had met in New York eight years prior, who had since moved here, and we hit it off and started seeing each other. We were long distance for about a year, both contemplating which place we’d move, knowing long distance wasn’t ideal for us. I had more interest in life outside of the city, so I ended up making that decision around October 2025.

I keep coming back to a phrase, “If you don’t leave, you won’t get to go.” That kind of sums it up for me.

How did you ultimately make the decision?

I’m usually horrible at small decisions and great at big ones. I usually get a very deep knowing that I want to, and will go, somewhere, like I’m being magnetically pulled. That mechanism was pretty reliable in the past with my two other big moves. Even when they were scary, or I had no idea how it would work out, I had a deep clarity that I couldn’t really explain.

This one came with much more cloudiness. My gut feelings weren’t silent, but my mind became extremely loud. I think I was really afraid to leave the circuit I had been on since I was 19, between being in NY and LA. I had clawed my way out of a small hometown, and I felt like I was throwing away the life I had built. It makes sense; this was a much bigger difference (the town I’m in has 200 people), and there were way more variables to consider (making a decision in tandem with someone else). I think getting older has to do with it, too; it feels like decisions hold a little more weight. I also had a dreamy little back house that I lived in that felt like my soul house. I had never been so connected to a space I lived in, so that was really hard to let go. I think in the past, I was so done with the place that it made it easier to leave.

What were your expectations going in? How did reality compare?

I had pretty honest expectations. Overall, I understood that this move would be incredibly hard and wonderful at the same time. It has been both. I feel my baseline happiness has improved, but my internal stability took a big hit for a couple of months. It honestly felt like my body was confused, like it wasn’t existing in space or time. I’d lay in bed at night and a part of me was still tethered to Los Angeles, like I could feel myself laying in my old bed in my old house at the same time.

I just hit the six month mark and it’s starting to feel real now. There have been so many magical moments even through feeling a little lost at sea. It’s given me so much perspective on myself and my old lives. I can see things now that I was having trouble seeing when I was so close to them. That, in itself, has made this move incredibly worth it. My energy has been returning tenfold. I think it must be the release of letting go where my energy had been tied up unintentionally. Now, it’s coming back, available to something else.

What does your day-to-day life look like? How do you like to spend your time?

I’m just feeling like I’m hitting the point of having any semblance of a routine. I’ve been spending most of my time writing, making ceramics, or studying with my mentor in a modality she developed. I found a cheap kiln on Facebook marketplace when I moved here — something that would’ve never happened in LA — and it’s now in our backyard at my disposal. I’ve loved throwing myself into a new art form. (No pun there, I hand build.)

I’ve met a few wonderful, older women who are artists and they are so generous with their knowledge, one teaching me silversmithing just for the hell of it. I’ve been touching life in a new, simpler way. Getting back into a meditation routine and walking and hiking. We’ve taken a few roadtrips, visited hot springs, town gatherings, gone to antique and thrift stores, old bookstores, and small gatherings with some friends. It’s been pretty mellow, but I imagine much more time outside now that summer is right around the corner.

In what ways has rural living shaped or changed your sense of health or vitality?

I really believe in the power of being a hermit for some time. I feel like I am getting to know myself better than ever at an exponential rate, and the quietness is a huge part of that. It’s so easy to get swept up in others’ worlds if you aren’t careful.

I feel much more grounded and in touch with my body for the first time in so long. Messages from my God are loud and clear. (Many were the same messages I was getting in the city, but I was too stubborn or preoccupied to listen then.) Synchronicities have been off the chart. I feel like I’m constantly laughing at it.

What have been some of the hardest or most surprising aspects?

The disconnection from my old lives has been hard. I’ve been grieving. I miss my friends. I knew some tougher emotions would come up. Surprisingly, I feel more open to the world than before. It’s given me a burst of energy. Being in cities, I think a lot of that aliveness can be externalized. Here has been an opportunity to create that for myself wherever I am.

It’s so easy to get swept up in others’ worlds if you aren’t careful.

Could you see yourself living in a city again?

I’m not dying to get back to a city, but I can see myself wanting to return eventually for a chunk of time, or to just explore the world. I still kind of laugh at all the people that scoff at city living out here… I tell them I moved here from Los Angeles and they often hit me with something like, “Oh, well good for you for getting out.” The unsolicited opinions kind of annoy me; I guess I feel defensive to some degree because I learned so much from those places, too. I’m glad to know I can go either way.

What advice would you give to someone thinking of moving?

I keep coming back to a phrase, “If you don’t leave, you won’t get to go.” That kind of sums it up for me. Life will fall into place once the decision is made.

There is no running from self, either. It’s easy to think a new place will make a whole new you, and it will, if you are willing to change alongside it. Something that helped me commit to the move is committing to a time frame. I knew I could do it for at least a year or two. There was no telling if this would be my forever, and that’s fine. It could be, it might not be. I don’t know yet. But I’m glad I came.

Follow Jenny on Instagram and Substack.

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is a London-based nutritional therapist and founder of Full Serving, a practice for whole-body health. On her newsletter, she takes a practical, fuss-free approach to all things health and wellness, considering the intricacies of people’s real lives rather than striving for total optimization (see: her case for breakfast soup and a sweet treat, or her guide to eating out).

Those interested in working with Kat 1:1 can schedule a consult here.

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What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?

Being healthy means feeling good most of the time, for a long time. Energized in the day, relaxed at night, and having enough strength, discomfort, joy, or sadness relative to what the experience calls for, rather than chasing an unrealistic state of constant perfection. When you’re healthy, you can do “imperfect” things and still feel good.

It relates to the idea of being adaptable, which to me is a key tenet of health. The opposite is rigidity — inflexibility with ideas, inability to deal with friction, body feeling all stiff. Not great.

If I can feel good in a packed morning train, stay resilient during challenging times, and feel great sunning on a beach…that to me is a good indicator of health. Healthy most of the time rather than hoping and waiting for the right conditions.

How would you describe your current lifestyle?

Instinctive. A bit hodgepodge, in a good way. My lifestyle is really a mashup of being super present for short spurts, then allowing space for creative projects, spontaneous socializing, and whatever unexpected thing lands on my plate. I’ve learned to trust my choices without constantly questioning them when it comes to health — that alone has lightened the cognitive load considerably. I also live and die by my Google Calendar; everything that matters to me goes in there. I’m no longer a time optimist and it’s freed me. Get real, do what you say, stop overcomplicating it.

How do you start and end your days?

Open the curtains so daylight can stream in. Head to the kitchen to boil the kettle so I can rehydrate with hot water — I’ll go for about half a liter first thing. While that’s happening, I brush my teeth, light an incense cone, and send a “morning” emoji to my parents who are halfway across the world. Then I’ll eat a couple of bites of something before heading out for a walk with my boyfriend. I tend to leave my phone at home.

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This is a record of several hours on the phone with my grandmother, Lola Kay, who I consider to be the blueprint for my life. Each time we speak, it is late night for me on the East Coast. Across the planet, it is morning for her. She sits at her breakfast table, the lush home garden she tends to behind her. Throughout our discussion, shrill chirps would interrupt. Their source: a handful of baby chicks at Lola’s feet; new companions she enthusiastically hatched in an incubator earlier this week. She flips the camera to show me the chicks, who waddle around: “I am so happy because they are so cute and fat and strong.”

—Alex Westfall, Lola Kay’s granddaughter

Miss and love you, Lola. How are you?

Love you more. Love togetherness. It’s raining here a little bit. I’m very well, as always. Nothing will stop me from being well and happy and rejoicing.

What does “healthy” mean to you?

Physically, it’s that I can function well and not feel any pain. I’m alert and my mind can comprehend what my granddaughter tells me. Also, I have many friends that, in spite of our age, we have fun, learn from each other. Then my family, who I see every Sunday for dinner. That’s complete health for me.

What do you do to reach this definition of health?

I try to be aware of what makes my body not function. For example, crabs and meat make my arthritis flare up. I try to consume more fish and vegetables. Being my age, I notice that I forget things, even my handbag. So every day, I do little mind puzzles made for children. I also try to maintain my long and reliable friendships.

How old is your oldest friendship?

My classmates from college, way back from when I was a youngster in the 50s. I still have them — those who are still alive, you know? My 88th birthday is coming up and my friends are throwing a party for me.

You have so much energy during the day, Lola.

That’s what you think! But I have a secret: I cat-nap in the car. If it’s a hot and draining afternoon, I give myself a gift…lying down for 15 minutes.

Do you still drink your ginger shot every morning?

I have changed it to Three Cs.

“Three Cs”?

I learned it from my younger sister. Cucumber, carrots, and celery in equal proportions. I puree that, and I have it in the morning in a bamboo mug. It’s good for your digestion, your eyes (carrots!), your blood. Also a big glass of water and lemon.

What do you typically eat for breakfast?

Papaya in the morning. Dried, salted fish is my protein (this morning though, I had sardines for omega 3s, and some aged cheddar). The 3 Cs. My coffee is of course my luxury.

You reminded me recently of how you would sneak candy for me and my sisters as kids, because my dad wouldn’t let us have any.

I didn’t like to see you looking so hungry.

You made us happy. What are your favorite recipes or dishes to make?

My poundcake, and nilaga (boiled beef bone soup with marrow). My mother had taught me that while boiling, we add onions and leeks for flavor. But squash goes in first, and you squish and mash it to make it part of the soup.

What else forms your health routine?

Throughout the day, I bring around my drinking kit: a jug filled with warm organic tea with ginger. I never drink cold water, only at room temperature. I like to walk; I try to do up to 8,000 steps a day. When I am attacked by colds and coughs, I soak my feet with warm water and salt, then massage them. And, you know Vicks [VapoRub]?

I love Vicks. Lolo would put it on my tummy as a kid. Where do you put it?

I put it on the bottom of my feet. Try it, it will put you to sleep.

Do you have any routines in your daily life that make you feel your best?

I like hot coconut oil hair treatments, which I do twice a month, with a back massage, a manicure and pedicure. It makes me feel pampered. What a luxury. Every now and then, I feel lousy and don’t want to get up. So I go to the parlor. Get my hair done. I feel much better. Just like that.

My mother was a pharmacist by trade and later ran a patis (fish sauce) factory, but she was such a good gardener. From her, I learned the phrase: “the secret’s in the soil.” This applies to everything in life — the foundation is important.

Now, you run a bamboo garden. Why bamboo?

I fell in love with bamboo as a young girl. Its rustling and swaying leaves sounded like the most beautiful music. The shadows it left on the ground looked like lace. In 1997, my parents gifted me five hectares of land, and I began to plant all kinds of bamboo there. That’s what I spend my time on. We have the gazebo where seminars are held for school visits. We have the Bambusetum: a library of live bamboo, and a plant nursery. I was just at the garden two days ago. There’s still a lot that I would like to improve.

You’ve practiced pilates twice a week for the last 20 years.

Years ago, I had a frozen shoulder. I would wake up at 3 am, it was terrible. Even just lifting a cup of coffee was so painful. The doctor advised me to do exercises for a week, and it completely healed. I didn’t know I would love pilates so much. It’s so gentle, it improves core strength; posture. The body feels very, very clear after pilates.

My instructor, Mimi, is like my daughter. She asks me about life — what she needs for her husband, her children, and what I’ve done in my own life. We are always in alignment.

Have you ever felt truly afraid?

I had cancer twice, breast and in the bile. I was so afraid physically and mentally. There were no outside signs, but we caught it early. Doctors told me, “Take one day at a time.”

At first, I could not sleep because I believed I was going to die. I took Valium. I learned to relinquish my life to God. I said, “I know that my life is borrowed, and it’s not mine, and it’s yours. So I’d like to give it to you. If you want to take me, please do it in my sleep.” From then on, I didn’t struggle anymore. When I surrendered all to Him, I felt peace.

Do you believe in miracles?

First define “miracles.” What do you mean by “miracles?”

I think it can be whatever you want it to mean.

If the definition of miracle is when the impossible becomes possible, then I believe in miracles. And, when that has happened in my life, I see it as the divine work of God.

How has your relationship to God influenced your life?

When I was young, I thought I was the creator of what was happening to me. But there came a time in 1977 when I felt so dissatisfied with my life. My husband was successful, loving, kind. My children were intelligent and healthy. I had a good paying job as an economist. But I was still unhappy. I saw my mother’s missionary friends…they were happy, I envied them. I attended Bible Study for two years, and I learned the word of God. My faith came from that.

There is not a moment when I have things I would like God to know and be thankful for. Anytime something happens, good or bad, I pray.

What advice would you give someone my age?

Possessions come and go, but a good relationship is forever. Invest in learning. Remember your past. Work hard. Never lose sight of your faith.

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Lola Kay’s Famous Pound Cake Recipe

I learned this recipe from Nonoy Alivio, who was the admiral's chef aboard the USS Missouri submarine. My children and grandchildren love this pound cake. Many relationships were made and strengthened over this delicious pound cake. My second grandson, Miguel, was the first to learn the recipe and now can bake on his own. —Lola Kay

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Lauren Rothery is an American writer and filmmaker. Her debut novel, Television, was published by Ecco last year. You can read her short fiction in The Baffler and elsewhere.

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What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?

I think lately that a healthy person is like a healthy old tree, invisibly altering the local air. You breathe easier next to them.

How would you describe your current lifestyle?

Chaotic just now. I ended a long relationship recently, and moved back to New York. I’m subletting while I look for some place I’d like to stay longer. I spent the better part of six years in Europe, being in love, writing, riding on the back of a motorcycle, climbing up mountains, moving around a lot. I wrote and published my first novel. It was wonderful. But I’m tired and I’d like to sit down.

How do you start and end your days?

I wake up early, sometimes before sunrise, and start the drip coffee. I try not to look at my computer or turn on the lights. I just bump into things a while if the sun’s not up. When I’ve got the coffee made with whole milk and honey, I go sit in the front window at my bedside and think. It probably looks meditative but it’s the opposite. I’m not trying to be present in my body, but to let my thoughts roll. There’s a tug of resistance sometimes, the impulse to do something. I ask myself, What’re you, in the FBI? What’ve you got to do at dawn? and go back to aimlessly thinking. After a while, I’m comfortable. Then, very comfortable.

I do hot yoga every morning. I like to go alone. I like to listen to Beck on the walk. I like to sweat and chat with the same people at the same time every day. I’m a highly fidelitous person. I rarely get bored of what I like.1 In terms of cumulative physical results, hot yoga yields a nice mix of softness and strength, and it feels like giving my insides a shower. After class, I shower my outsides and have some fruit or a PB&J. Water. Orange juice. Desiccated bovine organ vitamins. Arnica tablets, if anything feels sore. Then I write for as long as I can. Sometimes at the park with my notebook, sometimes at home with my computer. If there is a friend to see, I like to see them in the afternoon.

I take a walk around the neighborhood in the evening, then watch an old movie. I love The Apartment. Last week I watched it twice. I’ll watch anything that Billy Wilder was even remotely involved in. If Billy Wilder lit somebody’s cigarette on set, I’ll watch the movie. I think if you’re having a tough time in your life, it’s good to be made to laugh and cry by someone dead. Gives you a sense of proportion.

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One of the most interesting parts of running a questionnaire-based newsletter is watching the themes and archetypes that naturally emerge. If I asked you to describe the Health Gossip Girl, you could probably come up with a list: flower essences, dry brushing, nightly herbal infusions, daily grounding… (Or, as put it a few months ago: the “friend who’s constantly referring to her osteopath.”) You know the type, probably because you are the type.

Lately, another characteristic has emerged, what friend-of-the-letter Carlisle has called the lymph nymph. The lymph nymph remains deeply attuned to the state of her lymphatic system on a daily, if not hourly basis, frequently engaging in self-massage, tapping, brushing, and jumping. Some people question the lymph nymph, uncertain if her lymphatic system actually needs to be manually pumped (it does), and yet, she persists — snatched, based, and glowing.

Today’s guest, , both fits this mould and departs from it. Ash is a true Renaissance woman, a master herbalist and folk doctor who, in a previous life, was a renowned fine-art photographer. On her X account, she posts some of the most truly esoteric (as in, not often spoken about) takes on light, breath, beauty, and, yes, the lymphatic system.

Below, she opens up about the late-stage Lyme diagnosis that forced her to step away from her photography career, the long unraveling and rebuilding that followed, and her slow life on the prairie today (“where every lake meets the sky”). Enjoy.

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What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?

Living within the rules and laws of proper right relationship, where our body, minds, and spirits are integrated within the greater sacred hoop of nature. Vital in a way that aligns with greater goods and our life purpose.

Health, for me, deeply equates to a physical and emotional vitality and resilience that is embodied and lived on those levels, with a healthy nervous system and adaptable capacity. A body that is nourished enough to be harmonious in its purpose and in what we need from it.

How would you describe your current lifestyle?

I am a total loner at present. I live and breathe herbalism, Eastern medicine, and creativity from a house tucked into a hill that I lovingly call OMOTH (“Old Man on the Hill,” so named for the lovely old weeping Spruce along a sandy creek out back).

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Jess Jobst (@jess__jobst) is a designer, producer, and motorcyclist. She writes the Substack, .

What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?

Being healthy, to me, is a symbiosis of the mind, body, and spirit. It's as much to do with my mental wellbeing, emotional sobriety, and my environment as it is with my actual body. It's about being alive and awakened, living in sync with nature and the universe.

When I can, I stay away from any regimented routines and let my body sleep when it is tired, intuitively eat, etc. I have become so much more aware of how my body functions by paying attention to it acutely. I try and live in sync with the natural rhythms of the seasons and my menstrual cycle, etc.

I'm one of those people who need their space to be clean, enticing, comfortable, quiet, calm, and decorated well. I cannot do anything in a messy room — this affects my mind and my ability to function. I need to curate a beautiful space with art, handmade objects, books, and well-designed furniture to surround me, and a lot of light to feel good and inspired. It needs to be a peaceful environment. I am usually listening to some sort of new age, environmental, meditation music in the background, and there are fresh flowers on my table. My nervous system craves being grounded, so that is very much to do with setting the stage for that.

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A little-known Lily fact is that I used to be somewhat Soundcloud famous. It was a formative period of time, one that led to some of my closest friendships and a years-long flirtation with living in Europe. After starting this newsletter, interviewing my ultimate music idol, and simply outgrowing a good amount of angst, the arc felt complete. It was time to move on.

In this week’s newsletter, we’re hearing from , a Los Angeles-based music journalist and host of Bandsplain, a music podcast exploring cult bands and artists. Yasi is, it turns out, a major Health Gossip fan, and also runs a fabulous Substack of her own, where she’s sampled the music tastes of guests like Alexis Page and Petra Cortright.

Her approach to health mirrors much of this newsletter’s ethos, prioritizing simplicity over optimization. “I’m most interested in leaving room for delight,” she writes. In spending time with loved ones, “even if they insist on keeping their living room lit like the hostage-breaking room at Guantanamo.”

Read on to hear more about her daily routines and journey from leading a party girl lifestyle to weightlifting, raw milk, and going to bed by 10pm.

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What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?

My ideas of health have changed a lot over time, but right now, I would say health means cultivating balance, authenticity, and alignment with your highest Self. More granularly, the aspect of health I’m trying to work on now is regulating my nervous system.

How would you describe your current lifestyle?

My current lifestyle is pretty chaotic, but in a natural way. I’ve tried to fight that a lot in the past, but the truth is it’s just how I function best. I’m never going to be the person with the completely organized office/car/closet or a neat and exacting schedule and that is fine.

Some days I work nine hours straight, and some days I work in short, intense bursts, and some days I can’t work at all. I have to be a bit vigilant about honoring those days, because I tend towards workaholism. I try to move every day, be outside some part of every day, and eat often and well. It's important for me to connect with my friends and family every day, even if it's just texting or FaceTiming. I’m most interested in leaving room for delight, rather than planning or optimizing. Less rigid scheduling, more magic.

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is the creator of Health Gossip, which she launched in early 2023. The name appeared to her in a dream.

What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?

Our capacity to receive and participate in the world around us. To meet life fully; to appreciate and cultivate beauty. To give from an overflowing cup.

When I feel most healthy, I feel most clear, like I have the energy to fully shine my light and give that light to others. When I feel least healthy, it’s when I’m only thinking about myself.

How would you describe your current lifestyle?

Urban-ascetic-contrarian.

How do you start and end your days?

I start most mornings walking outside, often while sipping from a cup of warm broth or herbal infusion (lately: nettle, hibiscus, and dandelion root).

Over the past few years, this has been my most consistent, and most necessary, routine — originally born out of a desire to normalize my circadian rhythm, only to realize it had a ripple effect on my overall mood, energy levels, and sense of peace.

I firmly believe that the way we start our days determines the spirit of that day. It’s important to connect to ourselves and be conscious of what we’re consuming in that vulnerable, post-waking state.

Before I leave the apartment, I’ll oil pull, take a flower essence (if I’m working with one), and drink mineral water with any empty-stomach supplements.1 Lately, I’ve also been doing a lymphatic + dry brushing routine, which I’ve written about elsewhere.

When I return home, I focus on nourishment: breakfast, which normally looks like some combination of a raw carrot salad, eggs with sheep or goat’s milk cheese, and sauerkraut. Now that it’s warmer out, I’ve been enjoying a smoothie with wild blueberries, coconut milk, and bone broth protein. I drink matcha or coffee most days, usually at a cafe.

I really value movement and seek to always be out and about, ideally only home in the early morning and late at night. I don’t want to live in a city forever, but am grateful for the flaneur lifestyle that it permits.

After breakfast, I leave the house to start my workday (outside of the newsletter, I work in marketing). If time allows, I’ll either go to the gym before work or during my lunch break, where I do a mix of calisthenics, weightlifting, and pilates depending on the day.

I walk for at least an hour every day, ideally listening to nothing, breaking my “music fast” at the gym with trashy Belgian house music and religious chants.

By evening, I’m usually quite exhausted, and like to keep things simple: Cook a nice meal, keep the lighting dim, read or write, clean, take a bath...Lately, I’ve been allowing myself to go to bed as soon as I feel like it, sometimes as early as 9pm.

Can you recall a moment when you became more aware of your health, or your relationship to it changed?

Of course. Many moments. I think I may be going through a moment right now.

The first was a series of accidents in early childhood, which feel a bit minor now but definitely had an impact on my overall outlook on health and expression. At the age of five or six, I was in a park showing off to a friend “how far I could jump” off the curb, then jumped straight into a tree trunk. I got stitches. Around that same time, I was “ice skating” in socks on the hardwood floors of my father’s house and face-planted. It didn’t particularly hurt, but my face was bruised for a week or so after (which, to a young girl, almost felt worse than a broken bone). I put sparkles on my nose in an attempt to make the bruises more palatable to my kindergarten audience.

In both of these experiences, I think I realized — literally faced — the fact that my actions had consequences, and, to a lesser degree, that my self-expression had to be tempered or controlled in order to stay “safe.”

(This shyness would carry me into college, where, I later learned, a friend of a friend thought I was a Russian exchange student.)

In the moment I’m in now, of once again becoming conscious of my “health,” a similar theme is resurfacing (maybe because I’m living in the same city where I grew up). I’m noticing the rigidity that has become my default over the past few years, despite leading a fairly spontaneous, bohemian, connected life. I’m reminded of a sculpture an old friend once titled after me: “Lily, All Buttoned Up.”

In my heart of hearts, I don’t relate to this rigidity. Inside, I feel like a wild, freedom-oriented woman, one who lives in the country with her family and a black convertible Jeep Wrangler Sport. And yet, I still find myself defaulting to the monochrome urban costume; to blow-drying my hair. Perhaps these are the last gasps of a Falsified self.

I think it’s the work of a lifetime to be fully expressed — and even then, there’s always a gap between who we are and how we’re interpreted. With time, I’ve learned to not be so focused on narrowing it.

And what a blessing it is to have that interiority; to have something, some place, that’s just for us and God.

Do you have a spiritual practice?

After a period of early-20s agnosticism and flirting with pop spirituality (more on that below), I am reengaging with Christianity again.

This has been a process, and one I’m still very much in the midst of. As someone who is naturally quite curious and mutable, I’ve noticed a resistance to committing to an organized religion, and also a lingering attachment to systems and practices that run counter to it. But I think whenever we feel resistance or fear towards something, that’s a sign that we must pursue it. Alas, there is no Perfect Christian.

My journey through and out of New Age spirituality has been winding. After a series of awakenings in the years following 2020, I felt a veil being lifted and wanted to explore everything on the other side. What began with Rudolf Steiner and the Christian mystics evolved into a deeper engagement with astrology, Human Design, manifestation, and eventually Kabbalah. I was hooked.

But, like many, my relationship to these systems and modalities was ultimately that of a dilettante. I never fully committed to any one path, preferring to create my own spiritual system rather than anchor into a singular Truth. This left me confused, circling myself, with endless rabbit holes to dive into and no clear place to land. It also fed a kind of narcissism, where I was more focused on “fixing” myself and reaching a higher state of consciousness than being present with the world around me.

With time, I’ve found that the latter is actually a far more spiritual, and far more difficult, pursuit.

When I attended Divine Liturgy for the first time, something clicked into place. I finally felt held, like for once it wasn’t all up to me. I remember walking in, met with the haze of burning frankincense and timber of Byzantine chants, and understanding, on a visceral level, what “God-fearing” really meant. The acknowledgment of a higher authority, of divine law; of the reality that there are things objectively “right” and “wrong,” and that our actions have consequences — these are all truths that our modern, pleasure-oriented society loves to dismiss. Returning to them has given me a sense of peace that affirmations and chart-reading never quite did.

There’s a quote that I recently rediscovered from one of Manly P. Hall’s lectures, where he says that we can change human laws, but divine laws are meant to change us. Religion reminds us of the moral universe.

What’s your relationship to self-healing?

As someone who doesn’t often trust the popular narrative, I’m a self-experimenter by nature. In the past few years, I’ve reoriented much of my approach to health to be less informed by external advice or “experts” and more centered on my own inner knowing — with the understanding that it will guide me to the right modalities and people, should I need assistance.

(That’s an amazing prayer, if you’re struggling with some sort of perplexing ailment: God, bring the people and modalities into my life that will help me heal.)

People sometimes interpret the self-healing question quite literally: Do you believe that you, alone, can heal yourself? But, by virtue of being alive, we’re always in relationship — to our environment, to the people around us, to ourselves. In my view, when we aren’t in right relationship with those things, that’s when symptoms and imbalances arise.

I’ve said this before, but I think in order to be “healthy” in our current conditions, we have to live a bit alternatively. This is, in part, why I’m drawn to the guests that I am, and why the newsletter doesn’t feel so literal in its approach to health and wellness. I’m far more interested in hearing about someone’s goat milk water-flossing routine or pregnancy dreams than the 30 supplements they take every morning.

When we see people going deep in the biohacking direction, I think it’s because, deep down, they know they’re living in a way that is quite unnatural and feel the need to balance it out. But the way that we “balance it out” matters, especially when we consider how many things are marketed to us that we can simply create for ourselves, through living, or simply find in nature.

Sometimes, I really feel like the people who don’t think about their health much are the healthiest.

Do you work with any practitioners, texts, or modalities on a regular basis?

I haven’t been to the doctor in over a year, and don’t really feel the need to now (beyond getting bloodwork done). Diagnosis is a kind of spell-casting, and the practitioners that we choose to surround ourselves with matter greatly in our healing journeys. Everything affects everything.

The most life-changing doctors that I’ve seen have functioned more like teachers (the true meaning of “doctor”). I feel like I’ve spent the past few years integrating what they have taught me.

When do you feel the most nourished?

Rolling around in the grass in the sun, temperature 65-82 degrees. Laughing with friends at a beautiful dinner, ideally one made by us. Acknowledging my needs, and allowing them to be met, without retreating into the (perceived) safety of solitude. Experiencing the abundance of nature and thinking, What more could I possibly need?

How do you reset?

These days, sleep and slowing down are often the best ways for me to reset, particularly if I’m feeling depleted or drained. Following my move out of NYC last year, I’ve felt myself entering an entirely new chapter. The transition out of the old and into the new has been a bit destabilizing, requiring a level of slowness and patience that doesn’t always come naturally to me. I’m learning how to tend to and be present with the beauty around me, rather than living out of pure utility. I’m learning how to be a woman, rather than a girl or a machine.

On days when I’m not working, I’m a big fan of having my phone on airplane mode and doing something super simple, like taking a leisurely walk or reading in the park. I’ve been revisiting fiction, most recently Natalia Ginzburg and Louise Glück.

I think it’s our right as women to rest as often as we please.

But, in other moments, it’s action that we need. When I’m feeling stagnant, I love to shake, dance, run, sweat. Talk to strangers, or God, or myself, out loud. Get out of my head. Deep clean my apartment. Do the things I’ve been avoiding.

These actions can be restoring or depleting, depending on where our systems are at. I often return to the phrase, “The opposite is the medicine.” If what you’re doing isn’t working, go another way.

Do you have a favorite meal?

In recent years, I’ve found that repetition works well for me (this is the case for meals as well as routines). My digestion functions best when it knows what to expect, especially if that food is local and in season.

Currently in rotation: baked chicken thighs, steak tartare, homemade bone broth, baked Japanese sweet potatoes, ground beef and rice...I agree with when she says that gym bros are enlightened beings. An underrated health “hack” is reducing the number of decisions we make per day — and keeping meals simple, predictable, and meal-prepped is a great way to do that.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

Honor your vision and don’t sacrifice your truth for a temporary high. The right ones will come if you let them.

What advice would you give to the person reading this?

Have the courage to go your own way.

What would you like to see or create more of in the world?

Physical skills. Cloudbusting and weather modification awareness. Gyms with natural lighting, 432 Hz music, and structured / spring water on tap. Tan lines. Healed male-female dynamics. PDA. Discernment.

The throughline of all of these is less energy spent on reacting and more energy spent on creating. The latter will lead to the desired outcome of the former, anyway.

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Happy Mother’s Day weekend. To celebrate, here’s a conversation between Los Angeles-based writer Samantha Stahl and her mother, Marisa, a therapist and former aerobics instructor-turned-competitor. Enjoy <3

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I appreciate everything about my mother, Marisa. She is my constant companion, the voice in my head, my literal idol. She has taught, encouraged, and guided me to walk in a straight line when all I want to do is fall to the floor.

Something about my mother is that she is strong, and always has been. In every sense of the word. What stands out in particular, though, is the way she takes care of her physical health — I can never remember a time when I have not been impressed by the way her biceps look in a spaghetti strap tank top. She is always able to help me lift furniture, and will carry my entire body in her arms if wanted, or if necessary. I am a grown adult woman with muscles of my own. This strikes me as impressive, and also rare. I am grateful for a mother who can move.

My mother is also a therapist, and many ask me how that is for me, to have in my bloodline and in conversation and generally around. I can speak on this at this moment to definitively say that my mother’s word is Truth to me nearly all of the time, and her knowledge is very precious to me.

She is a deeply discerning and emotionally perceptive person, and her thoughts that I disseminate to friends are often referred to as “Pearls.” Below are her Pearls of Wisdom for Mom Gossip, with insights into finding God in aerobics, thong leotards, not minding what happens, and advice for young women to grow with grace.

—Samantha on her mother, Marisa

Marisa: I told my phone to call you, and it called my mom. It didn’t even go, “...this number’s been disconnected....” It kind of hung out there and went click, click, click... Interesting. Oh, I heard this thing on Larry Mantle this morning that ice baths are out, and guess what’s in?

Samantha: Hot.

Extreme heat! It stimulates the mother cells, which take care of all the baby cells.

You are my mother cell taking care of my baby cells. And speaking of taking care, I wanted to start by asking: what does the picture of health look like to you?

The picture of health. Picture of health, picture of health... The picture of health can do what she wants to do physically and emotionally. She is in balance. The care that she takes of herself is evident — not just physically, but it radiates out of her. And she has energy, extra energy to share with those around her.

More of a vignette of health, but okay. That’s a good philosophy for being a therapist and a fitness instructor. How does your therapy practice align with your health practices?

In both professions, I see my role as realizing potential in the people that I’m lucky enough to share space with. Connection is of paramount importance. You can’t draw anything out of anybody, and no one is going to trust you or dig deep — either physically or emotionally — if they don’t connect with you and feel that you are authentic and present. You need to be both in both careers.

Let’s get into your aerobics journey. I know it was a huge part of your life when you were my age, and that you were nationally successful and very beloved in Los Angeles.

That’s a linear trajectory. I moseyed into my first aerobics class when I was 18 — Cheryl’s Fitness Center on Santa Monica Boulevard in West LA. There was this very tiny, short little instructor who was so adorable, and she was jumping around and doing these things in choreographed succession that I had never seen before in my life.

It was like I had found God. I took the class right after that one, too. And then when I went home, and I did little routines that I could remember from class in front of my mirror. On the same day, that same night. I went back the next day. And then the next day. And then the next.

After a while, they asked me to teach, so I taught my first class there with my notes and my cassette tape. Then, I taught at the Santa Monica Sports Connection, and then Spectrum. Then, the crown jewel — Sports Club — opened and everybody was like, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, who’s gonna teach there?” They took very, very few of us. But they took me!

I taught the first class on the first day. They were signing memberships in a trailer as they were building the gym, because it was so luxurious at the time. There was nothing like it. It was the place to be. They had pool and racquetball and state-of-the-art everything, and all the celebrities were there. It was quite the scene. The classes were packed and it was just literally the best thing ever.

The picture of health can do what she wants to do physically and emotionally. She is in balance.

Then, I discovered aerobics competitions. Sports Club sponsored me and got me a choreographer. But I came in second, which doesn’t get you to the National Finals. However, the runner-up gets one more chance to go to Nationals by competing in the Open. The Open is the hardest, because everybody from across the country who just missed qualifying by one place is there.

Sports Club was like, “Yeah, we sponsored you once. We’re not sponsoring you again.” So my class raised all the money I needed for the plane ticket, for the hotel, everything. I came in second at the Open and I made it to Nationals.

I’m literally crying. This story makes me cry.

It was good times, babe. It was good times. Aerobics was everything. It used to be the height of sexiness. There was one club I taught at where guys were teaching and they would stuff their tights. They would put socks in their crotches and teach.

Some club owners wanted us to have our hair and makeup perfect every class. We had to look a certain way to teach. One always said, “I don’t care what you look like at the end of class, but at the beginning of class, I want you to look great.”

I’ll never forget, the first day, this one instructor came in with a full-on thong leotard, and I was like, “Oh, my god!” We would wear tights and a high-cut leotard, but it would cover part of your butt. But she came in wearing the thong leotard and the leg warmers, and that was it. From then on —

You wore the thong leotard.

Of course! And then it progressed from the thong leotard to the thong bottom and the bra top. It was adorable.

But you’ve never worn a lot of makeup, especially compared to other moms or even Grandma. Why?

I often think about that. I don’t get my nails done. The hair, nails, makeup stuff.

Dave (my dad, from another room): Too much working out.

He’s not wrong. I put all that energy into working out. I was working out two, three times a day, and never did it when I was younger. It became a habit. Working out was more of a priority than looking a certain way, makeup-wise.

Wasn’t working out in your 20s more aesthetic-driven than wellness-driven?

It was body. Body was everything. There was a lot of pressure — to be in front of 45 people, ten times a week was not easy. Half the time, I would wear a sweatshirt tied around my butt when I felt self-conscious, and everyone would make fun of me for it. Your body needed to look a certain way.

It’s hard for me to appreciate certain practices when I don’t look or feel better. Like, why am I doing this? Why do you do things that you know are good for you but don’t have perceptible effects?

If I know I’m doing something good for my organs and my internal health, that’s enough for me, at least at this age. It wasn’t at your age. I had to see it. My external appearance was everything, and I really couldn’t care less about what was going on on the inside. But now, as I age, that’s more precious to me. I’m taking better care of that now. I’d like to be around, and things just happen. Many things are out of my control. So, I try to control the things I can.

True that. God grant me the serenity.

Speaking of God granting you the serenity, let’s move to more of your spiritual practice. Your eclecticism has led me to some interesting places. I feel like it’s all mixed up into something that works for you, not following a dogma.

My philosophy is based on finding meaning in life itself. I want to be the best version of myself, have the most self-awareness possible, and be as intentional as I can be in each moment.

I try not to take things personally. When someone does something I don’t like, I try not to be reactive, to take a breath, and to recognize that that person is having a moment in their own life. I remember that we are separate beings and I am here to be alongside that person, not to lead them. I am here to support when asked. That has taken a tremendous amount of angst and responsibility off my shoulders, which has created a sense of calm in the past 2-3 years.

I have zero control over anything that happens in anyone’s life. All I can do is be there. No matter what happens, I will handle it. If I lose them, if they get hurt, if they die, I will be okay.

Even if I died, you would be okay?

I would have to be okay. I think that way about Daddy. I think that way about Ally. I think that way about me. I think that way about everything.

That’s where my Buddhism practice comes in. Everything is temporary. Every relationship is temporary. People get sick. People die. People make dumb decisions. People have accidents. People’s lives take left turns that they don’t foresee. It has not been my turn yet. I’ve been intensely fortunate, and I am so grateful for that. But, I don’t expect that my luck will continue until the day I die.

I do think about the fact that I could lose anybody at any time all the time. Buddhism teaches you that you have to know that your most beloved people can die today. There’s something in the acceptance of that. That’s what non-attachment means. It doesn’t mean that you are not going to be ruined or devastated, and I would not leave the fetal position for two months. It means that that could happen, and people get through it, and I will make my way. I don’t know how, and I hope I never have to, but I know that it could happen.

The people who suffer are those who act like they’re dying every day of their lives. I vowed never to live my life like that. Instead, I bring myself back and listen. I want every moment to be intentional. I’m not perfect, and I’m going to stray, but I want to remember how I want to be. I want to be intentional enough to say, “Oh, you’re drifting. Bring yourself back.”

It takes a lot of self-awareness. In every conversation with my patients, everything — I ask myself how I want to show up. I want every moment to exist as it is. Having my lane, and knowing when I am drifting.

Growing up, we had no junk food, no fast food, no Disney Channel, no Nickelodeon, no Bratz dolls. No iCarly. What’s the deal?

It’s not like we just fed you edamame and spinach. You had pizza and Trader Joe’s enchiladas and cookies, but you didn’t have Doritos or McDonald’s or Coke. We didn’t eat that stuff. I mean, Daddy ate it, but I didn’t. Well, I used to. Oh, those were such good days. I used to go from Taco Bell—I’d get like three tacos and a bean and cheese burrito—to Carl’s Jr. and get a baked potato. There were three places that I’d love to go in quick succession. ‘Cause I worked out so much, I could eat anything I want.

Anyways, I didn’t eat junk like that, so why would I feed you that? We don’t put that in our body, so why would we feed you something we didn’t feed ourselves?

When it comes to the Nickelodeon and Bratz, I think there’s better things to watch, better things to do. And, in first grade, when that kid with the little bowl cut called you sexy? He had an older brother, and I bet that’s where he learned that word. I thought, “You know what? These girls are going to grow up so fast anyway. Why would I add to that?” Let me try to tap the brakes again as much as I can, because the world is going to grow them up so much faster.

Shit’s going to happen. The stuff I can control, I’m going to control. When you were out with anyone else, their rules were fine. But in our house, we’re not getting Slurpees at 7-Eleven. Except for the all-you-can-drink Slurpees. Then we’re taking the big martini glass and we’re doing that.

What would you like to see women my age do to grow with grace?

Oh God, I just want to wrap my arms around all of you.

I would tell you to slow down. Life is going too fast. Your brains have not adapted to how fast technology, social media, and life are going. It’s not your fault. It’s not your particular brain. It’s that human brains are not adapting. You’ve been bombarded with more than you can handle physiologically, and you’re feeling tremendous pressure because of it.

Growing with grace — I think you should grow with health. You all are doing the absolute best you can to keep your heads above water, and to stay as healthy as you can, to not compare yourself to everything and everybody that you see.

Forge your own path. Be successful in a way that matters to you. Be challenged in a way that matters to you. That’s what I wish for you.

I wish that too.

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Brigid Blue Wallace (@brigid.blue) is a farmer living in New Jersey. I didn’t know much about her before inviting her on, and truthfully didn’t need to. Longtime readers of the newsletter will know that “good-on-paper” credentials often make for a boring interview. The less obvious the guest, the better.

You can find more of Brigid on TikTok and her baking Instagram.

What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?

Being healthy is like winning the golden ticket of life. Sometimes you don’t win the golden ticket, and sometimes you do, and you try to keep it in mint condition, but over time it bends and folds and wears down. Sometimes you accidentally leave it in your pants pocket and put it through the washing machine, and find it all crumbled up in faded pieces. Health is the will to live. It transcends the flesh. It’s the spirit in the flesh.

Animals can smell health; it’s the first thing they do when they meet each other. We do it too. It’s a sixth sense that women, in particular, have. I can smell a rat from a mile away like a prize bitch hound, and I feel most healthy when those senses are sharp. When I want to know if one of my animals is sick, I see how the rest of the pack is responding to them. Every living creature has its own special value and contribution to the collective consciousness of the group.

For me, most of my desire to be healthy is due to my fear of death. I suppose my healthiest day will be the day I make peace with the fact that I’m going to die. I’m a body for God to experience life on earth through, and right now I don’t want it to ever end.

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