Dopamine diaries
cheap thrills, the scarcity loop, and Benedictine monks
The pavement outside is wet for the first time in five months.
The same stretch of days since I’ve written anything. A similar span since I’ve maintained any kind of regular practice. And while creation and reflection come in seasons, I can’t help but wonder if this one has been self-inflicted.
I’ve been opting for easier. Giving way to cheap dopamine. Justifying guilty pleasures to compensate for the sharp corners of life. But even I know that my equation is all wrong. And more so, that the equation isn’t my fault.
The stool next to my bed is stacked with books on dopamine and the scarcity loop. I’ve been yearning for an answer to the question — how do I find enough? What I found is nuanced, yet strikingly simple.
Our borderline-compulsive obsession with quick hits and cheap dopamine isn’t our fault. Without behaviors that lean toward hoarding, binging, and succeeding, we wouldn’t be here. Absent our insatiable desire for more, humans would have kicked rocks a long time ago. Our drive for dopamine isn’t a character flaw, but rather a deeply rooted biological imperative. Despite what oppressive institutions say about self-control (obesity, addiction, etc.) when the rubber hits the road, it’s not on us.
Ideally, our systems would protect us. After all, governments were born to instill order, foster safety, and “promote general welfare.” In the current political climate, this feels deeply ironic. It’s clear that, in their current state, our systems aren’t coming to save us. Not from the mechanisms that hijack dopamine nor the forces that make us more susceptible. Neuroscientists have found that those who grow up in resource-poor environments and are primed with mortality cues are more likely to value immediate rewards over delayed rewards compared to those who are similarly primed and grow up in resource-rich environments (Dopamine Nation, Anne Lembke M.D.)
And yet passing the buck doesn’t necessarily serve us. We can be excused from shame without being pardoned from responsibility. We can hold it all in the balance — our brains, our systems, and our individual agency. There is still room for choice here.
In Scarcity Brain, (a little bro-forward, but a good read), author Michael Easter travels to Our Lady of Guadalupe Benedictine Monastery in New Mexico to do as the monks do. It’s a hybrid form of Monkhood — remote and committed, but they can visit with their families and take vacations offsite. Exceptions aside, their day-to-day is divinely orchestrated. Starting at 3:45am, they pray seven times a day. They do four hours of daily manual labor, renounce worldly possessions, and consume food in moderation. They refuse the cheap, quick hits and they’re richer for it. They’re present and fulfilled — the lifeblood of well-being.
And we know this, right? Intuitively, we know that the next purchase, meal, trip, drink, or taste of success won’t bring us what we’re longing for. We’re chasing a sense of permanence that will never be more than a fleeting moment. Therein lies the human conundrum: the space between knowing what’s good for us and doing what’s good for us.
I know, with absolute certainty, that I’ll never be a Benedictine Monk (Or a nun— women can’t be Benedictine monks). I’m also not likely to live within a system that is so narrowly regimented. And yet, I still have agency to support the leap from knowing what’s good for me and actually doing it.
Life becomes less scarce when we savor, slowing down to grab hold of the dopamine that exists in the right now and release the fixation on what’s next. Scarcity loses its allure when we pause long enough to notice when we’ve been swept away in a river of dopamine and subsequently fish ourselves out. As we begin to recognize the scarcity cues coded into our environment (ahem, marketing), we recapture our attention. To slow down in a world that capitalizes on hurrying us along is to choose agency.
Our systems may not catch us, but we don’t have to do this work alone. This goes beyond what’s good for me and stretches toward what’s good for us. This might be building community grounded in collective accountability, removing ourselves (whenever possible) from scarcity-cue-ridden spaces along the way. Other options include long-form dopamine activities: book clubs, hiking groups, volunteering, or bird watching (per Jenny Odell.) We can make like the monks and do some manual labor. What exactly we do isn’t as important as how we set out to do it — present and together. In a society that hinges on the individual, it’s nice to get by with a little help from our friends.
I finally finished a piece of writing — this one. I opted for something less laced with immediate gratification and no doubt, feel better for it. It wasn’t monastic, but it was closer. It certainly wasn’t free of dopamine and distraction, but it was softer. And I didn’t do it alone — a dear friend sat quietly next to me as I wrote. My partner swooped in with a gentle nudge at 8:30pm to put it away.
Maybe I won’t write again until the next rain, but I’ll practice choosing agency. No need for the cheap thrills here. We’re saving up for the top-shelf, good stuff.
take good care xx
amy
Active Breathwork has landed —
I’m quietly launching this offering, mostly because I don’t know how to launch anything loudly. Unlike therapy, breathwork isn’t tied to a geographic location, so it’s open to everyone.
1:1 Active Breathwork might be a good fit for you if:
You're navigating a season of transition and Big change
You sense there is an emotional blockage that’s holding you back
You need a dose of clarity to accompany a decision
Your nervous system is calling out for a reset
You’re looking for a non-traditional container for emotional exploration
Cost & value:
The 75-minute experience: We’ll start with an intention setting and a gentle exploration before settling into breath. We’ll move through 30-40 minutes of active breathwork, staying with whatever arises. We’ll finish the practice with 15 minutes of re-integration, followed by 10 minutes of optional processing.
The investment: $125 for individual sessions. $500 for five sessions (best for moving through a specific emotional theme/space)
If you’re curious or intrigued, let’s chat.
loved the gentleness of your words.
Beautifully written 🤍