Craving Something Outside of Ourselves

Quiet Clarity is a 2x/week newsletter and podcast for people who want to build a life of presence, depth, and deliberate intention.

We tell ourselves: "Once I get this, I'll finally be happy."

But here's what I discovered the hard way.

Every time you get what you craved, the craving just shifts to something else.

It's an endless game you can never win.

For years, I was addicted to the chase.

Every time I felt that uncomfortable emptiness inside, I'd run toward something external.

Friday night feeling numb? Call friends over.

Sunday afternoon existential dread? Watch a movie.

Monday morning anxiety? Scroll through social media looking for dopamine hits.

I wasn't going to parties because I was happy.

I was going because I couldn't sit alone with myself for five minutes.

The noise, the people, and the constant stimulation was all covering up for an emptiness I couldn't name.

But here's the brutal truth I had to face: that void never fills from the outside.

You could have a thousand friends, a million dollars, and the perfect relationship, and still feel that gnawing emptiness at 3 AM.

Here’s Monday’s verse from the Tao Te Ching, that changed how I see everything:

"The five colors blind the eye. The five tones deafen the ear. The five flavors dull the taste. Racing and hunting madden the mind. Precious things lead one astray. Therefore the sage is guided by what he feels in his belly, not by what he sees with his eyes. He lets go of that and chooses this."

Think about what Lao Tzu is saying here.

All the flashy things we chase: the colors, sounds, flavors, the precious things, they actually make us less alive, not more.

They blind us to what's real.

The sage focuses on his belly, not his eyes.

The belly represents our center, our core needs: simple food when hungry, rest when tired, genuine connection when lonely.

The eyes represent all the shiny things we think we want but don't actually need.

We're taught to trust our eyes—to chase what looks good. But our eyes lie constantly. They see someone's highlight reel and think that's happiness. They see possessions and think that's wealth. They see crowds and think that's connection.

The belly knows better. It knows the difference between real nourishment and empty calories. Between what feeds you and what just distracts you.

Lao Tzu keeps pointing to the same truth: contentment comes from appreciating what's already here. The simple meal when you're hungry. The quiet walk at sunset. The one real conversation instead of a hundred surface interactions.

But we're so busy chasing extraordinary experiences that we miss the ordinary miracles.

We're so focused on the destination that we hate the journey.

So obsessed with becoming that we never just be.

This last month has been an experiment in simplicity.

I've been intentionally alone. Not lonely, but alone.

I started sitting in parks with no agenda, with no podcast in my ears and no phone in my hand.

Just sitting, watching clouds move and people pass.

Just being.

At first, it was uncomfortable.

That emptiness I'd been running from my whole life was right there, unavoidable.

But then something shifted. The emptiness wasn't actually empty. It was full of space.

Full of peace.

This is an alone chapter—where I'm learning to be enough for myself.

Where a simple meal is a feast if I'm present for it.

Where an ordinary Tuesday afternoon holds as much magic as any party ever did.

When there's nothing left to seek, you don't attract what needs to be sought.

You attract what's aligned.

What's actually nourishing rather than just stimulating.

Something to try for one week:

You'll discover what Lao Tzu knew 2,500 years ago: The five colors blind us to the infinite shades of a single leaf. The five flavors numb us to the perfection of plain rice when we're truly hungry.

The precious things lead us away from the only treasure that matters—being here now.