TGIF :: Let's Set the Table

I publish bi-weekly about living undimmed—present and self-aware to the ways we might habitually dull our lives with certain types of drinking, eating, snark, exercise, shopping, sex, work, drugs—even over-functioning. Prior posts here; information about my recent book, events, and more can be found here. You can find other fun and miscellaneous things, including how to join us for our monthly Sangha Saturday (tomorrow), down at the bottom of this post.

This morning I am back at my (new) writing spot at home, the corner of our dining room table, closest to my altar, candlelit. This week has felt spacious in an unexpected way. Interestingly, my wearable tech tells me I am more “restored” (not stressed) than I was throughout an entire week in Costa Rica just before(!). Maybe it’s settling into routines, catching up on administrative life tasks (oddly soothing), a wonderfully bright health report after my annual physical (it’s been a few years!), consistently cooking at home for our family, or just the settling into what feels more like a manageable rhythm after several months of big lifts including launching a kid, navigating the holidays, orchestrating a book launch, and more.

So in the spaces in between meetings, kid care, chores, and so on, this week I’ve been reflecting on what nourishes us, what soothes our hearts, listening to what we need at a deeper level, and honoring that as we can. I’ve also been able to learn so much from many of you, reaching out with your feedback and reflections after reading Undimmed or attending an event: How serious is busy-ness as a dimmer? What if we are simply bored, is what we do to fill time still a dimmer? How can we help those we love in a dimming loop, if at all? Bless you. I love hearing these provocative questions.

So, this week I share some reflections on intentional gathering, sparked by a beautiful podcast (🔗 below) and a few practices we can all consider in folding this flavor of magic into our lives. Because, to undim, we must also connect.

If you have yet to hear the recent Ezra Klein show with Priya Parker: Is Your Social Life Missing Something? This Is For You, I highly recommend it as a spacious refresher on how to gather intentionally and why it matters.

And it reminded me of an experience I had early on in my ClearLife days, a clumsy attempt to connect with a group of female acquaintances and nurture new friendships as I was finding my social footing without my dimmer of choice, alcohol.

I went back and dug it out of my (not published) memoir to share with you today. Some of you will recognize it as a version of it made it into the book.

As we move into a weekend marketed as a celebration of love, perhaps we can turn our attention and care toward the connections we want to grow. Are there seeds we might to plant? Connections we may want to nurture? This feels very alive, heading into spring, noticing what we need right now, and reflecting on how we spend our time.

By sheer coincidence given my post of two weeks ago, this Chapter 31 is entitled:

One of my favorite memories from that time of clumsily finding my new social footing took place two years after I became clear. On January 30, 2020 I held a dinner party to which I invited six women I’d admired for years but had always been a bit intimidated by. They were all warm acquaintances, fellow moms in my community, and like me, they all worked outside the home in some way (some for companies, some running their own design or hospitality businesses), but there was something uniquely intriguing about each of them that inspired me to reach out—a confidence, a fierceness…but also a softer and more feminine side that was evident in our brief exchanges whether talking about business or motherhood. I had been so toughened in my youth, and later in my career, I was drawn to being around this softer yet clearly capable energy.

I longed to embody some of the feminine yet bold confidence they each embodied, something I could feel when we bumped into each other and shared small talk at the market, a sports field, or fundraiser. They were women I always walked away wishing I knew more about: What have they struggled through? What took her to India, like me, when she was a teen? Was she always such an effortless beauty or did she go through a big make-up and heels phase? Effortless-seeming style. Calm confidence. Steady eye contact. Levity. No bullshit. Natural, healthy beauty from the inside out, not shrouded in make-up or over-planned outfits. There was an ease in their inner and outer way of being that I wanted to know more about. Each had a way about them that I longed for in myself.

In a bold moment, I sent a handful of texts and invited them all over. “I’m inviting a few special women I’d love to get to know better for an intimate dinner in my modest home. Might you join us?” This was the first time I’d hosted anyone in our new, slightly larger home, the Garden House. Remarkably (or at least it felt that way at the time), they all said yes with enthusiasm “I wouldn’t miss it!” and “Thank you for including me, I’d love to come!” As the date we settled on approached, I sent a single email to them all, simply noting “No agenda/theme though I have a few creative ideas for how we might want to kick off our evening. I’ll serve casual vegetarian options (possibly a craft-your-own-hearty-salad). What can you bring? A bottle of wine and/or sparkling water would be lovely!”

As the date approached, I crafted the details of an evening to be a work of art in itself: the candles were white for new beginnings and the holders, clear glass to allow the light to cascade on the table we shared. I splurged on new cloth napkins, a rich ochre that felt bold and earthy, new sheepskin covers for the wooden benches we’d sit on, and low and thoughtful flowers, magenta roses and rosemary, the roses traditional but in a sultry shade to reflect the intention for depth among us, and, of course, a meal that accommodated anticipated dietary preferences: organic kale leaves with an assortment of salad fixings and my favorite local smoked salmon.

In the final moments before everyone arrived, I gazed around. The little house looked beautiful (Thanks, Mom, for teaching me that skill!) and the food was good enough (not sure if the raw kale was too healthy for everyone, but we’d make do; I never have been much of a cook). In a prior life I would have had a cocktail to calm my nerves a bit, make me feel more festive, but instead, I let the moment sink in. I sat down and looked around. Several of my guests were coming from big family homes with husbands, garages, and laundry rooms. Here I was in my modest rental, and I adored every bit of it. The books, clothes, and basic wares were all things I needed or wanted, and carefully chosen given my limited space and need to effectively restart my life and household in my early forties.

My first guest arrived with flowers, a hug, and a bottle of flavored sparkling water. Soon, all six guests had arrived, most with a treat or a bottle of something to drink, including a bottle of wine—the women and their gifts making my home feel even smaller than it was. Opening and offering the wine actually made me feel comfortable as I wanted everyone to be at ease (not all were non-drinkers or even aware of my choices). They had pulled themselves away from personal, professional, and family commitments to share an evening together in my little home, crowded around my stable and lovingly appointed dining table.

After welcoming and introducing everyone followed by several minutes of standing greetings and small talk, I invited them all to prepare their own salad from the spread on the kitchen counter and get comfortable at our candlelit table. As we convened, we toasted to our time with our respective beverages of choice. Three held up glasses of wine, the rest of us something non-alcoholic. The things we notice when we don’t drink!

“Thank you all for saying yes and coming this evening,” I said. “You are all here because I’ve wanted to get to know each of you a bit better, so I decided to just go for it and invite you over.” Their warm attention both soothed my nerves and rattled them. I could tell I was the one holding the space, so in the moment, I decided to suggest we break the ice with what we call “cherries and pits,” a ritual I often do with my kids to help them open up about their days over dinner. “The cherry is something good in our lives right now,” I explained, now more at ease that I had a game plan. “The pit is something that’s hard, something we are struggling with or working through, a bit of a bummer. These can be as superficial or as deep as you like.”

The guest to my left started. She shared how work was wearing her down and didn’t feel purposeful anymore. She knew she needed to quit but was afraid of losing the income, maybe parts of her identity. She then shared how grateful she was for her daughters and their seemingly endless and unconditional love at their young, pre-teen age. With a bit of back and forth among us, intimate questions, heartfelt encouragement, and subtle relatability, her share lasted for a half hour. Then someone else spoke. For the next four hours we made our way through dinner, dessert, a couple of bars of dark chocolate, and tea. One by one, we talked about our relationships—existing and desired—health challenges, ill and fading parents, professional crises, suicidal teens, household dramas, body image issues, childhood traumas, and more. Some of us cried. We all laughed. By ten o’clock we were all still seated and everyone else had gone (which no one seemed to notice, including me). Alarmed by the time, we gracefully ended the dinner and evening and shared heartfelt hugs before calling it a night.

The evening had been a mosaic of human experience, a treasure we could each take with us when returning to our routines the next day. I was moved by the depth we each shared and the care we’d extended to each other, some of them meeting for the very first time. While almost none of these people shared my commitment to living without alcohol, and in fact, they often enjoyed a drink or more socially, at least when I’d seen them at various gatherings over the years, only a glass or two was poured the whole night, and it didn’t matter. It was one of the most real, delightful, and enriching evenings I’d had in years. Alcohol wasn’t relevant, our presence was. I was almost in tears with gratitude to have been able to pull it together, certain it would have never happened had I still been clad in the armor, surface small-talk orientation, and dimming habits that had defined my social character for decades.

• Cast a net. Consider a short list of people you want to get to know better and invite them to gather. Try to keep it to new(ish) people, maybe with one thing in common (location, interest, stage, hobby). If hosting at home isn’t an option or appealing, try a park, a cafe, or other easeful meeting place.

• Invite support. Considering something new, challenging, or exciting? Maybe invite a few people to be on a short term “committee” or “board” (and when I say short term, I mean single meet-up!) for support. I am considering a big potential project right now and will be doing this soon, asking a few people I know with expertise in the area to consider joining a session with me.

• Rally a few friends around a shared project. It could be goal-setting, art-exploring, book-reading, interest-pursuing, or cuisine-exploring (cooking, eating out, or even connecting over these activities remotely). Share space and time exploring and leaning on each other for inspiration and support.

• Host an increasingly popular Admin Night. Am I the last to hear about these? Brilliant. Friends gather to tackle life’s admin tasks together. Go ahead, google it, or here’s a great quick primer on this trend.

• Kick off a regular dinner ritual. Priya Parker tells a great story in the podcast of someone who hosted the same dinner, cornbread and beans, every Monday night for years. Never the same attendees. Never the same conversation. Always an opportunity for connection.

I’d love to hear your ideas, experiences, or other thoughts in the comments below. After all, the antidote to so many pains—loneliness, addiction, fear, and so much more that triggers suffering is connection. It doesn’t need to be fancy, but it often does take a bit of initiation.

Sending Love to all, wherever you, we, all are.

We’ve got this.

♥️

Miscellaneous…

⭕️ Our next Saturday Sangha is tomorrow, February 14th, 2026 at 9:00 AM PT / Noon ET. While not about “sobriety” or “recovery,” we are all actively exploring a life without dimmers. These are beautiful hours! All are welcome. Link for an invitation here.

WTH with AI in my inbox… I was getting used to seeing AI generated posts in my social feeds (LinkedIn being the worst—some of my smartest friends seem to have handed their voice over to a bot?!), but receiving emails from humans clearly not written by humans is too much. When we share things in writing (Substacks, personal updates, business updates, community updates, invitations…), we are asking people to spend the most precious thing they have, their time, reading it. Something to think about.

Now that the book is launched…(and thank you for the reviews in Amazon and elsewhere, they mean the world!)… I am turning more attention to this bi-weekly Substack. Any topics you want covered? Anyone you suggest I reach for a guest post? Anyone you think should be in the community here? Please share.

Speaking of gathering… I have three wonderful local (Marin/SF) events coming up!

• Tuesday March 10th at The Hivery in Mill Valley. Details here.

• Tuesday March 31st at The Battery in SF. Details here. (Members only, lmk if you want a spot on my list!)

• Tuesday June 9th with Elena Brower at The Portal in Mill Valley. Details here. (Members only, lmk if you want a spot on my list!)

Are you following Sara Szal MD yet? She just joined Substack this week and is already the #1 rising writer in health and wellness. I bow to her courage in speaking truth in connection with Peter Attia and her skillful way of making endless amounts of useful information about our health accessible and actionable with her direct and inviting writing style. She would have been at that table had I known her in 2020, and now I get to call her a friend 🙏🏼💖

…thank you for sharing your time with me. 🙏🏼