The Ensō of Set and Setting

And the Upside of Lunch with a Friend

Welcome to the no links, no YT videos edition of Ensōnomics.

If I wrote about what I wanted to write about, I’d lose all 34 of my precious subscribers.

So, it’s probably better to try and stuff my feelings with one of the most enjoyable drugs of all, food.

The most memorable meals I’ve enjoyed, however, aren’t always just about the food. Sure, it can be a value added. Seared foie gras on masa madre toast points with raspberry jam. Some killer espresso flan. Tacos cecina with french fries on top at La Placita on Tuesdays. But in reality, it’s about the table where I’m sitting.

And like most experiences, psychedelic or not, it all comes down to set and setting.

Think of set and setting as the backstage crew of any mind altering experience and also an enjoyable meal.

Set is your mindset - your mood, beliefs, expectations, even the music looping in your head.

Setting is everything around you - the room, the people, the vibe, and the lighting.

Whether you're meditating, tripping, or having coffee and donuts at your grandmom’s formica kitchen table, these two factors strongly influence how it all lands. Bad set? Sketchy setting? Even the best possibility can spiral downwards. But get them aligned - calm mind and a safe space? That’s when the magic happens. It’s not about control, it’s about intention. Think of set and setting as your internal compass and external landscape. Together, they don’t just influence the journey. They are the journey.

There’s that moment, a brief stillness, when a meal is placed in front of you. It’s not silence, but a shift in attention. Plates hit the table, aromas rise, and everyone takes a breath. That pause says we’re here now. We’re eating together. The Zen Buddhist symbol ensō, a single, continuous circle drawn in one stroke, captures that moment as well. A shared meal, like an ensō, doesn’t need to be perfect. It merely needs to be whole, present, and offered without hesitation.

Eating together isn’t just tradition or courtesy. According to the 2025 World Happiness Report, it’s one of the most reliable predictors of happiness across the globe. In fact, meal sharing is as strongly linked to life satisfaction as income and employment. Data show that people who share more meals report higher life evaluations, more positive emotions, and lower levels of stress, sadness, and loneliness. These aren’t abstract improvements. They’re statistically significant and consistent across regions, age groups, and income levels.

I elevate my own personal metrics by trying to eat at least two meals a week while sitting on a plastic stool. This virtually guarantees I’m enjoying a meal in an open air restaurant with a friend. And probably spending no more than $3 USD.

Younger people seem to know how this works intuitively. The number of times I’ve been convinced to hit a teppanyaki joint like Benihana’s instead of a quiet meal at home? There’s far more at play there than just an onion volcano or extra Yum Yum sauce. Real ones know.

But how often do people actually eat together? There’s wide variation around the world. At the top of the global list is Senegal, where people share nearly 12 meals per week with others. Gambia, Malaysia, and Paraguay follow closely, all averaging around 11 shared meals. The only European country in the top ten is Iceland. At the other end of the spectrum, residents in Bangladesh and Estonia report fewer than 3 shared meals per week.

And the United States? It ranks 69th. On average, Americans share about 5 meals a week. That number has been dropping for two decades. In 2023, one in four Americans said they ate all their meals alone the previous day - an increase of 53% since 2003.

The problem isn’t just cultural. It’s biological. Get this - studies cited in the report link loneliness to health risks on par with smoking 15 cigarettes a day - almost a pack a day habit. Eating alone isn’t just a mood killer. It affects everything from immunity and sleep to lifespan. That’s because human beings are wired for connection, and meals are one of the most primal ways we create it.

Anthony Bourdain understood. “Meals make the society,” he once said. “They hold the fabric together in lots of ways that were charming and interesting and intoxicating to me.” He didn’t need Michelin stars to make the case. A bowl of noodles shared with a stranger or a cafecito at Versailles with Michelle Bernstein was just as meaningful. Of course the meal mattered, but the context mattered more.

Context is everything. How’s your set and setting? Where’s your head at? Are you rushed or calm, anxious or present? Are you standing over the sink so you don’t dirty a plate or sitting in a diner booth? Is the TV on or are you making eye contact? These factors shape whether a meal is mere sustenance or connection. Everything has a place, but a sandwich on a park bench with a friend hits way differently than the same sandwich eaten scrolling through your Slack.

The 2025 report emphasizes that sharing even one meal per week can boost life satisfaction by 0.2 points on a 10 point scale. That may not sound like much but it’s a change equivalent to moving up five places in the Global Happiness rankings. That’s one lunch. A simple bowl of soup. One shared takeout dinner on a Tuesday.

Importantly, this isn't just a Western concept. In Latin America, meal sharing is nearly universal. The region leads the world with about nine meals shared per week. In East and South Asia, the trend is sharply reversed. South Korea and Japan rank near the bottom, with fewer than two shared meals per week. Demographic changes, like aging populations and rising single-person households, are part of the story. but not the whole explanation.

Across cultures, sharing food isn’t just practical, it’s etymological. The French word copain (friend) comes from “pain,” meaning bread. In Italian, compagno has the same root. In Chinese, the term for companion once metaphorically meant “fire mate” as in someone you cook with around a flame. Bottom line, we’ve been designing language around food and connection for millennia.

Modern chefs continue this lineage. Some cook as a way to preserve family roots. Others are redefining what the dinner table looks like, building meals around vegetables, fermentation, or diasporic ingredients. But whatever the menu, the message is the same: make food with care, and share it with others. The table becomes a platform for generosity, not perfection.

And when we don’t gather around the table? The effects are measurable. Americans who eat all their meals alone score, on average, half a point lower in life satisfaction than those who share meals. The drop in mood is steepest among young adults. Between 2003 and 2023, the percentage of 25 to 34 year-olds who eat every meal alone rose more than 180%. That shift is bigger than anything triggered by social media or the pandemic. It’s structural. We’ve normalized isolation.

But here's the good news: sharing meals is one of the easiest ways to flip that script. You don’t need a dinner party. You just need intention. Invite someone over for leftovers. Split a sandwich with a coworker. Make pancakes and eat them with your kid, your partner, your neighbor. The food doesn't need to be fancy. The impact will still register.

The report also shows that communal eating has ripple effects. Sharing a meal triggers the release of endorphins associated with pleasure and social bonding, helping to explain why people feel happier and more content after sharing a meal. People who share meals are more likely to trust others, give to charity, and report pride in their communities. Social and civic health go hand in hand, and the table is often where both are born.

Even enjoyment increases. People who eat with others say they enjoy their food more, feel more satisfied after eating, and even look forward to cooking more often. When meals are shared, they become occasions. They have structure and punctuation. They give the day a beginning, a middle, and an end.

So why does this matter? Because in a world that often feels hyperconnected but emotionally thin, food remains one of the most immediate tools for grounding ourselves and others. A shared meal is the opposite of an algorithm. It’s slow. It’s tactile. It resists efficiency. And that resistance is part of the healing nature of food.

Happiness may not always come from grand gestures or flawless routines. It may come from the rice you stir, the chair you pull out, the plate you slide across the table. And from someone sitting across from you saying thanks.

Set and setting matter. Like the artist and the ensō, it is a moment in time, once there and now gone, which reminds us life doesn’t need to be perfect.

It might only need to be.

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And After You’ve Shared a Meal, Take a Walk

The Mental Benefits of Walking: Solvitur Ambulando

I have always preferred to walk. It’s why I live where I live. I have walked in Florida where people yell, “ get a job!” as they drive by. And I have walked in Orange County California where no one seems to walk anywhere. At some point, I decided to just keep walking everywhere because one day I might not be able to do so any longer. There is more to be explored here, but for now, let’s take a walk with St. Augustine and the theology of Solvitur Ambulando.

In a world increasingly dominated by digital noise and mental overload, the simple act of walking remains one of the most effective and ancient ways to reclaim inner clarity. Beyond its physical benefits, walking offers profound mental rewards: stress relief, emotional regulation, creative expansion, and even spiritual insight. One of the most beautiful expressions of this truth comes from the Latin phrase solvitur ambulando" - it is solved by walking" - often attributed to Saint Augustine. Though brief, this phrase contains a theology of embodiment, movement, and revelation: that some problems, especially those of the soul, are not solved through thought alone, but through the act of putting one foot in front of the other.

Saint Augustine’s use of solvitur ambulando invites a deeper reflection on the nature of truth and understanding. In his own journey, both physical and spiritual, Augustine wrestled with questions that could not be answered in static contemplation. Movement became metaphor. We walk toward insight, God and peace. Walking, then, is more than exercise; it becomes an active theology, framing movement as an act of faith that clarity manifests not through striving, but through surrender to motion and presence.

Modern science validates this ancient wisdom. Walking reduces cortisol levels and engages the parasympathetic nervous system, leading to a calm, grounded state. It stimulates creativity, improves memory, and elevates mood. But solvitur ambulando points to something even deeper than these metrics. It suggests that walking reconnects the mind to the body and the soul to the earth. When we walk, especially outdoors, we rejoin the natural rhythms of the world, and in doing so, we quiet the mind’s endless commentary. This is not passive escapism; it is active participation in a healing process that bypasses intellect and reaches something more essential.

Creative minds throughout history have discovered this principle for themselves. Writers like Henry David Thoreau, who famously walked for hours each day, found that ideas often arise not through deliberate thinking but through surrender to the movement of the body. Virginia Woolf described her walks as spaces for mental clarity and inspiration. Theologians, monks, and mystics have long used walking as prayer in motion. And consider the labyrinths of medieval cathedrals, designed not for getting somewhere, but for deepening presence with each step.

Walking is also a way to hold emotion with tenderness. When we are anxious, grieving, or angry, sitting still can feel unbearable. Walking offers a nonverbal, embodied way to move through feelings - literally and figuratively. The world becomes a companion in this process: the trees bear witness, the wind offers release, and the sky, in its vastness, helps us remember we are part of something greater.

Solvitur ambulando reminds us that not all answers come from thinking. In those quiet, steady steps, solutions unfold not as concepts, but as lived truths. It is solved by walking, because in walking, we return to ourselves.

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For the next few weeks I will be writing in a friend’s studio. This is one of her works. I’m reasonably certain it’s titled “I Miss My Dog.”

Which I do.

Enjoy.

The Endsō