I Need to Confess Something

What is Experiential Hospitality with Isaac French?

This is the audio version of my weekly newsletter, Experiential Hospitality, where I share stories and insights to help you craft unforgettable spaces and experiences through design & hospitality.

I need to confess something
and I don't say that lightly.

It's a real problem and
I wanna talk about it.

Ever since I graduated from
physical labor a few years

ago, more accident than choice.

I've picked up a habit of snacking.

I'm 28 and my brothers and I have
always been on the skinny side.

Well, most of us, there's
nothing wrong with snacking.

In moderation, but habits creep
and this one has crept until

it's practically taken over.

Helen is an amazing cook.

Those of you who've eaten at our
table can testify yet too often.

I come home for lunch or dinner, not
even hungry, but also never full.

The chips and jerky and rice cakes
and granola bars add up to rob me

of fully experiencing a good meal.

You know that feeling,

but this confession isn't
actually about food.

It's about mental carbs,
dopamine, micro doses.

I'm talking about the
snacking we do on our phones.

Monday afternoon, after finally
wrapping up my weekend to catch up,

I sat down to write like I always do,
and that's when the reckoning hit.

I was in a complete creative free fall.

It had been building for days,
but it wasn't until I sat there

helplessly that I realized I
was in a cage and it was locked.

I fumbled at the keyboard for
way too long, distracting myself

with anything I could find.

But for the life of me, I could not
write anything, not even the beginning

of a short three minute newsletter.

My brain felt like a bear.

Mid hibernation.

And it wasn't just writing.

I'd filmed three or four full videos.

Good ones I've been excited about yet
I found zero motivation to edit them.

I've dreamed of this filmmaking thing
for a while, and now I was finally teed

up the gear, the software, the basic
know-how, but I simply could not swing.

Why?

I don't know.

I just felt numb, nothing, and I
refused to do anything without some

kind of feeling, pushing or pulling me.

Then as my apathy morphed into anger,
even shame, I began to type, and this

confession spilled out messy and raw.

There's nothing like being totally honest
with yourself via the written word.

It felt good, and I was
beginning to see something.

The real villain I was up against.

Then I looked out the window,
but I didn't just look.

I saw the December sun was sinking
behind the cottonwoods along the creek.

It spread stripes of gold across
the winter grass, around the nook.

I knew what to do.

The chilly air stung my face as
I stepped through the oak door.

No podcast in my ears.

No catching up on messages.

No agenda at all, just me, A few
birds and the evening landscape.

When I reached the orchard, my phone rang.

I would've ignored it,
but it was my friend Rory.

Rory is a rare gift, an artist,
author, singer, and songwriter.

One of the best out there, and
one of the best friends too.

He's seen a lot.

Lived a lot, and carries loads of wisdom.

He asked how I was doing.

So I told him the cold hard
truth, but he didn't just listen.

He heard few others have inspired
my desire to write as much as Rory.

And as I explained, the haze I felt
stuck in, and the culprit I was

beginning to see, his gentle voice felt
like a lighthouse cutting through fog.

He could relate to all of it, and
he encouraged me to write about

exactly what I was experiencing.

So here we are.

We talked for a good hour about
business, art, direction, and life.

By the time his sweet wife, Rebecca,
had dinner on their table, I think

we both felt fresh and inspired.

I know I did.

There's nothing like a good old fashioned
conversation with a dear friend.

My mind was clear and I was beginning
to see the rocks I'd run up against.

The culprit was hiding right in my pocket.

Pondering all of this, I became suddenly
aware and ashamed of my mindless habits.

Even small ones pulling out my phone
every few minutes to check it, swiping

up to refresh, likes and comments,
swiping down to see the next piece

of whatever nonsense the all-knowing
algorithm thinks I'd like to see.

But it's not just social media,
obsessively checking email, YouTube,

analytics, stripe, slack, all of it.

And even worse, not just when
I'm at work, but when I'm with my

friends, my wife, our little boys.

Even a couple nights ago as
I lay in bed, unable to fall

asleep, I pulled out the snacks.

Of course, it started with a note
I needed to write down for work.

The CEO of Netflix once said his
company's competition wasn't other

streaming services like Amazon or HBO.

It was sleep.

We don't even own a tv, but the
little devices in our pockets

seem to me a far greater threat.

Folks, it's high time.

We wake up to the cold, hard
truth and stay awake, but

not on Netflix or our phones.

I feel like I can see more clearly
than I have on a long while.

The danger to me in all of this, it
takes accountability, honesty, regular

conversations with friends, with partners.

And barriers.

I know some folks do a
phone Sabbath once a week.

My mom just told me she's gone
back to using handwritten planners

to schedule her appointments,
make grocery lists, et cetera.

For me, I've decided carefully
on two simple things.

Number one, remove social
apps from my phone.

Number two, leave my phone in a
room other than where I sleep.

And I'm trying my best to replace
the noise with two simple things.

Number one, relationship
with people and with God.

Number two, art books longer
form films walks in nature.

The real masterpiece, if you're struggling
creatively or with meaning and purpose,

look around you and not at a screen.

It's remarkable how quickly
clarity returns when we put a

dagger through the distraction.

Let me be clear.

There's nothing wrong with snacking,
and I certainly hope you won't

take me as preaching about any of
this, but snacking always wants

a little more of you, especially
the kind that happens on screens.

Take seriously your attention,
your presence, your time.

Our time.

It's a precious, oh, so precious
thing to have and we lose it forever

by simply going along the world
we are in is engineered that way.

Let's declare war on the distraction
that creeps in unnoticed a little here, a

little there, even in the sheep's clothing
of work, multitasking and productivity.

Let's save our appetite for the real deal.

Meals that fill us up
and make us feel whole.

In food, in knowledge
and relationship in life,