The Donut Didn’t Win: How Change Actually Happens (Slow, Quiet, Real)

I came across this idea recently that hit me right in the face (in a good way): people love to talk about “awakening” like it’s a single moment. A bright flash. A dramatic before-and-after.

But I don’t think that’s how it usually works.

I think it’s gradual. It’s slow. It’s a long, unsexy process where old structures start to crack—structures you built out of survival, coping, and “this is what gets me through the day.” And at some point those structures stop working the way they used to.

Not because you’re broken.

Because you’re outgrowing them.

And those cracks? That’s where the light gets in.

The Randy’s Donuts Moment

We were driving by Randy’s (which, by the way, has superbly hefty donuts without being too heavy—unlike the confusing sadness of a raccoon washing cotton candy in the river that is Krispy Kreme—yes, I have opinions). It’s right by the Walmart shopping center, and we go by there often enough that it’s basically part of my internal map.

In the past, Randy’s was my siren song.

Like… we’d drive up that street and my body would perk up. I’d look hopefully at the shop as we passed the parking lot. Sometimes I’d say “donuts?” in that optimistic tone that means, please say yes. And most of the time, Paul would stop. We’d get donuts. I’d be happy.

This time, Paul turned into the parking lot and I was like, “Wait—what are you doing?”

And he said, “Well, I know you get sad if we pass by and don’t stop.”

And that’s when it happened.

I realized… I wasn’t sad.

I didn’t even necessarily want donuts right then.

We did get them (I’m not a monk), and I enjoyed them. But I saved mine for later—because I realized I could.

The call of the donut used to be a guarantee. A lock. A foregone conclusion.

And I realized it wasn’t anymore.

That’s not a dramatic transformation. That’s not “I have transcended earthly desires.”

That’s just… the compulsion got quieter.

The Kind of Change I Actually Trust

I’ve struggled with food and weight for as long as I can remember. Like, childhood memories.

I remember being in dance class and watching older girls talk about dieting. One girl fainted because she’d basically been starving herself to be skinnier. They gave her candy to recover and she was upset she had to eat it.

So yeah. I learned early that weight loss was about starving yourself, or binging and purging, or exercising like a madman to “run it off.” Super healthy, obviously.

Later, I did the “lose a bunch of weight fast” thing. I lost about 30 pounds in a couple months on a keto-style diet. It worked—until I couldn’t stand it anymore because I felt awful on it.

And when I stopped? It all came back. Plus some.

So at some point I made a different deal with myself.

Not a dramatic overhaul.

Just: It took time to get here. It can take time to change. The goal is healthier, not skinny.

Slow progress. Incremental choices. Less “I’m fixing myself” and more “I’m learning what works and what makes me feel better.”

Awareness Isn’t Judgment. It’s Data.

Here’s what I think is the real lever: awareness.

Not awareness as in “I’m watching myself to catch myself being bad.”

Awareness as in: I’m collecting data.

Because your brain is not persuaded by shame. Your brain is persuaded by evidence.

So the practice becomes something like this:

• You notice the moment: Why am I standing here staring into the fridge?

• You give yourself options: We can do what we always do… or we can try something else and see what happens.

• You let your brain feel like it still has agency.

• Then you check the results.

If you eat the corn dog, the nachos, and the cake? Cool. How do you feel after? How do you sleep? What’s your energy like the next day?

If you choose the salmon salad? Awesome. How do you feel after? How do you sleep? What’s your energy like the next day?

Then you bank the data.

Over time, your brain starts cooperating—not because you’re forcing it, but because it’s learning.

The “Salad Isn’t a Sad Choice” Realization

I had a moment like this before.

I was at a restaurant and I ordered a salad with salmon and I felt… confused, but happy. Lol.

And it reminded me of a time the previous year at a dive bar with my favorite nachos. I watched friends order salads with grilled chicken and I felt sad for them—because I assumed they were depriving themselves.

But later I realized: maybe it wasn’t deprivation.

Maybe it was: this kind of food makes me feel better than nachos do.

Not morally better.

Physically better. Mentally better. Next-day better.

That’s a completely different motivation.

Conscious Choices = Enjoy the Hell Out of It

Here’s another thing I believe now:

If you make a conscious choice—like it’s your birthday and you want the fancy meal and the cake—then enjoy the fuck out of it.

Otherwise what’s the point?

If you’re going to choose it and then punish yourself for it, you’re not actually choosing it. You’re just feeding the part of you that wants a beat-up stick.

And if you notice that part? Great. That’s also data.

The Point

I don’t think change is usually a bright flash.

I think it’s a year of small choices.

It’s the moment you realize you could have driven past the donut shop and been fine.

It’s the crack in the old structure.

And that crack is where the light gets in.