No Noodle Soup on the Internet

What street markets in Pai and posts on Instagram have in common – and what sets them apart

In Pai, there are maybe a hundred noodle soup stands. Each one is different. The face. The appearance. The way they cook. The place they stand. The attitude in which the soup is served.

Some you recognize instantly: the red bench, the steaming pot, the woman with the smile. Others you don’t notice at all. Or only the second time. And sometimes you just go – because you’re hungry.

The first impression is intuition. An inner yes or no. Then comes repetition: because it was good. Because you remember. Because it wasn’t just the soup – but the whole atmosphere: the chairs, the scent, the quiet nod when the bowl was handed over. A feeling of: I’m welcome here.

And most of all: nobody shouts at you. Nobody waves a megaphone. Nobody yells, “Come over! My noodle soup is the best!” It’s quiet. At least in Thailand.

In Morocco, it’s different – there they call out. And that’s fine. I’m only describing what I see.

When I compare it to the internet – to a digital marketplace like Instagram – it suddenly gets loud. Very loud. Everyone’s shouting at once: “Only today! Ten noodle soups left!” “Don’t eat any other – this one will change your life!” “How I became a noodle soup millionaire with three ingredients!” “Why did no one tell me you can eat noodle soup cold?” “Did you know your life is over if you don’t eat noodle soup right now?”

You know what I mean. Instagram is full of it. Everyone’s posting, dancing, selling, optimizing, transforming. And somewhere in between, your voice is supposed to sound.

Why be visible at all?

That’s a question I’ve sat with: Do I even want to be visible on the internet – in the middle of all that noise? If yes – why? What am I looking for? Do I want to share something? And if so – what exactly?

Let’s stay with the soup. What is my noodle soup? What flavor do I bring to the internet?

I’m not here to shout.

I want to simply be here. Present. Like a tree. Or a statue. Something beautiful you can look at. Like a fire you can sit by and warm yourself – when you’re tired of the noise, of the scrolling, of comparison.

My noodle soup

My noodle soup warms you. Not because it’s perfect. But because it’s made with love. You can’t advertise it. You can only taste it.

Maybe it touches something in you. Maybe not. Both are fine.

It’s sweet. Spicy. Warm. A little crunch on top. And when you take the first spoonful, you might think: “I’m home.”

That’s what it’s about. A sense of home in the digital space. Warmth. Soul.

I share my view of the world. I share what I see. I share what I am.

And sometimes I write it down – to remind myself.

A digital campfire

I dream of a network without borders. A worldwide We. A digital campfire.

Not a course. Not a club. Not a coaching.

But a place where we sing, tell stories, see each other, support each other – and sometimes simply stay silent.

Your noodle soup isn’t better or worse than mine. It’s yours. And that’s good.

You shouldn’t hide. Neither should I. No masks. No show. No marketing.

I don’t know how this works. I just share what is.

And then: attention

In contrast to what I want to share, I observe how many try to copy the mechanics of others. The mechanism is everywhere: sex sells. Greed. Fear. Wealth. Promises. Reach as currency. Clicks as confirmation. “He’s got more than I do.” Comparison. Optimization. Filters. Strategy.

And then? Then everything gets louder. Faster. Flashier. And emptier.

The real question is: Why? Why do you do what you do? Money? Recognition? Community? For your topic? Your niche? And then? Please only talk about that. Don’t you dare speak about anything else.

But what gets lost in the process? You.

The hardest practice

The hardest thing is to stay true to yourself. And to keep going – even when no one applauds.

Simply because it wants to come through you. Like a bird that sings. A painter who paints. A musician who plays.

Not because someone asks. But because you can’t not do it.

You cook your soup. And take your place on the market – without shouting.

That’s enough.

Two thoughts on attention

“Attention is often sought as a substitute for what’s missing. Or as a means to get what we think we need.”

“The gaze is never neutral. Even while watching, something is being sought: excitement, distraction, comfort, belonging.”

Just notice for yourself. Why do you consume content? And why do you share it?

Sharing or having?

There’s a big difference between sharing from the heart – or sharing from lack.

If I share because I’m genuinely moved, it’s like a gift at Christmas. I made something. I want to give it. And I’m happy when someone smiles. Sometimes wordless. Sometimes with a nod. Sometimes with an embrace.

That’s enough.

And the process of creating – is already the gift.

What remains?

What truly nourishes you? What nourishes others? Not just today. But over time. Again and again. What lingers?

Depth. Truth. Authenticity. Devotion. Love. Trust.

Those are the things that sustain.

I´m here to be

I’m here to be what wants to come through me. Nothing more – but also nothing less.

I’m part of something larger. A silent family. A network of people who know why they do what they do.

I don’t offer solutions. I offer my presence.

I’m simply here. Like you.

And that’s enough.

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