We’ve spent years telling people what to eat when they’re stressed. The emerging science suggests we’ve been asking the wrong question.
The real issue isn’t stress alone. It’s unpredictable stress and most of it is designed into modern work.
Human beings can tolerate intense effort remarkably well when stress is bounded and predictable. Deadlines, big goals, even sustained hard work don’t automatically derail health.
What does far more damage is volatility:
Over many decades, particularly when I led Pitney Bowes, I was puzzled about different health profiles among employees and other people in the community who had very similar diets. Some of the least healthy people had what appeared to be healthy eating habits. Did that mean that what we were told by public health authorities about nutrition was wrong? Were they secretly eating unhealthy foods?
In recent years, I learned that research supported the hypothesis that chronic stress was more important to overall health, even for those who adhered to good eating habits and engaged in vigorous physical activity.
Most conversations about stress reduction focus on individual coping: mindfulness, resilience, better habits. But emerging research suggests that the most damaging stressors are not emotional, they are structural. Two factors dominate:
These are not abstract workplace design problems. They directly influence how the body processes food. When emergencies proliferate and capacity is mismatched to demands, stress physiology overwhelms nutrition physiology. Even excellent diets stop working as intended.
]]>Most discussions of nutrition, particularly in corporate settings, assume a simple equation: better food choices lead to better health, energy, and productivity. Cafeterias are upgraded, wellness apps are offered, and employees and other consumers are encouraged to “eat healthier.” Yet many organizations and individuals see little improvement in metabolic health, fatigue, or healthcare costs, even among highly motivated professionals.
The reason is uncomfortable but increasingly clear: stress, particularly at work, often determines whether nutrition helps or harms.
Food does not operate in a vacuum. The body’s response to what we eat is shaped by the internal signals it receives at the moment of eating, and those signals are heavily influenced by stress, sleep, and workload design. In many workplaces, stress quietly overrides nutrition.
When people eat, their bodies must decide what to do with that fuel. Use it immediately? Store it? Build muscle? Protect against perceived threat?
Those decisions are guided by hormones: essentially internal text messages telling the body how safe or threatened it is.
This is why two people can eat the same lunch and experience different outcomes. The difference is not discipline or knowledge. It is the stress environment surrounding the individual..
Chronic workplace stress, tight deadlines, constant interruptions, unclear priorities, long hours, late-night emails, and, to a greater extent than ever, the fear of losing a job to an AI-infused alternative, keeps the body in a prolonged state of alert.
In that state:
The practical result is counterintuitive but common: employees who eat well still gain weight, lose energy, and feel mentally foggy. Nutrition is not failing because food is wrong. It is failing because stress changes how food is processed.
Late lunches eaten while multitasking, dinners consumed after 10 p.m., and caffeine-fueled workdays followed by short sleep compound the problem. Even high-quality meals are metabolically “misread” by a stressed system.
The inverse is equally true, and far less discussed.
When workplace stress is managed intelligently, nutrition becomes dramatically more effective without changing food choices. Lower stress improves how the body uses food, not just what food is chosen.
In lower-stress environments:
This explains why people often experience health improvements on vacation without changing what they eat very much. The stress signal changes, and food suddenly “works.”
From a leadership perspective, the most powerful nutrition interventions rarely look like nutrition interventions at all.
They include:
Even small improvements in these areas can make existing nutrition programs far more effective.
Conversely, organizations that promote healthy eating while maintaining constant urgency and fear inadvertently undermine their own investments. They are asking food to fix what stress is breaking.
Metabolic stress does not stay confined to waistlines or lab values. It shows up as:
These outcomes are often attributed to aging or individual lifestyle choices. In reality, they are frequently system-level stress effects, amplified by how nutrition is processed under pressure.
For CEOs and other senior leaders, the critical insight is this:
Nutrition success is not primarily a personal responsibility problem. It is a signaling environment problem, and leaders shape the signaling environment.
Workplace stress can either:
or
That choice is made not in the cafeteria, but in how work is structured, paced, and led.
When executives understand this, wellness stops being a side program and becomes part of operational design. The goal shifts from telling employees to “eat better” to creating conditions where eating better actually works.
That is not just a health strategy. It is a leadership one.
Historically, workplaces were the major sources of stress. Regrettably, the stress from social media, political and social-cultural divisions, and the sense that external events are outside our control are a stress multiplier.
That is why CEOs and other leaders have an even bigger opportunity and challenge to make good nutritional choices and optimize potential.
Recently, I had my routine periodic dental checkup here in Naples, FL. The technician told me that I appeared to have a “dry mouth,” and needed to refine the fluids I was ingesting. My physician advised me to increase the amount of electrolytes in my water or to increase them in some other way. This was a real eye opener for me, as it might be for others.
For decades, we’ve been told a simple rule of thumb for hydration: drink eight 8-ounce glasses of water a day. The familiar “64 ounces” guideline is easy to remember and generally helpful. But like many health slogans, it oversimplifies a more complex physiological reality—especially for people living or working in hot and humid environments like Florida.
In these conditions, hydration isn’t just about replacing water. It’s about replacing what we lose when we sweat. And that includes electrolytes.
]]>Nutrition has always been a complex and contested field, but social media has fundamentally changed how nutritional ideas spread, and how quickly they harden into belief. Today, millions of people receive their primary nutrition guidance not from clinicians, registered dietitians, or peer-reviewed journals, but from influencers on TikTok, Instagram, YouTube, and podcasts. Some are thoughtful educators. Many are not. And the system in which they operate almost guarantees distortion.
This is not primarily a story about bad actors. It is a story about incentives, formats, and scale, and why artificial intelligence is increasingly necessary as a stabilizing counterweight.
]]>Six years ago this month, we were becoming aware of the SARS-Cov-2 virus, later described as the COVID-19 pandemic. It is usually remembered as a sudden viral catastrophe that demanded unprecedented emergency responses.
With the benefit of hindsight, however, it is equally accurate to describe COVID-19 as a metabolic stress test, one that revealed how profoundly baseline health shaped vulnerability to an acute infectious threat. The virus did not strike populations randomly. It exploited long-standing physiological weaknesses that had accumulated quietly for decades.
Few developments illuminate this reality more clearly than the later emergence of GLP-1 receptor agonists as powerful therapies for obesity, insulin resistance, and related cardiometabolic conditions. These medications were not widely available during the pandemic’s early years, but their rise helps clarify what kind of resilience was missing in 2020, and why emergency medicine alone could not fully compensate for it.
]]>At the end of 1976, I was deeply unhappy with what I saw when I looked in the mirror in my Evanston, Illinois apartment. I was about 25 pounds overweight. My skin looked pale. I had low energy and poor stamina.
For someone who had once been a long-distance runner in high school and routinely played long singles tennis matches, it was humbling that I could barely jog a block without getting winded. My clothes were very tight around the waist and starting to look worn, which made me appear heavier than I actually was. For the first and only time in my life, I decided to make a New Years resolution to lose weight and be more fit.
I also had an external motivation. Two months earlier, I had met the woman I would eventually marry, Joyce McNagny, in court. But I felt that if I asked her out then, I would be rejected because of how I looked and felt. I still would have made the resolution, but looking better for her was certainly a powerful additional impetus to succeed.
]]>I was recently at a book launch celebrating the life and work of Kevin Speier, a man whose battle with cancer was as much about dignity and resilience as it was about medicine. Kevin passed away in 2017 after a horrific battle with oral cancer. Our son Michael A. Critelli and daughter-in-law Jill Mamey Critelli created two books, Lemons and Ladybugs and Lemons and Ladybugs II. The latter book was the subject of the book launch.
Objective observers have rated both books exceptional. They touch on a number of subjects: how a man who died at age 33 and battled not only the cancer at the end of his life but also various kinds of addiction as an adult still managed to have profound and different effects on those whom he touched in his life (more thoroughly covered in the first book), the challenges and surprising joys of caregiving (his widow Angelina’s Facebook posts are included in both books), and the way he inspired everyone, including the co-authors, to think more positively about the transition from life to death.
]]>For decades, U.S. food safety assessments have relied on a deceptively simple principle: if the concentration of a food additive is low enough in each product, it must be safe.
This is the logic behind the FDA’s Acceptable Daily Intakes (ADIs) and the industry’s formulation strategies. It assumes that consumers will encounter these ingredients only in modest amounts, spread thinly across a varied diet.
But real life doesn't follow regulatory assumptions. People don’t consume additives in theoretical units—they consume foods, in real households, in real patterns, driven by marketing, convenience, cost, culture, and habit.
California’s Office of Environmental Health Hazard Assessment (OEHHA) recognized this gap and did something paradigm-shifting. Instead of relying on ingredient concentrations, it relied on publicly available real-world consumption data to measure actual exposure. And the results showed that children, the most vulnerable population, were routinely consuming far more synthetic dyes than the FDA’s outdated models ever anticipated.
The lesson is clear: real-world exposure, not theoretical ingredient limits, is the only reliable measure of food safety.
]]>Every holiday season, many of us receive boxes of smoked salmon, artisan bacon, honey-glazed hams, or “old-world” cured meats. We buy them for guests, enjoy them at restaurants, or eat them at someone else’s home. Because they feel traditional, hand-crafted, or premium, we rarely stop to ask: Are these foods healthy? And when labels show “0g sugar” or “no carbs,” the instinct is to assume these foods are relatively harmless.
Science tells a different story.
The real risks of cured, smoked, or marinated meats have nothing to do with whether the sugar, salt, or seasonings remain in the final product. The danger comes from chemical reactions that occur during the curing or smoking process, reactions that permanently change the structure of the meat and create compounds that remain long after the marinade is washed off. Understanding these risks empowers consumers to make better choices without giving up every food they enjoy.
]]>We are living through one of the fastest scientific revolutions in the history of human health. Every month, new findings emerge that overturn long-held assumptions about metabolism, weight regulation, and chronic disease.
At the same time, media outlets and social-media influencers continue to oversimplify or exaggerate early findings—making it almost impossible for the average person, or even a busy clinician, to know what is real.
This is why AI agents are becoming indispensable. They can scan new research instantly, separate strong evidence from weak correlation, and explain complex findings with a level of precision and calm that today’s information ecosystem simply cannot match.
Two areas of recent science—gut microbiome research and the interaction among stress, sleep, and ultra-processed foods—show why intelligent AI assistance is no longer optional. They both show that strong research emerges too fast for us to understand and absorb into nutritional decision making and media coverage is a poor way to keep up with this research.
]]>Over the past two years, the meteoric rise of GLP-1 drugs like Ozempic, Wegovy, and Mounjaro has disrupted not only healthcare but also the food industry’s quiet science of seduction. These medications suppress appetite, slow digestion, and blunt the dopamine rewards associated with overeating. For millions of users, they represent liberation from a lifelong biochemical trap—one that food scientists have spent decades perfecting.
Within the last week, their importance in population health has been underscored by an attempt by the Trump Administration to negotiate a price of $149 a month, far below their current pricing to large commercial insurance plans and employers.
But as with any innovation that changes human behavior, there is a counter-move underway. In the same way marketers learn to outwit ad blockers and hackers evolve to bypass new security systems, food manufacturers are experimenting with reformulations to preserve the allure of their most profitable products. This is not a morality play with heroes and villains. It is a systems-level conflict between two forms of applied science: one medical, one culinary; one designed to quiet appetite, the other to awaken it.
]]>On October 27, 2025, my wife, son, and in-laws ordered takeout from a local restaurant. That simple act reminded me of a neglected topic: the cues influencing our nutritional decisions when we order online or by phone after viewing digital menus.
We’ve often discussed nutritional outcomes from grocery shopping and dining out, but digital menu design—now central to how Americans eat—deserves special focus. According to Grand View Research, the U.S. online-originated food delivery and takeout market is projected to grow at a 9.6% compound annual rate from 2025 to 2030. This isn’t merely a convenience trend; it’s a profound shift in how behavioral design and algorithms shape our eating patterns.
Restaurants have long used “menu engineering”—strategic choices about layout, descriptions, and visual cues—to influence ordering behavior. When dining moves online, those levers become far more powerful.
On apps like Uber Eats, DoorDash, and Grubhub, every image, ranking, and prompt is guided by real-time data. Our cravings and nutritional outcomes are molded by the invisible architecture of digital interfaces.
]]>I often start my mornings at Starbucks in Darien, Connecticut, or Naples, Florida. They open early, and like most cafés and restaurants today, they’re loud. The music is so high-volume that conversation is difficult.
At a new restaurant in Darien, I once arrived right at 7 a.m. as its first and only customer. The music was blasting. When I asked the host to turn it down, he said the owner insisted it stay loud all day.
This is not a global norm. In Germany, Japan, and much of Europe, cafés maintain a quiet hum. The contrast made me wonder: why do American restaurants equate noise with “energy”? And what does that do to our health?
Research now shows that noise doesn’t just shape ambiance—it reshapes our eating behavior and physiology.
]]>One of the insights we have gained from decades of study, research and management of health programs is that the body is a network, not a collection of parts. Many symptoms are “downstream signals” of dysfunction elsewhere, because physiological systems are tightly interdependent — through nerves, hormones, circulation, and immune pathways.
For decades, digestion was seen as a simple mechanical process—food goes in, nutrients come out, waste leaves. We now know it’s far more complex: the gut is an intelligent, dynamic ecosystem that communicates continuously with the brain, immune system, and metabolism. Its balance—or imbalance—affects nearly every dimension of health, especially how we respond to chronic stress and environmental pressures.
]]>We all know that much of today’s reporting—whether in mainstream outlets or alternative media—fails to meet even minimum journalistic standards. Too often, writers start with a preferred narrative and then cherry-pick or “force-fit” data to support it. Nowhere is this more pervasive than in nutrition reporting.
A favorite media trope is the “diet soda causes diabetes” story. One headline in Eating Well declared: “Diet Sodas May Actually Be Raising Your Diabetes Risk, New Study Says.” The fine print reveals that researchers merely found an association: participants who drank the most diet soda had a 129% higher relative risk of Type 2 diabetes than those who drank the least.
But an association is not causation. People who choose diet sodas may already be struggling with weight gain or insulin resistance—precisely the people at higher risk for diabetes. In other words, drinking diet soda may be an effect, not a cause, of underlying problems.
Even when studies attempt to control for confounding variables (age, gender, existing health status, income, exercise), unmeasured differences remain. Observational studies can suggest relationships, but they rarely prove anything.
]]>Over the last few months, we have presented a diverse body of guidance on optimal nutritional habits. But we have to recognize that someone who accesses nutritional guidance is usually starting from a point of dissatisfaction with his or her current nutritional habits and the effect it has had on his or her body.
Aside from learning what health professionals recommend relative to what we eat, anyone researching the countless number of resources on nutritional guidance invariably discover that physicians or nutritionists vary in the advice they give on the frequency, size and timing of meals. Differences in advice on meal frequency and fasting don’t necessarily mean that these individuals with deep domain knowledge are contradicting one another — they’re often optimizing for different goals, populations, and contexts.
]]>In 2019 and 2020, I gained a life-changing insight into health. In July 2019, a holistic medicine doctor recommended that I reduce sugar and simple carbohydrate consumption because my hemoglobin A1c had spiked above the high end of the acceptable range. He punctuated his advice with cautionary notes about diabetes and macular degeneration.
I followed his advice and brought this metric back down.
]]>Seafood should be one of the healthiest and most sustainable foods on our plates. Rich in omega-3 fatty acids, lean protein, and essential micronutrients, it is often held up as a cornerstone of a heart-healthy diet.
Yet the truth is more complicated. Every bite of seafood carries a story—not just of the ocean or river it came from, but of how our industrial systems handle waste, how fisheries are managed, and how chemicals and contaminants move through our environment. To eat seafood wisely, you need to understand the invisible risks and make informed choices.
]]>When Americans think about the health effects of eating meat, they usually focus on calories, fat, or whether a cut is “red” or “white.” What few of us realize is that how animals are raised shapes the nutritional quality of meat, the risks of antibiotic resistance, and even the health of surrounding communities. The gap between perception and reality is wide—and consequential.
Consumers often fear antibiotic residues in meat. That’s misplaced. Withdrawal rules make residues minimal by slaughter time. The real danger is antibiotic-resistant bacteria that thrive on farms where drugs are used routinely.
Feedlots and barns often medicate entire herds to prevent outbreaks in crowded conditions. Over time, resistant strains of Salmonella and E. coli emerge. Cooking kills bacteria, but resistance spreads through raw meat handling, contaminated water, and airborne dust. Resistant infections kill thousands of Americans annually—yet few link their pork chop or burger to this silent epidemic.
]]>Walk into any supermarket and you’ll see a wide array of claims on chicken and egg packaging: organic, cage-free, free-range, pasture-raised, natural. For consumers who care about health, food safety, and animal welfare, the language can be confusing. Of all these terms, “organic” is the most tightly regulated. But what does it really mean—and what doesn’t it cover?
For both meat chickens (broilers) and laying hens (which produce eggs), organic certification begins with the feed. Birds must be given certified organic feed, which is grown without:Synthetic pesticides
Synthetic fertilizers
Genetically modified organisms (GMOs)
Antibiotics or growth-promoting drugs
Feed matters because it influences not just bird health, but also the quality of the eggs and meat. Organic feed rules reduce chemical residues in food and support more sustainable farming practices. Farmers must use approved suppliers, and the supply chain itself is audited to prevent shortcuts.
No Rutine Antibiotics or Hormones
The organic label also sets strict rules on drug use:
No synthetic hormones.
U.S. law bans hormones in all poultry production, organic or not. So, when you see “no added hormones” on chicken or egg packaging, it’s technically true—but it applies to the entire industry.
No routine antibiotics.
Conventional producers may still use antibiotics to prevent or treat illness in crowded flocks. Organic standards prohibit this. If an organic bird becomes sick and requires antibiotics, the farmer must treat it for humane reasons, but the animal and its products can no longer be marketed as organic. This rule forces organic farmers to rely on prevention—cleaner barns, more space, better ventilation, and natural remedies.
Organic rules require housing that allows for natural chicken behaviors, including:
Compared to conventional barns, this is a step up. However, “outdoor access” can be loosely interpreted. Some large-scale organic operations provide only small screened-in porches attached to massive barns. These meet the technical standard but hardly resemble the green pastures shown on cartons.
The USDA requires access to be “meaningful,” but enforcement varies. Consumers who want to ensure truly pasture-based farming should look for additional certifications such as Certified Humane, Animal Welfare Approved, or “Pasture Raised.”
To use the USDA Organic seal, farms must be inspected and certified by accredited third-party certifiers. Auditors review feed sourcing, living conditions, and medical treatments, and they conduct annual on-site visits.
This process distinguishes “organic” from vague claims like “natural” or “farm fresh,” which have no legal definition or inspection process. Farms misusing the organic seal face penalties or loss of certification.
Independent Watchdogs
While USDA certification sets a baseline, independent groups often go further in holding producers accountable:
Cornucopia Institute: Publishes a widely used Organic Egg Scorecard, rating brands from one to five “eggs.” Cornucopia has exposed large “industrial organic” farms that technically comply with the rules but provide only token outdoor access. Their reports help consumers identify farms that truly align with the spirit of organic practices.
Certified Humane: Offers additional animal-welfare certifications, with stricter standards for space, outdoor access, and humane handling.
Animal Welfare Approved (A Greener World): Considered one of the most rigorous certifications, requiring continuous pasture access and prohibiting cages or confinement.
Global Animal Partnership (GAP): Known for its “Step 1–5+” welfare ratings, widely used by Whole Foods Market.
These groups give consumers tools to go beyond the USDA baseline and reward farms that genuinely prioritize animal welfare and sustainable practices.
Even with all these protections, the organic label does not automatically guarantee that:
Despite its limitations, the USDA Organic seal remains one of the strongest assurances available. It means that:
For many shoppers, organic represents a reliable baseline of trust. Those seeking higher welfare or environmental standards can layer on independent certifications like Cornucopia’s top-rated producers, Certified Humane, or Animal Welfare Approved.
When you buy organic chicken or eggs, you are choosing food produced under real, enforceable standards. The USDA Organic program ensures cleaner feed, reduced chemical use, and better living conditions than conventional systems. But organic is not the whole story. Independent watchdogs like the Cornucopia Institute and animal welfare certifiers provide the deeper accountability many consumers want. Organic is a good foundation—but pairing it with stronger certifications is the best way to align your purchases with your values.
Most people believe that unhealthy eating is simply a matter of willpower. We assume that if we had a little more discipline, we could resist the sugary snack, the fast-food drive-through, or the late-night raid on the fridge. But as research—and everyday experience—show us, our nutritional choices are shaped less by hunger and more by a series of hidden triggers.
These triggers are everywhere: a stressful day, a celebratory dinner, peer pressure from friends, or even the convenience of quick and affordable food. The problem isn’t that we don’t know fruits and vegetables are better for us than salty snacks—it’s that the forces around us nudge us into patterns we barely recognize until they become habits.
We’re building a browser-based product to help people bring those hidden triggers to the surface. Once visible, they can be managed, redirected, and eventually transformed into healthier patterns.
]]>When I was growing up, I was fortunate to have parents who lived through the Great Depression of the 1930s. They were frugal, disciplined, and constantly aware that small choices, repeated every day, add up to big financial consequences. They taught me two timeless lessons: pay close attention to small, daily expenses, and understand the power of compounding interest on what we save.
Charities understood this principle as well. In the 1930s, the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis launched the “March of Dimes,” asking everyday Americans to contribute just ten cents. Millions did, and those nickels and dimes funded the research that ultimately produced the polio vaccine. Small amounts, collected consistently, transformed into something world-changing.
The same principle applies to our food and beverage habits. Too often, media commentators claim that low-income people “cannot afford to eat healthy.” What they overlook is how much money leaks away through daily, habitual purchases of unhealthy food and drinks. Those small, routine indulgences often cost more than healthier alternatives—and they damage our health in the process.
Take coffee for instance. No matter where I am in the world, I start my day with a cup of espresso or black coffee. I know exactly what it costs me, and I accept it as an affordable ritual. But what I do not accept is the parade of oversized, sugary beverages I watch people order at Starbucks, Dunkin’ Donuts, or Caffè Nero. These drinks are loaded with sugar, cost significantly more than plain coffee, and trigger cravings for even more unhealthy food.
An AI-powered nutrition tool I envision could instantly calculate the real cost of these habits: that daily Frappuccino adds up to hundreds, even thousands of dollars a year. More importantly, it quietly consumes a substantial portion of someone’s salary while adding inches to the waistline.
Three decades ago, I gave up adding cream and sugar to my coffee. A holistic medicine practitioner later reinforced the wisdom of that choice: two cups of black coffee a day not only suppress appetite but are dramatically cheaper and healthier than sugary alternatives. I still spend about $2,000 a year on coffee, but I watch others spend nearly double that on drinks that undermine both health and finances.
I also abandoned soda early in my life. Replacing multiple cans of sugary soft drinks with water—tap or filtered—saved me even more than the coffee switch. What shocks me today is watching people with modest incomes load up on soda at convenience stores. They are literally draining their wallets for the privilege of consuming empty calories.
At restaurants, small adjustments also make a big difference. Ordering appetizer-sized portions, splitting entrees, or taking half the meal home can cut costs dramatically while preventing overeating. Servers, who depend on tips, are skilled at upselling desserts, drinks, and oversized portions. But resisting these nudges not only protects our health—it protects our bank accounts.
I’ve also noticed a healthier, thriftier alternative: ordering a salad with added protein instead of a full protein entree. It satisfies the craving without the oversized portion or inflated price. My wife and others who are vigilant about their health routinely ask for half the entree to be boxed immediately. The second meal costs nothing extra, and the calorie load is cut in half.
These seemingly small choices compound over time. By consistently choosing water over soda, plain coffee over sugar-bomb lattes, and smaller meals over oversized ones, we build a reserve of savings. My parents taught us to put those savings into a jar—what they called “paying yourself first.” The feeling of control and empowerment from even modest savings reduces stress and builds long-term wellbeing.
Consider the math: saving $1,000 a year and investing it at 5% interest accumulates over $33,000 in 20 years. Even if we redirect only 25% of that toward savings, we are still $8,250 ahead—while also being healthier, lighter, and less stressed.
The truth is simple. Eating healthy is not beyond our reach. It is a matter of awareness, discipline, and valuing our health enough to redirect small, daily expenditures. By choosing wisely at the margins, we put ourselves first—financially and physically.
Would you like me to also create a companion table that shows annual and 20-year savings from common beverage swaps (e.g., soda → water, Frappuccino → black coffee)? It could make this argument even more persuasive.
In The Graduate (1967), an older family friend famously advises a drifting college grad: “I have one word for you: plastics.” At the time, it meant prosperity, efficiency and modernity. Today, it might be a warning.
We use plastic constantly—sipping coffee in to-go cups, cooking on nonstick pans, grabbing bottled water on the run. But science is uncovering an unsettling truth: these conveniences can contaminate our food, water, and bodies with microplastics and harmful chemicals.
]]>Over the last few months, we’ve explored ways to build a healthier relationship with the foods and beverages we consume.
Last week, I introduced the idea of applying “inner game” thinking—breaking down our nutritional choices into their smallest components so we can act on them more purposefully.
This week, I want to push that idea further—by showing how AI-powered experiential learning can make those choices second nature.
Done right, this approach blends education, physical activity, and technology into experiences that reshape habits from the inside out.
]]>We live in a culture flooded with nutritional advice—count your carbs, eliminate sugar, intermittently fast, go keto, eat Mediterranean. Yet, despite all the noise, many people still struggle with food choices. They feel caught in a cycle of discipline and relapse, shame and overcorrection. What if the problem isn’t just about what we eat—but how we think about eating in the first place?
Ultimately, having a healthy relationship with food and putting it into its proper place in our lives is the one unifying strand among all the different factors that cause us to eat too much or eat the wrong things. That’s where the “Inner Game” philosophy might come into play.
]]>Our recent blogs have focused on food and beverage additives and preservatives and their role in creating and enhancing cravings, as well as economic, merchandising, social, and psychological causes of nutritional decisions.
An increasing number of Americans understand this, but most do not realize that the first line of attack for improving healthy nutrition starts at the farm or the pasture. The healthiness of produce, meat, dairy products, and grains is heavily influenced by:
Seeds
Soils
Environmental conditions
Chemicals used in agricultural processes
]]>Although it is not the primary cause of obesity, the differences between what and why we consume sweet treats during holidays and at other celebratory events is symptomatic of a much deeper societal issue.
Our lives would not be the same without birthday cakes, Thanksgiving pies, Christmas cookies, or chocolates shared with loved ones on Valentine’s Day or as a treat shared when we eat a chocolate Easter bunny. What would weddings be like if the bride and groom did not cut the wedding cake and serve it to guests? How do we rethink what we do for all these special occasions?
The link between sweet treats and holiday celebrations dates back far before our country’s founding and appears in many countries and cultures. Getting rid of unhealthy sweet treats on these special occasions is not realistic or even desirable.
]]>For a sizable part of the global population that has enough money to buy healthy foods and beverages, but chooses to eat unhealthy foods and beverages, one motivation is the way we have been wired to link unhealthy foods and beverages with positive emotions.
We will explore one of them today: “comfort.” Next week, we will explore the link between foods and celebratory occasions.
When we are stressed out, we often are induced to eat unhealthy and junky food which either we or a person offering it to us calls “comfort food.”
This is not a new phenomenon and it actually was not linked to food a few generations ago. Our parents and grandparents often pursued comfort and calm through an alcoholic beverage before, during or after dinner every day. In many households in the 1950’s and 1960’s, supposedly the golden age of American life, adults felt a need to drink an alcoholic beverage to calm their nerves after what routinely was a stressful work environment or, in the case of stay-at-home moms, a stressful day at home.
Some took tranquilizers or pain killers to deal with the physiological effects of stress. A scan of 1950’s advertising shows that even cigarettes were marketed as stress relievers and that some doctors were heavy tobacco users.
]]>One of the challenges that has been top of mind to us as we build this browser-based AI-driven product is how to make it as effective as possible as it provides information and advice to users.
The mistake public health officials, the media, employers, educators, and many other leaders have repeatedly made is to assume that their job ends when they convey information about how we should act to maximize health.
We know from our personal and social experiences that even when family, friends, and other social influences are urging us to do the right thing, we fail to do so.
]]>