The Secret Letters of the Monk Who Sold His Ferrari (19 page)

“That, I don’t mind telling you, was a long afternoon,” said Ronnie.

“My house was full as usual—my teenage children, my nieces and nephews. It was noisy. José was playing his guitar; the kids were laughing and shouting—jumping on the trampoline we had out back.”

Julian and his friend had chatted a little with Ronnie and her husband, but they were clearly annoyed that their plans had been so thoroughly derailed. And the busyness of the household, Ronnie could tell, was wearing on their nerves.

“The young woman, whose name I can’t remember, couldn’t stop tapping her foot. And Julian kept sneaking gulps from the thermos while he peered out the front window every two seconds. Since the two of them didn’t really want to talk, José, the kids and I just continued on with our day.”

When the new rental car showed up several hours later, Ronnie had to insist that Julian’s friend drive it back to the city since Julian was in no condition.

“And that was the last I thought of either of them for a long, long while,” said Ronnie.

Then, several years later, she received a call from Julian. He had to remind her who he was. He took her by surprise by asking if he could come for a visit. He said he wanted to see the Red Rocks finally. Mostly, however, he wanted to talk with Ronnie.

“When he got here, well, I tell you, I wouldn’t have recognized him,” Ronnie said. “He looked younger, somehow. Even taller, too, if that’s possible. And he seemed peaceful. So peaceful and happy. That wasn’t the man I remembered.”

Julian told Ronnie that he had just come back from the Himalayas, where he had spent time with a group of monks. The lessons they shared had turned his life around. But what he learned also made him look at people differently. And he came to realize that many people he crossed paths with over the years had much to teach him, much to share.

Ronnie and Julian had gone to see the Red Rocks in the setting sun, just as she and I had done. The two of them had walked for a while, the rocks glowing in the distance. The quiet and tranquillity seemed such a stark contrast to the noise and energy of Ronnie’s household. To her, this contrast only made both places seem more special.

As they took one last look at the rocks and the sun slipped from the sky, Julian turned to Ronnie.

“You,” he said, “I think you know the secret of life. If I asked you, what is the purpose of it all, what would you say?”

Ronnie stopped telling her story for a moment. I looked over at her.

“Do you know the secret of life?” I asked in wonder.

“It was so odd that Julian asked me that question,” said
Ronnie, shaking her head. “You know my mother belonged to the Hopi tribe, my father was a Navajo. Their peoples share many beliefs, but there are differences. I was raised with those traditional Native beliefs. But my husband is Catholic. We have friends who are Jewish, Buddhist, Muslim. I have tried to learn a little about all these faiths. In my youth, I spent a lot of time studying, talking to people.”

The sky was getting dark now; the rocks that loomed on the horizon had darkened to a deep red. Ronnie looked out in the distance, but she seemed lost in thought. I waited for her to start talking again.

“I spent a lot of time looking for answers. But in the end I decided that, while there were many truths, it all came down to one simple thing.”

I looked at Ronnie expectantly. I realized that I was holding my breath.

“The purpose of life, Jonathan, is
love.
It’s that simple.”

I was quiet a moment, letting that sink in.

“If you’re not loved, nothing else matters?” I asked.

“Not quite,” said Ronnie. “The purpose of life is
to love.
Love is a verb. And it has to be at the center of your universe. It should drive everything you do. I don’t think you can be truly alive if you do not love.”

That is what Ronnie had told Julian. Julian had replied that the monks agreed with her.

“In fact,” Julian told her, “they said pretty much the same thing to me, but I traveled all the way to the Himalayas to hear that message, when I could have just heard it from you all those years ago.”

“You weren’t ready to hear,” Ronnie told Julian. “I could have
said it a thousand ways, and you wouldn’t have heard it.”

Ronnie had finished her story. She was digging in her pocket now, pulling out a small woven bag.

“The talisman,” she said, handing it to me.

I opened the small braided drawstring and tipped the contents into my hand. The talisman was a tiny silver heart. It looked handmade, its polished surfaces round and smooth. I rolled the heart in my fingers. I had been holding the little bag upside down, and now a small slip of paper I hadn’t seen fell from it. Ronnie bent down and picked it up.

She handed it to me.

The Purpose of Life Is to Love

How well you live comes down to how much you love. The heart is wiser than the head. Honor it. Trust it. Follow it.

Ronnie and I walked slowly back to where we’d parked. There was a crispness in the air now, and a fragrant desert wind blew softly. We climbed into Ronnie’s truck without saying a word and began moving down the road, the sound of the tires echoing around us.

Ronnie and I were silent on the drive back to her house. She seemed to recognize that I needed some time to reflect. I was realizing that I had been focusing most of my thoughts about my “authentic life” on my job. I was in the wrong job. That had been clear almost since the beginning of the trip. But Ayame, Mary, and now Ronnie had helped me to see that I’d betrayed myself within my personal life as well. I had not been true to myself in my friendships, with my family, or in my love life. If I had been the kind of friend I valued, I wouldn’t have turned
my back on Juan. If I had focused on being the parent I wanted to be, I wouldn’t have skimped on time with Adam. And if I had been true to my heart, I wouldn’t have been thinking about Tessa for a second. I didn’t love Tessa. But I did love Annisha. Desperately.

I stayed at Ronnie’s house that night. Before I crawled into bed, I sent three messages. One to Annisha and Adam. One to Annisha alone. And a final one to Tessa:
Sorry,
it said.

I
WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING,
just as the sun peeked through the bedroom curtains. The house was quiet, so I pulled on my clothes, grabbed my journal and tiptoed down the hall, out the door, into the backyard. Like their neighbors, Ronnie and her husband had planted a perimeter of grass around the yard. But it had gone dormant in the heat, and the dry wide blades felt rough against my bare feet. I sat down at the picnic table and gazed across the desert that stretched for miles in front of me. I could see sagebrush and boulders dotting the dry, hard earth; and here and there, a dusty juniper tree or a clump of grass.

I had one last, long leg of the trip in front of me. Julian had sent me a message saying that I would leave the Phoenix airport later that morning and head to Delhi, India.
India.
I wondered if he was going to send me to visit the monks of Sivana myself, but he had written back:
No, Jonathan, you have been on the road long enough. Just a couple of days more and you will be home.

I opened my notebook and began to write. This journey had been to collect some mystical artifacts for my cousin. That part
of it wasn’t over, I knew. I had one more to pick up. But for me, the personal journey that I realized I’d undertaken felt done. I knew what I had to do. To be true to myself, I had to face my fears and ask for a transfer back to the lab or find another position. I would have to get back to the place where I could do my very best, my “genius level” work. But that was only one small aspect of the change I needed to make. I had to rebuild my world with Annisha, find a way to make up for my past neglect and renew our relationship. I had to devote myself to being the best parent I could be to Adam, and I had to stop robbing myself of the joys of spending time with my son. In fact, I had to stop robbing myself of the happiness and the positive influences of all the people dear to me—my mother, my sister, my old friends, my new ones. Ayame’s talisman letter was so right—the way I had been treating others was the way I had been treating myself. By neglecting them, I had turned my back on my own happiness. I had not been kind to anyone. I would have to choose my influences better in the future. I would have to celebrate all the simple pleasures available to me. None of this would happen overnight. But I would work on it each day, live each day as if it were my whole life in miniature. Small daily improvements. No excuses.

I felt as if I had all the tools I needed to move into the future. The talisman letters had given these to me. What could be left, I wondered? What other wisdom could that last talisman impart?

I
WAS STANDING OUTSIDE
the most magnificent building I had ever seen—the Taj Mahal. It was dusk, and the visitors and tourists were emptying from the place. It seemed like an odd time to meet someone here, but nothing about this trip had been expected.

Before I had left the Phoenix airport, Julian had sent me a message with detailed instructions. I would stay overnight in Delhi, checking into a hotel. The next day, I would take a flight to Agra, where I would meet the final safekeeper outside the Taj Mahal at seven-thirty p.m. The thought of navigating around Delhi and Agra on my own, on such short notice, would have unnerved me just a few weeks ago. But I had been to so many
places, experienced so many different things lately, that I felt a new confidence in facing the challenges that came my way. And now, all thoughts of the past and the future were being swept away as I stood on the Taj Mahal plaza looking up at the mausoleum.

I had come here a little early, thinking I might go inside and look around on my own before the Taj Mahal closed for the day. But once I arrived, I realized how foolish I was to think I could properly see anything so spectacular in such a short period of time. Julian had not yet told me when I would be leaving Agra. I was hoping there would be time to come back to explore this breathtaking architectural masterwork more fully. In the meantime I wandered around the exterior of the monument, my head back and my mouth agape.

I was simply overwhelmed by the size of the place. Nothing in any of the photos I had seen had managed to convey the enormity of the building, the sinuous dome, the elegant symmetry, the extraordinary expanses. Now I could see why Julian had set up this meeting for the evening. The setting sun made the color of these luminescent walls of marble and sandstone shift and dance. As I moved closer I could see that the outside surfaces were covered in intricate stone carvings and delicate calligraphy that reached a hundred feet skyward. Precious gems and stones embroidered the lacy stone: I could see bits of turquoise, lapis lazuli, emerald, red coral. I walked back and forth in front the building, moving close to examine the exquisite details and then stepping back to take in the incredible grandeur.

I had been walking around the Taj Mahal, deeply immersed in the moment, completely forgetting why I was there, when a flash of crimson caught my eye. I turned around. In front of me
was a tall figure. Even though the person was facing away from me, I could tell it was a man. He stood motionless, the robe that adorned his slender frame flapping slightly in the breeze. He then spun around. And flashed a smile. It was Julian.

“What?” I sputtered. None of this made sense. What was Julian doing here? Why hadn’t he told me that he was coming to India? And if he was here to pick up the talismans himself, why did he have me fly all this way?

“I’m here to take those talismans off your hands,” Julian said with a wink.

My jaw was working, trying to form the words to all the questions that were racing through my head.

“I know,” said Julian. “This is a long way for you to come when I am already here. But I’m on my way to the Himalayas for a while. This was really the best place to meet.”

I nodded, still in a fog of shock and confusion.

“Let’s head down there,” said Julian, pointing to the long flower-and-tree-lined avenues that banked the reflecting pool. “Find a place to sit, perhaps … in the evening air.”

We left the archways of the Taj Mahal and headed down the stone steps. The water in the pools was getting dark, the sun dipping below the horizon, the sky a soft shade of indigo.

As we walked, Julian slipped his hand into a pocket of his robe.

“Would you like to see the last talisman?” he asked.

“You have it with you?” I said.

Julian nodded and then pulled out a small brown bag. I held out my hand, and he emptied the bag into my palm. I was holding a tiny marble replica of the Taj Mahal. There was no parchment or note of any sort. I cocked my head.

“Let me explain what this means,” said Julian. “This last talisman is all about legacy,” he said. “The monks say that the best way to evaluate someone’s greatness is to look at the strength of that person’s influence on the generation that will follow. So if we are truly interested in rising into rare air as human beings, instead of ‘what’s in it for me?’ we should be asking ‘what’s in it for the world?’ That is why the Taj Mahal is the perfect symbol for legacy.”

I looked back at the ethereal structure. It was shimmering pink, radiating as if it were itself a glittering star.

“Yes, I can see that,” I said. “This building has inspired and influenced so many dreamers from so many places. For hundreds of years. I can’t quite believe it is the work of one man. That it was built in one lifetime.”

“There’s no doubt about it,” said Julian. “This is a remarkable work of art, or architecture. Few people leave something of such beauty and significance behind. But when I think of the legacy of the Taj Mahal’s creator, it is not really architecture I think of.”

I looked at Julian, uncertain about what he was trying to say.

“Let me tell you the story of the Taj Mahal,” said Julian.

Shah Jahan was the emperor of the Moghul Empire in the early 1600s, Julian explained. His wife was a woman he called Mumtaz Mahal, or Jewel of the Palace. He adored her, and she him. Tragically, Mumtaz Mahal died while giving birth to her fourteenth child. According to the legend, Mumtaz’s last words to her husband spoke of their everlasting love.

Shah Jahan was devastated by her death. After a year of mourning in reclusion and rejecting earthly pleasures, Jahan decided to spend his life honoring his beloved by building her a resting place that would be a heaven on earth. And every year,
between two and four million people come to see what Shah Jahan constructed for the love of his life.

“Not many of us will leave the world something on the scale of the Taj Mahal,” Julian said. “But even more modest contributions are still precious contributions.”

Julian began digging around in the pocket of his robe. He pulled out a small piece of parchment and handed it to me. It read:

Stand for Something Bigger than Yourself

There are no extra people alive today. Every single one of us is here for a reason, a special purpose—a mission. Yes, build a beautiful life for yourself and those you love. Yes, be happy and have a lot of fun. And yes, become successful, on your own terms rather than on those suggested to you by society. But—above all else—be significant. Make your life matter. Be of use. And be of service to as many people as possible. This is how each of us can shift from the realm of the ordinary into the heights of the extraordinary. And walk among the best who have ever lived.

“It made a big difference that Mumtaz Mahal lived,” Julian said quietly. “Her shadow is even longer than her husband’s. It was her love that led to all this.” Julian’s hand swept in front of him.

“Sometimes, Jonathan,” Julian continued, “our contributions are clearly visible to the world—an advancement in science, a work of art, the creation of a successful company, the building of a house or a city. But sometimes our contributions are less tangible, less measurable. What is important is that we
do
contribute. That we make a difference. That we leave a legacy.”

I could see now that I had been wrong in Sedona. There had been a piece of missing wisdom in that collection of talismans. Legacy. It was not about making money or receiving applause. It was, it seemed, about influence and impact, about making the world a better place. Li Gao understood that. My sister, Kira, understood that. My father and mother understood that. And sitting here in front of this inspiring memorial to love, I knew it was something I would think about for days and years to come. What would my legacy be? What difference would I make?

“Now,” said Julian after a few moments of silence. “Do you have the talismans?”

“Oh,” I said. “I almost forgot.”

That wasn’t quite true. The fact was that I found myself curiously reluctant to part with them.

As I lifted my shirt and slowly untied the pouch from my belt loop, Julian smiled.

“You’ve become a little attached to them,” said Julian kindly. “You’ve discovered their power.”

“Well, I don’t know,” I said.

“I think you must have. How are you feeling?” Julian asked.

“Good,” I said. “Surprisingly good.”

“No jetlag? No fatigue? Lots of energy?”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “Do you think …?”

“The wisdom of these talismans, if you embrace it, if you commit yourself to it, can change your life. As I told you earlier, it can be
lifesaving.
”

“About that,” I said, remembering my mother’s tearful voice so many weeks ago, “who is in danger? Whose life are you trying to save with these things?”

Julian looked at me with raised eyebrows but said nothing. There was a moment of silence as the truth washed over me.

“Oh come on,” I said, my face growing hot. “I’m not in danger. My life doesn’t need saving.”

Julian didn’t say anything. But he continued to look at me as if waiting for something. The talismans were still in my hand.

“I’m a healthy guy with a great kid, and, okay, a marriage that needs a bit of work but…”

“Jonathan, you know as well as I do that your life was in trouble. Your mother could see that, and she was sick with worry. She had lost your father, and she felt she was losing you, too. She could see that you were never going to find the happiness and contentment that she and your dad had if you continued the way you were going. You were working in a job you hated; you squandered your marriage; and you were missing the childhood of your son.”

“So all this talisman stuff was just nonsense? There was no magic cure?”

“The real magic was in those letters, Jonathan, in those letters and in your journal. The talismans provided a way to get you to pay attention. The journey was the way to give you time to absorb the lessons that the letters—and my friends—shared with you.

“Jonathan, you were willing to work hard, to face your fears, to take risks to save someone else’s life. But when you started out, you weren’t willing to do those things to save your own. I think, however, that now you are.”

“But what about all the safekeepers?” I asked. “Do they know that there isn’t any magic to these things—even if you have all of them in one place?”

Julian smiled. “That was my only real dishonesty, Jonathan.
I collected these little amulets after I spoke with your mother a few months ago, and then I mailed them off to my friends. They understood what was going on, and they were happy to help. Each one of those people is wise in their own way—to me they epitomize the knowledge that was in each of those letters. I have learned so much from each of them, and I wanted you to meet them and learn from them, too. And this was the only way I could think to do it. You never would have gone otherwise.”

I had enjoyed meeting these friends of Julian’s, and I had to confess that I would have liked to spend more time with each of them. That made me think of the people I couldn’t spend more time with—my father. And Juan.

Julian pointed to a little stone bench ahead of us. As we sat down, he put his hand gently on my shoulder.

“I think that many things are clear to you now, but something is still bothering you,” he said gently.

I had been brooding about all this for so long it was hard to know where to start the story. So I started at the beginning. I told Julian all about working with Juan in the lab, about my decision to leave. I explained how Sven and David had been trying to force Juan to quit, how I had neither defended him nor even provided friendship or sympathy. Then I told him about Juan’s car crash.

“An accident,” said Julian. He said it matter-of-factly, but there was the hint of a question in his voice.

When I didn’t say anything, he continued. “But you are doubtful.”

“Yes,” I said finally. “Juan had a heart attack. That much is certain. But when did he have it? Before or after he crashed through the guardrail?”

Julian looked at me sadly, as if he knew my story hadn’t reached its conclusion.

I looked down at the stones in front of me, the great dome in the distance.

“Two days before he died,” I continued, “I walked past Juan’s office. He was coming out the door. He was looking at his feet, clearly lost in thought. He almost bumped into me. When he saw me, his expression didn’t change. He spoke as if he wasn’t really addressing me, was just continuing his private thoughts out loud.

“‘There hardly seems any point in going on’ is what Juan said. At the time, I thought he was talking about quitting. And as shameful as it is to admit, I was relieved. At least I wouldn’t have to see his harrowed face each day. At least I could pretend that things would turn out for the best. I didn’t say anything to Juan, and he continued past me, down the hall, his head lowered and his steps heavy. But after … Juan’s words ate away at me like acid. Had those words foretold the fatal crash? Was Juan deciding to end his life, not his career? And if I had stopped him, talked with him, offered my help or my sympathy, might he still be alive today?”

Julian and I were both quiet for a while. There were only a few people in sight. The emptiness of the place seemed surreal after the noisy, crowded streets of Delhi and Agra.

Julian clasped his hands and stretched his legs in front of him. His brown leather sandals peeked out from under his crimson robe.

“Jonathan,” he began. “I like to say that what we all need to do is look ahead five years and predict what things in our current
life we will most regret. Then we must take actions
today
to prevent those regrets from being realized.”

Julian reached out and put his hand over mine.

“I think, during this trip, you have probably started that process. I think your future is going to look very different from how it would have turned out if you hadn’t undergone this journey. But that is the future. What you are talking about now is the past. You know as well as I do that no one will ever be able to answer those questions you are asking. And you must be brave enough to accept that.”