Business is tough. Tenacity and endurance are key to business success. But tenacity is seldom sustained simply by the drive for riches. Endurance most often wanes in the face of persistent obstacles if money is the overwhelming objective.
During this time of reflection and commercial penance, the messages of The Monk seem more applicable than ever. No matter how hard we work or how smart we are, our financial success is ultimately dependent on circumstances outside our control. (Ask any once high-flying startup that is currently looking for a life-saving round of financing in these bleak times.) In order to find satisfaction in our work, therefore, we should train our attention on those things that we can influence and that matter to us personally.
The Monk encourages us to consider how we spend our time, not our money. Marrying our values and passions to the energy we invest in work, it suggests, increases the significance of each moment. Consider your budget of time in terms of how much you are willing to allocate to acquiring things versus how much you are willing to devote to people, relationships, family, health, personal growth, and the other essential components of a high-quality life. Rather than working to the exclusion of everything else in order to flood our bank accounts in the hope that we can eventually buy back what we have missed along the way, we need to live life fully now with a sense of its fragility. If money ultimately cannot buy much of life's total package anyway, why waste precious time earning more for its own sake? The Monk encourages us to make work pay, not just in cash, but in experience, satisfaction, and joy. These sources of contentment provide their own rewards and are durable in the face of adversity. We still have an opportunity to retune the balance between passion and drive—to express ourselves holistically in what we do, rather than to defer what is important until it is too late.
Don't be mistaken. Following your passion is not the same as following your bliss. While passion is a font of expressive, creative energy, it won't necessarily deliver pleasure and contentment at every moment. Success, even on your own terms, entails sacrifice and periods of very hard work. Following your passion will not necessarily make you rich, but then again it won't hurt your chances either, since most people are far more successful working at things they love. You have to engage passion realistically, with an eye toward what is achievable given your circumstances.
I have been delighted and gratified by the ardent response to the messages in The Monk. I heard from a young woman who had pursued the big payoff by working at a series of failed startups. The Monk reinforced her feeling that life is too short to spend it chasing elusive riches, and she left her job to try her hand at her passion, writing. A professor in Texas wrote and produced a marvelous short performance piece, a monologue, exploring the Deferred Life Plan. A number of entrepreneurs on the money-raising trail told me that after reading The Monk they had been emboldened to focus on the lasting value they wished to create rather than on their exit strategy. Many educators have included The Monk in their courses to encourage their students to think more holistically about their careers. And a few of the most respected venture capitalists let me know that The Monk captured the underlying passion and reason for doing what they do—the chance to turn ideas into viable enterprises that can change the world and to prosper in the process.
I have also heard from people who agree wholeheartedly with the messages of The Monk but question whether they apply only to a select few privileged with substantial options regarding work and career. Surely things are different for an underskilled single mother of three barely scraping by on minimum wage. But even so there are people who tell me that The Monk has inspired them to improve their circumstances—to find jobs that are more consistent with their interests and values, to learn new skills that provide satisfaction and growth, to reach for more rewarding opportunities and engaging challenges. I am reminded that finding meaning and fulfillment in one's work should not be an elitist notion.
A few readers were disappointed that The Monk never attempts to address specifically how to create a successful business. I don't have a prescription for financial success, nor do I think one exists. In truth, The Monk is not primarily a business book; that is, it is not about buying low and selling high, but rather about creating a life while making a living. It is about the need to fashion a meaningful existence that engages you in the time and place in which you find yourself. It is about the purpose of work and the integration of what one does with what one believes. The Monk is not about how, but about why.
SINCE The Monk WAS PUBLISHED, I have ridden my bicycle across the extremely challenging Himalayan landscape of Bhutan, a country that measures its prosperity by Gross National Happiness rather than Gross National Product. Things are different there. The volume is turned down; the clock slowed. The pace of life is gentle. Fancy things are few and far between, but those precious qualities of life that seem to vanish in a Western society intent on measuring everything are not forgotten in Bhutan.
It was a gorgeous adventure. As I am wont to do, I spent some time visiting several Tibetan-style Buddhist monasteries that are home to communities of friendly monks in crimson robes. At one point, I had the rare privilege of an audience with a distinguished eighty-year-old lama who practiced the art of medicinal Buddhism. His nephew made the introduction and interpreted for us.
Two friends and I sat in a semicircle at the foot of the lama's raised platform. The temple was dark, streaked with smoky light that gave the room a mystical air. Behind us was an altar of large sitting Buddhas. Yak butter lamps sputtered in the foreground. The main walls were covered in beautiful paintings detailing Buddha's life and the introduction of Buddhism to Bhutan by Guru Rimpoche some 1,300 years ago. Many of the images were Tantric, depicting the struggling union of wisdom and compassion in the orgasmic joining of man and woman. The paintings were covered by colorful wall hangings to protect them from the elements and untrained minds. Elephant tusks arced heavenward at the corners of the altar, a reference to the crucial role of the white elephant in the birth of the Buddha.
Before us sat this lovely old lama. A few days' growth on his chin and head, he constantly stroked his scalp, luxuriating in the feel. His teeth were obviously not all there, and he scrunched his lower jaw in the fashion of an old man who has forgotten his dentures. His once-white long johns showed under his heavy robe, insulating him from the early-morning chill. Behind him, the light penetrated through the filthy old windows that looked out 14,000 feet over the valley and beyond. All around the windows were piles and piles of bright red chilies—hot chilies—to warm the Bhutanese bellies and hide the blandness of their cuisine.
Each member of my party was permitted to ask the lama one question. I would come last. As each query was made in turn, I used the time to come up with a question worthy of such an eminence. What could I possibly ask that would not embarrass me by its triviality? How could I tap this holy man's wisdom?
Finally it was my turn. The lama looked down at me with compassion and perhaps a little boredom. His nephew stared at me imploringly. I sat, quiet.