The Secret Letters of the Monk Who Sold His Ferrari. Робин Шарма

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      “When I left the village,” Julian said, “the monks gave me the talismans in a leather pouch and asked me to be their new keeper.

      “But after I left the Himalayas, I traveled for a while. One night a fire broke out in the small hotel I was staying in. I was out at the time, but my room was destroyed. I was carrying the talismans on me, so the only thing I lost was a pair of sandals. At another inn, I heard a fellow traveler talk of being mugged on a side street in Rome. It occurred to me that while the talismans were being held by the monks in the village, they had been safe. I was the only visitor who had reached that remote place in a very long time. But now that I had these treasures, they were at risk. At any time, they could be stolen, lost or destroyed.”

      Julian went on to explain that he had decided it would be safer if he sent each talisman to a different trusted safekeeper who would turn it over when Julian had need of it. With each object, he had sent a letter with some descriptions about what he understood the talisman to mean. Now it was clear that he needed these talismans back. He said he wanted me to go and get them.

      “What?” I sputtered. “I mean, isn’t that what FedEx is for?”

      Julian smiled. “I don’t think you understand the importance of these talismans. I can’t entrust them to a courier or to the mail. They are scattered all over the world, and I need someone I know to pick them up in person.”

      “And you can’t go?” I asked. I knew I was being a little rude, but the image of Julian tangoing across the floor downstairs was still in my mind.

      Julian chuckled. “I know that I may not appear to be terribly busy,” he said, his tone getting more serious now. “But it is really not possible for me to do this.”

      I was silent for a few seconds. How could I put this?

      “Cousin Julian,” I said. “No offense, but you said you need someone you know to pick these things up. You don’t really know me. I met you once—when I was ten.”

      “I know you better than you think,” said Julian. His pleasant smile had vanished. His eyes were dark, and there was a gravity in his expression that was disconcerting.

      “Listen to me, Jonathan,” he said quietly. “I can’t tell you how I know this, but I do. The only person who can collect those talismans is you.”

      He paused and then added, “I know that my answers aren’t very satisfying. But trust me, Jonathan, when I say that this is a matter of life and death.”

      We sat for a long while in silence. I was thinking about the sound of my mother crying on the phone. The feel of the empty space on Annisha’s side of the bed. The look in Adam’s eyes when I disappointed him. It isn’t very often when you are the “only” one—the only son, the only husband, the only father.

      Finally I broke the silence.

      “How long will this take?” I asked.

      “I’ve written to all the safekeepers,” Julian said. “I haven’t heard back from everyone. But I’ve got a place for you to start—a friend of mine in Istanbul. As far as time goes, well, getting all the talismans will take a few weeks. Maybe a month.”

      Good lord. That was all my vacation time and then some. I took a deep breath. Julian looked at me and cocked his head.

      “Jonathan?” he said.

      I looked back at Julian. There was such kindness in his eyes. For a moment, he reminded me of my father, and I realized how much I missed my dad. I also realized that I had made a decision. Words caught in my throat, so I only nodded.

      Julian smiled. Then he stood up and ran his hands along the side of his red robe.

      “And now,” said Julian, “since we have concluded our business, I shall make you some lunch, and then perhaps we should check out the neighborhood. It’s called San Telmo. And it’s become one of my favorite places on the planet.”

      I SPENT A PLEASANT, if odd, afternoon with Julian. He took me to a ballroom a few streets away where seasoned tango dancers were giving a show. As the music thumped through my body like a second heartbeat, I noticed Julian’s feet tapping, his legs moving slightly as if he were imagining himself doing the moves. Then we walked through the winding alleys until it was time for me to head back for another red-eye flight home. As we stood on the sidewalk outside Julian’s apartment, music wafting out of the studio and filling the air around us, Julian turned to me.

      “One more thing, Jonathan,” he said. From a pocket in his robe, he pulled a small leather-bound notebook. “I’d like you to keep a journal while you are away.”

      “A diary?” I asked. “What for?”

      “Not a diary, Jonathan. A journal. The talismans lend power to those who hold them. But those who have them give these tokens power as well. It is important for me to know your thoughts and feelings about this journey—and about what the talismans mean to you once you are in their presence.”

      My shoulders slumped. I didn’t know what was worse—taking weeks out of my life to travel around the world collecting someone else’s stuff, or having to write about it. Self-reflection has never been my forte.

      “I think once you are on your own, once you have these incredible talismans in your hands, recording what’s in your heart won’t be as onerous as it sounds,” said Julian.

      I was about to say, sure, whatever, but I stopped myself. What did it matter? If I was going to do this crazy thing, I might as well do it the way Julian wanted.

      Just then the cab pulled up in front of us. As I climbed in, my resolve was nicked by small points of fear. It had been a very long time since I had started something new, begun any sort of adventure. I shut the door and looked back at Julian as the taxi began to edge away from the sidewalk. Julian raised his hand to wave, and then called out to me.

      “Jonathan,” he said, “be joyful. It’s not every day that you get to save a life!”

      IT TOOK ALL MY NERVE to get in my car on Monday morning and head into the office. I had three weeks of vacation coming, and I would have to take them as soon as possible. But if the journey took longer than that, I could be in real trouble. All I could ask for was unpaid time off, and if the answer was no, I guess I was out of a job.

      But honestly, I said to myself, as I hauled my reluctant carcass out of the car and forced myself through the front doors of the office, what did one foolish choice matter? After all, in the past, I had always made what I thought were great decisions at the time. And where had that got me? My job had become a constant source of stress and frustration. My wonderful wife was leaving me. Whatever savings I had built up through all my hard work were going to be decimated by divorce. And even the joy I felt with Adam was being eaten away by the guilt I had, seeing him only on the weekends—and being such a lousy dad even then. Could one crazy move like this trip really cause me any more pain than all my sensible decisions had brought me?

      I spent an hour swiveling in my desk chair, wallowing in disappointment and pessimism. By the time I walked into my boss’s office, I had accepted my whole predicament with fatalistic resignation. I had, in fact, almost forgotten how difficult this discussion was going to be.

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