In 9th grade English class, my teacher Mrs. Brady shared a quote one fall afternoon, and I’ll never forget it.

 

 

When people ask where the idea for the Monk Manual came from, I could give about 100 different starting points.

 

But this was one of the most fundamental.

 

Because this simple quote arrested me, and recognizing I couldn’t refute it, became a guidepost. 

 

It set my core orientation towards truth, even at cost. Especially at cost.

 

And truth costs us a lot at times.

_____

 

Like many people in the West, I bought into a certain program of life at an early age.

 

You get an education.

 

You go to work.

 

You work hard, you work smart.

 

You become increasingly productive and build increasing safety around your life.

 

You find meaning in your ability to drive outcomes and you prove just how much you're really worth.

 

By age 27, I was already making more money at my job than I ever expected to make. By 30 I was functioning as the COO of a 100-person organization doing around $50 mill in revenue each year. That does something for the ego.

 

When I reflect writing this email, I’ve already accomplished way more than I ever thought I would growing up. 

 

AND

 

These accomplishments meant extremely little to me at the time, and still mean extremely little to me.

 

 

As I became increasingly productive, I traded a higher good for a lesser one.

 

I was trading one vision of success for the one my heart really yearned for. And I was trading one vision for my gift to the world, for a cheaper commoditized version.

 

 

Not yet.

_____

 

 

There is much more here than I can share in one email, but I’d like to tell you exactly how my life has changed as I’ve made the shift from machine time to human time.

 

Both are totally different foundations for life and the work of our hands.

 

 

When I was at my height of productivity, I was everywhere but the present moment.

 

The result was a sort of disembodied experience of life.

 

A life where a lot was happening, but there was a strange lack of connection to everything.

 

To myself, to others, even to GOD.

 

 

Even when I was doing the thing, it was as if it wasn’t actually me doing it.

 

Because I was operating like a machine, I had imagined that everything good I wanted would come through effort.

 

As a result I found myself…

 

• carrying everything
• thinking about everything
• responsible for everything

 

I didn’t trust stillness. Stillness felt like falling behind. A small death.

 

My days would begin and end with a subtle anxiety.

 

Pressure cuts us off from presence, and when we are cut off from presence, we are cut off from ourselves and other people.

 

While I was productive, the fundamental energy underneath it was fear (although truthfully, very few would have been able to name this, including myself).

 

I had built a life where I was an incredible utility.

 

As I’ve moved to human time, my utility hasn’t gone away.

 

It’s just aligned with who I am.

 

I still “produce.”

 

But the production flows out of me, rather than being something I force.

 

Externally, it looks similar. Internally, it couldn’t be more different.

 

I’m finally living life as it is, and I’m enjoying it.

 

In some ways, I feel like a kid again. 

 

 

I spent years trying to chessboard out life.

 

Trying to perfectly configure and control my outer reality.

 

It is extremely draining trying to be in control of everything. I liken it to the feeling of having seven horses and you’re trying to wrangle them all at once.

 

The ironic thing is, this need for control wasn’t an external issue.

 

It was an internal one.

 

Today I don’t approach life as an external problem.

 

I see that every issue has an interior root. If you want to change your life, it has to change from the inside out.

 

As I’ve moved to human time, I’ve learned to trust my inner reality again.

 

To trust that I am being provided all the signal I need, if I simply slow down enough to listen.

 

Now rather than putting pressure on forcing external change, I gently notice and reclaim my perception and attention.

 

As a result I’ve gone from a life of static noise, to a life that is simply always seeking attunement with the signal of the next right step.

 

 

If you want to change your life, it has to change from the inside out.

 

In human time I’ve learned to trust my inner reality and its signals. I’ve learned that for every effect there is a cause, even if the effect is external and the cause is internal.

 

My growth in human time has been a transition towards learning to trust myself again.

 

To trust that I am being provided all the signal I need to move outside the noise, if I can just slow down and be honest enough to read the signs.

 

I’ve come to see time not as a medium for doing, but rather doing as a medium for becoming.

 

The reason is simple.

 

As I grow and come into deeper alignment with the signal in my own life, the creative effects will be felt externally.

 

The real gift of my life isn’t what I do, but who I become.

 

In human time, the focus shifts from production to potency.

 

We are all born as tiny acorns, and our task in life is to become the oak tree.

 

A healthy tree doesn’t produce fruit through force.

 

Fruit is a byproduct of growth, health, and alignment.

Through becoming what it was designed to be.

____

 

Three years ago I was sitting in a small sandwich shop in Washington DC waiting for a friend.

 

About 15 minutes into the conversation, he told me he was planning to write a book about how to live like a monk (he previously was an IRL monk).

 

He asked how I felt about it and I responded instinctively,

 

“I have no desire whatsoever to write a book about how to be more like a monk.”

 

That might sound surprising coming from someone who started a company called Monk Manual.

 

But here is the reason.

 

I have never wanted to help people become more like monks in form, rather in function.

 

If we focus on mirroring the aesthetic and the form of monks, it’s too easy to become a bystander.

 

It demands too little of us.

 

Monks sacrifice the lesser goods, for the higher goods.

 

They live fully. 

 

And I want to build the same thing here.

A place where people reclaim their time.

Their attention. 

 

Their lives.

A different program of life.

That’s what I want for myself.

That’s what I want for you.