Issue 1: You’re Not a Monk

Good Morning,

Today is Friday. I’m not going to argue with you about that. It just is. Because of this fact, you can assume that the Daily Dispatch will hit your inbox weekly on Fridays. Before we get into the news, I would like to start with a story and because this is my newsletter, I will do what I want. I promise this will all make sense in the end. WARNING: This story will change your perspective on today’s news, on love, and on the events of September 19, 1881. There was once a man driving down the road. I don’t believe one’s life can be summed up in a single word. Do you? If so, sound off in the comments (email me) and let me know why you disagree!!! Anyways, if this man’s life were to be summed up in a single word, it would be, “foundation.” He had just gotten married; the foundation of his family. He had just started a new job; the foundation of his career. He had just bought a house for him and his new bride; it had some costly foundation issues he would discover a few years in.
That particular day, our friend was having a hard time sleeping. He decided to go for a drive to clear his mind. He popped in his Eagles greatest hits 2 disc album titled The Very Best Of. He must have lost track of time because he was somewhere between “I Can’t Tell You Why” and “The Long Run” (disc 2 tracks 9 and 10 for those who don’t know) when he heard a loud pop. I bet you thought it was a flat tire. You’d be wrong. SPOILER ALERT: turns out the engine was running rich. It had too much fuel and too little air, which slowed down the combustion process. Fortunately, our friend had broken down near a monastery. The monks residing in the monastery were kind enough to invite him in, give him a meal, and let him sleep the night as they looked at his car. In the morning, they had breakfast prepared and his car fixed. As they ate together, the man had something on his mind. He asked the monks, “Last night, I heard the strangest, most unique sound I’ve ever heard. What was that?” The monks told him, “You are not a monk, so we cannot tell you.” Unsatisfied but understanding, the man accepted their answer and headed home.
Years later, life looked different for the man. His marriage was rocky at best, he had been stuck at the dead end of his job for long enough to know nothing was going to change, and his house was constantly being repaired costing money he didn’t have. He once again set out in his old car, this time to quiet the constant feelings of failure lining every decision he made. No music to drown out the thoughts: just a man, the constant hum of the road under his tires, and a few long, deep breaths. When he heard a clunk, his first thought was, “Of course.” After getting out, he saw the old monastery. This real-life place took him briefly back to a place in time. He remembered his life the first time he spent the night at the monastery. Surprisingly, though time and hardship had created deep worry lines in his face and thinned his hair, the monks still recognized him and called him by name as he walked in the door. Yet again, the man heard the strangest, most unique sound he’d ever heard. Yet again, the man asked the monks what it was. Yet again, the monks told him they couldn’t tell him as he wasn’t a monk.
This time, the man followed up by asking, “What does it take to become a monk?” They told him, “You have to count every blade of grass and every grain of sand on the earth.” The man was at a crossroad. Go back to the life that had disappointed him so often or devote what remained to becoming a monk and finding the answer he sought. It only took a moment, but he made a decision to start over. He set off into the world and began to count. Each blade, each grain, and eventually, each blessing. Years passed, he counted.
When he felt he had the answer, the man returned to the monastery. The monks asked him, “How many blades of grass are there?” The man answered, “143,240,886,592,012.” The monks responded, “You have answered correctly. How many grains of sand are there?” The man thought for a moment and said, “676,522,387,420,396,101.” The monks responded, “You have again answered correctly. You may now know the answer you seek.” They led the man to an old wooden door and handed him a large golden key.
With tears in his eyes, feeling a sense of accomplishment he feared he’d never feel again, the man inserted the key and turned the knob. Behind the door he found another door, this made of steel. The monks burst out in laughter. Frustrated, but recentering himself, the man said, “Very funny. Please give me the real key.” They obliged and gave him the key. Behind that door, he found another door made of cast iron. Behind that door, a door of gold, followed by a door of silver, a door of bronze, a door of stone, a door of ruby, a door of sapphire, and a door of emerald. Finally, he came to a door of platinum. He used the final key and opened the door. Within, he found the answer he had been searching for. He saw the source of the sound. Not only did the origin make sense to him, but the past years of his life counting became worth it. Not only did that become worth it, but the years of banality had purpose. All of life made sense. However, I cannot tell you what he found, because you are not a monk.