Hey there, friend. Pull up a chair, or maybe just settle into wherever you are right now—your couch, your car, or maybe a quiet corner with your headphones on. I’ve got a story to share with you tonight, one that’s been sitting with me for a while. It’s not a big, grand tale, but it’s one of those quiet ones that kind of sneaks into your heart and makes you think about your own life. I’m just gonna talk it through with you, like we’re sitting together over a cup of tea or under a starry sky. Let’s wander into this together.
A long time ago, in a small ashram nestled somewhere far from the noise of the world, there was a young student. Let’s call him Arjun, just to give him a name. Arjun was a sensitive soul, you know, the kind of person who feels everything deeply. He’d come to this ashram to learn, to grow, to find some peace away from a life that hadn’t been kind to him. But one day, he stormed up to his guru, his face flushed with anger, his voice trembling. “Guruji,” he said, “the other students here mock me. They laugh and say I’m so poor my family doesn’t even have food to eat. They taunt me about my father, how he drinks and hurts my mother and us kids. I can’t bear it anymore.”
I can almost see the guru now, sitting there calmly under a banyan tree, his eyes kind but piercing, listening to every word with this deep, unshakable attention. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush to fix things. He just let Arjun pour it all out. And then, after a long pause, he asked, “Arjun, how did they come to know these things about your family, about your struggles?” Arjun hesitated, his anger faltering for a moment. “I… I told them, Guruji. I shared it with my friends here, hoping they’d understand, maybe show some kindness.”
The guru nodded slowly, his face softening. “Then, my child, the fault is partly yours. Some parts of our lives, some pains, are meant to stay within us. You made a mistake by letting them spill out.” Arjun looked down, confused, maybe a little hurt. “But what do I do now, Guruji?” he asked, almost pleading.
The guru’s voice was gentle but firm. “What’s done can’t be undone. But today, I’ll share with you a few things—truths about life—that you must guard, keep close to your heart, no matter who’s around, friend or family.” Arjun’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Tell me, Guruji. What are these things I should never speak of?”
And so, under that ancient tree, with the breeze carrying the faint scent of sandalwood, the guru began. “First,” he said, “never share your deepest dreams and goals with others. Not because it’s wrong to speak of them, but because when you do, a strange thing happens. You feel a kind of satisfaction, as if you’ve already achieved them. That fire, that hunger to chase them, dims a little. And worse, when people know your dreams, their expectations weigh on you. Their eyes follow you, and that pressure can pull you off balance.”
I remember a time in my own life, you know, when I told everyone about this big plan I had. I thought it’d make me feel supported, but instead, I felt trapped by their questions, their doubts. Ever felt that? Like you’ve said too much, and now you can’t breathe under the weight of it?
The guru went on. “Second, keep your personal struggles to yourself. Life’s troubles—when you share them, it might feel lighter for a moment. But most people? They don’t ease your burden. Some don’t care, some secretly feel glad to see you struggle, and only a few truly want to help. So, think hard before you open that door.”
Arjun listened, his brow furrowed, as the guru continued. “Third, never speak of family matters outside your home. Every family has its tensions, its own way of being. But airing those to others? It invites trouble. Outsiders can twist your words, use them against you. Solve those struggles within your family, behind closed doors. And remember, when you speak of such things, you appear weak, as if you can’t face your own challenges.”
I can almost feel Arjun’s heart sinking a little here, realizing how much he’d already shared. Haven’t we all done that at some point? Spilled something personal, only to wish we could take it back?
The guru’s voice grew even softer. “Fourth, don’t boast about what you own, what you have. People misunderstand easily. They might think you’re trying to make them feel small, even if you’re just sharing. That breeds resentment, silent anger. And if trouble comes your way, instead of help, you might hear taunts—‘You had so much, now deal with it.’ Besides, there are so many who long for what you take for granted. Clean water, a meal. Don’t flaunt. Help instead.”
“Fifth,” he said, “don’t speak of the good you do—your charity, your kindness. Do it for the peace it brings you, not for praise. This world needs compassion, but not the kind that’s performed for applause.”
“Sixth, your wealth, your earnings—keep them private. Don’t ask others about theirs, and don’t reveal yours. It’s too easy for people to judge, to measure you by numbers. That’s not who you are.”
“And finally, seventh, don’t share the secrets of your success, the exact path you took. It’s fine to inspire, but everyone’s journey is different. If they follow your steps and fail, they’ll blame you. Only share if someone is truly ready, truly determined to learn.”
Arjun sat there, under that tree, the weight of these words settling into him. I can imagine him staring at the ground, maybe tracing patterns in the dirt with a stick, letting it all sink in. He made a quiet promise to himself that day—to guard his inner world, to hold his truths close. He thanked his guru, bowed his head, and walked away, a little heavier with understanding, but also a little lighter, like he’d been given a map to protect himself.
You know, as I think about Arjun now, I wonder how often we’ve let our own stories slip out, hoping for connection, only to feel exposed instead. I’ve done it—shared too much at a party or with a coworker, thinking it’d bring us closer, only to see it turn into gossip or judgment. Maybe you’ve been there too. It’s human, isn’t it? We want to be seen, but sometimes, being seen hurts more than hiding.
So, as we sit here together, I just want to say—let’s take a page from Arjun’s lesson. Let’s hold some things sacred, just for ourselves. Not out of fear, but out of care. For our dreams, our struggles, our quiet victories. Let’s build a little sanctuary inside, a place no one else can touch. And when we do share, let’s choose wisely, with people who’ve earned that trust.
I’m glad we could talk about this tonight. It feels good to just sit with these thoughts, with you. If something in Arjun’s story stirred you, or if you’ve got a moment of your own to share, I’m here, listening. Until next time, take care of yourself, okay? Keep that inner light safe.