Hey there, it’s good to be with you today. I’ve got a story to share, one that’s been sitting with me for a while now, and I think it might resonate with you too. It’s not a lecture or anything grand—just a quiet moment from a long time ago, under the shade of a hermitage, where a man came looking for answers from someone wiser than most of us could ever hope to be. So, let’s sit together for a bit, maybe imagine we’re by a quiet stream or under a big old tree, and I’ll tell you what happened.
Picture this: a man, worn down by life, walks into the peaceful grounds of Gautam Buddha’s hermitage. He’s been there for just a couple of days, soaking in the stillness, but his heart is heavy. You know that feeling, right? When even quiet places can’t quiet the noise in your head. So, he goes to the Buddha, sits down, and just lets it out. “Buddha,” he says, his voice probably trembling a little, “I’m not happy. My life feels like a mountain of sorrow, like everything’s gone wrong. Why is this happening to me? Why am I so unlucky?”
I can almost see the Buddha sitting there, calm as ever, his eyes kind but steady. He doesn’t jump in with answers. Instead, he asks, “Tell me, what’s the reason for your sorrow? What’s weighing on you so much?” The man pauses, caught off guard. He came for answers, not questions. “What kind of question is that?” he says, maybe a little frustrated. “I asked you something, and now you’re asking me back.” Buddha just smiles, that gentle, knowing smile, and says, “If you don’t know the reason for your pain, how can I know it for you?”
That hits hard, doesn’t it? I’ve been there myself—looking for someone else to fix what’s broken inside, hoping they’ll just hand me the solution. Like the time I was overwhelmed with work and kept venting to a friend, waiting for them to tell me what to do, only to realize later I hadn’t even figured out why I was so stressed. It’s tough to face, but sometimes we’ve got to look inward first.
The man pushes back, though. “But Buddha, people say you’re like a god. You know everything, you can read minds. Surely you know why I’m suffering.” Buddha’s smile doesn’t waver, but his voice gets a little firmer. “You’re mistaken if you think someone else can pull you out of your troubles. Only you can do that. I’m no different from you—except maybe I see things a bit clearer. The day you resolve your own struggles, you won’t need to come to anyone for help.”
Then he shifts, pointing to something simple, something we all pass by. “Have you ever really looked at a flower?” he asks. The man’s surprised, probably thinking it’s a strange detour. “A flower? Everyone’s seen a flower.” But Buddha goes on. “In the morning, it’s just a bud, hidden in the dark. By day, it opens in the light. By evening, it fades and falls. If the flower spent its time worrying about withering, it would never bloom. And if you keep focusing on your sorrows, you’ll never find happiness. There are still things in your life—small, quiet things—that can make you smile if you look closely.”
I love that image. It’s so easy to get stuck on what’s wrong, isn’t it? Like when I’m scrolling through my phone, seeing everyone’s perfect lives, and forgetting the little joys right in front of me—like a warm cup of tea or a kind word from someone. Buddha’s nudge here feels personal: focus on what’s good, even if it’s small.
The man sits quietly for a while, processing. Then he asks, “But can all of life’s problems really be solved just like that, with one way of thinking?” Buddha’s voice softens even more. “Imagine a fortune-teller tells you that by this evening, your life will end. Would you still worry about the things troubling you now? Suddenly, those big problems would seem so small. You’d see how much time you’ve wasted on worry, on jealousy, on things that don’t matter. We all know deep down that life isn’t forever, but we act like we’re immortal, don’t we? Happiness and sadness—they come and go. They’re shaped by our thoughts, our actions.”
The man interrupts, a bit skeptical. “So, what, I should always think I’m about to die? Will that solve everything?” Buddha shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. Just accept that your time here is uncertain. Live with the good that’s around you. Let that bring you peace. Train your mind, and slowly, the troubles will fade. Most of our pain comes from desire, from clinging. If you can see your mind like a child’s—curious, open—you’ll find calm.”
Now, I’ve got to admit, when I first thought about this idea of controlling the mind, it felt impossible. My thoughts are all over the place sometimes. But Buddha explains it so simply. “Understand what happiness and sorrow mean to you,” he tells the man. “Practice keeping yourself in the middle—not too high with joy, not too low with pain. Dig deep, and you’ll see you’re often the cause of your own struggles—your wants, your attachments. Master your mind, and the sorrow will end.”
Then he gives the man a task. “For the next two days, don’t speak to anyone. Take some paper, sit in a quiet corner of the hermitage, and write. Write down your sorrows and why you think they’re there. Then write down your happiness, even the smallest things, and why they make you glad. Take your time. Think deeply.” The man bows, walks off, and does just that.
Two days later, he returns, papers in hand. Buddha says, “Read me your sorrows first.” The man’s voice is steady now as he lists them out. “My family is rich, but I’m poor. I compare myself and feel small. I spend too much, save nothing. My wife is ill, and I’ve neglected her care—part of me even wished for her to pass so I could start over. I dream of easy money, but it never comes. I drink when I can’t afford it. These are my burdens, and I see now, I’ve caused many of them myself.”
Buddha nods, then says, “Now, read me your happiness.” The man’s face lights up. “In these two days, I’ve felt a peace I’ve never known. I’m alive, I’m healthy. I have parents, a wife, children—their love is my treasure. I can work hard, provide for them. I can let go of bad habits, build a better life. And the greatest joy? Being here, learning to know myself. As long as I’m in this world, I won’t let desire or attachment trap me.”
Buddha smiles again, that same quiet warmth. “We all spend so much time chasing the cause of our pain, but life holds a vault of happiness if we look for it. You don’t need to list every joy—just live with them. And when troubles come, sit quietly, find their root, and let them go. Life’s too short to be enslaved by worry.”
I think about that often, you know. How we carry so much that doesn’t need carrying. Maybe right now, as you’re listening, you can take a breath and think of one small thing that brings you joy. Hold onto that for a moment. I’m doing it too—thinking of my dog’s goofy grin when I get home. Let’s sit with that lightness for a bit. And if something’s weighing on you, maybe try what the man did. Write it out, see it clearly, and let yourself find the good too. We’re in this together, after all. I’ll be here next time, with another story to share. Until then, take care.