The quiet morning sweep of the courtyard

Dear Delyara, I used to manage four corporate hotels in Bangkok—working sixteen-hour days, answering eighty emails an hour, firing people who were late with monthly reports, and taking three different sleeping pills just to get four hours of restless sleep in a luxury condo. I left it all two years ago to care for the gardens at a small teak forest monastery up in the hills. As I swept the fell leaves off the stone paths this morning while the mist cleared off the mountain, I felt a deep, warm stillness settle into my belly that money could never buy. I don't own a car, I don't carry a smartphone, and my clothes fit in a single wicker basket. But when I look at the sunrise over the bamboo groves, I feel like the richest man on earth.