by Robin Sharma
I nodded, still in a fog of shock and confusion.
“Let’s head down there,” said Julian, pointing to the long flower-and-tree-lined avenues that banked the reflecting pool. “Find a place to sit, perhaps … in the evening air.”
We left the archways of the Taj Mahal and headed down the stone steps. The water in the pools was getting dark, the sun dipping below the horizon, the sky a soft shade of indigo.
As we walked, Julian slipped his hand into a pocket of his robe.
“Would you like to see the last talisman?” he asked.
“You have it with you?” I said.
Julian nodded and then pulled out a small brown bag. I held out my hand, and he emptied the bag into my palm. I was holding a tiny marble replica of the Taj Mahal. There was no parchment or note of any sort. I cocked my head.
“Let me explain what this means,” said Julian. “This last talisman is all about legacy,” he said. “The monks say that the best way to evaluate someone’s greatness is to look at the strength of that person’s influence on the generation that will follow. So if we are truly interested in rising into rare air as human beings, instead of ‘what’s in it for me?’ we should be asking ‘what’s in it for the world?’ That is why the Taj Mahal is the perfect symbol for legacy.”
I looked back at the ethereal structure. It was shimmering pink, radiating as if it were itself a glittering star.
“Yes, I can see that,” I said. “This building has inspired and influenced so many dreamers from so many places. For hundreds of years. I can’t quite believe it is the work of one man. That it was built in one lifetime.”
“There’s no doubt about it,” said Julian. “This is a remarkable work of art, or architecture. Few people leave something of such beauty and significance behind. But when I think of the legacy of the Taj Mahal’s creator, it is not really architecture I think of.”
I looked at Julian, uncertain about what he was trying to say.
“Let me tell you the story of the Taj Mahal,” said Julian.
Shah Jahan was the emperor of the Moghul Empire in the early 1600s, Julian explained. His wife was a woman he called Mumtaz Mahal, or Jewel of the Palace. He adored her, and she him. Tragically, Mumtaz Mahal died while giving birth to her fourteenth child. According to the legend, Mumtaz’s last words to her husband spoke of their everlasting love.
Shah Jahan was devastated by her death. After a year of mourning in reclusion and rejecting earthly pleasures, Jahan decided to spend his life honoring his beloved by building her a resting place that would be a heaven on earth. And every year, between two and four million people come to see what Shah Jahan constructed for the love of his life.
“Not many of us will leave the world something on the scale of the Taj Mahal,” Julian said. “But even more modest contributions are still precious contributions.”
Julian began digging around in the pocket of his robe. He pulled out a small piece of parchment and handed it to me. It read:
Stand for Something Bigger than Yourself
There are no extra people alive today. Every single one of us is here for a reason, a special purpose—a mission. Yes, build a beautiful life for yourself and those you love. Yes, be happy and have a lot of fun. And yes, become successful, on your own terms rather than on those suggested to you by society. But—above all else—be significant. Make your life matter. Be of use. And be of service to as many people as possible. This is how each of us can shift from the realm of the ordinary into the heights of the extraordinary. And walk among the best who have ever lived.
“It made a big difference that Mumtaz Mahal lived,” Julian said quietly. “Her shadow is even longer than her husband’s. It was her love that led to all this.” Julian’s hand swept in front of him.
“Sometimes, Jonathan,” Julian continued, “our contributions are clearly visible to the world—an advancement in science, a work of art, the creation of a successful company, the building of a house or a city. But sometimes our contributions are less tangible, less measurable. What is important is that we do contribute. That we make a difference. That we leave a legacy.”
I could see now that I had been wrong in Sedona. There had been a piece of missing wisdom in that collection of talismans. Legacy. It was not about making money or receiving applause. It was, it seemed, about influence and impact, about making the world a better place. Li Gao understood that. My sister, Kira, understood that. My father and mother understood that. And sitting here in front of this inspiring memorial to love, I knew it was something I would think about for days and years to come. What would my legacy be? What difference would I make?
“Now,” said Julian after a few moments of silence. “Do you have the talismans?”
“Oh,” I said. “I almost forgot.”
That wasn’t quite true. The fact was that I found myself curiously reluctant to part with them.
As I lifted my shirt and slowly untied the pouch from my belt loop, Julian smiled.
“You’ve become a little attached to them,” said Julian kindly. “You’ve discovered their power.”
“Well, I don’t know,” I said.
“I think you must have. How are you feeling?” Julian asked.
“Good,” I said. “Surprisingly good.”
“No jetlag? No fatigue? Lots of energy?”
“Yeah,” I said slowly. “Do you think …?”
“The wisdom of these talismans, if you embrace it, if you commit yourself to it, can change your life. As I told you earlier, it can be lifesaving.”
“About that,” I said, remembering my mother’s tearful voice so many weeks ago, “who is in danger? Whose life are you trying to save with these things?”
Julian looked at me with raised eyebrows but said nothing. There was a moment of silence as the truth washed over me.
“Oh come on,” I said, my face growing hot. “I’m not in danger. My life doesn’t need saving.”
Julian didn’t say anything. But he continued to look at me as if waiting for something. The talismans were still in my hand.
“I’m a healthy guy with a great kid, and, okay, a marriage that needs a bit of work but…”
“Jonathan, you know as well as I do that your life was in trouble. Your mother could see that, and she was sick with worry. She had lost your father, and she felt she was losing you, too. She could see that you were never going to find the happiness and contentment that she and your dad had if you continued the way you were going. You were working in a job you hated; you squandered your marriage; and you were missing the childhood of your son.”
“So all this talisman stuff was just nonsense? There was no magic cure?”
“The real magic was in those letters, Jonathan, in those letters and in your journal. The talismans provided a way to get you to pay attention. The journey was the way to give you time to absorb the lessons that the letters—and my friends—shared with you.
“Jonathan, you were willing to work hard, to face your fears, to take risks to save someone else’s life. But when you started out, you weren’t willing to do those things to save your own. I think, however, that now you are.”
“But what about all the safekeepers?” I asked. “Do they know that there isn’t any magic to these things—even if you have all of them in one place?”
Julian smiled. “That was my only real dishonesty, Jonathan. I collected these little amulets after I spoke with your mother a few months ago, and then I mailed them off to my friends. They understood what was going on, and they were happy to help. Each one of those people is wise in their own way—to me they epitomize the knowledge that was in each of those letters. I have learned so much from each of them, and I wanted you to meet them and learn from them, too. And this was the only way I could think to do it. You never would have gone otherwise.”
I had enjoyed meeting these friends of Julian’s, and I had to confess that I would have liked to spend more time with each of them. That made me think of the people I could
n’t spend more time with—my father. And Juan.
Julian pointed to a little stone bench ahead of us. As we sat down, he put his hand gently on my shoulder.
“I think that many things are clear to you now, but something is still bothering you,” he said gently.
I had been brooding about all this for so long it was hard to know where to start the story. So I started at the beginning. I told Julian all about working with Juan in the lab, about my decision to leave. I explained how Sven and David had been trying to force Juan to quit, how I had neither defended him nor even provided friendship or sympathy. Then I told him about Juan’s car crash.
“An accident,” said Julian. He said it matter-of-factly, but there was the hint of a question in his voice.
When I didn’t say anything, he continued. “But you are doubtful.”
“Yes,” I said finally. “Juan had a heart attack. That much is certain. But when did he have it? Before or after he crashed through the guardrail?”
Julian looked at me sadly, as if he knew my story hadn’t reached its conclusion.
I looked down at the stones in front of me, the great dome in the distance.
“Two days before he died,” I continued, “I walked past Juan’s office. He was coming out the door. He was looking at his feet, clearly lost in thought. He almost bumped into me. When he saw me, his expression didn’t change. He spoke as if he wasn’t really addressing me, was just continuing his private thoughts out loud.
“‘There hardly seems any point in going on’ is what Juan said. At the time, I thought he was talking about quitting. And as shameful as it is to admit, I was relieved. At least I wouldn’t have to see his harrowed face each day. At least I could pretend that things would turn out for the best. I didn’t say anything to Juan, and he continued past me, down the hall, his head lowered and his steps heavy. But after … Juan’s words ate away at me like acid. Had those words foretold the fatal crash? Was Juan deciding to end his life, not his career? And if I had stopped him, talked with him, offered my help or my sympathy, might he still be alive today?”
Julian and I were both quiet for a while. There were only a few people in sight. The emptiness of the place seemed surreal after the noisy, crowded streets of Delhi and Agra.
Julian clasped his hands and stretched his legs in front of him. His brown leather sandals peeked out from under his crimson robe.
“Jonathan,” he began. “I like to say that what we all need to do is look ahead five years and predict what things in our current life we will most regret. Then we must take actions today to prevent those regrets from being realized.”
Julian reached out and put his hand over mine.
“I think, during this trip, you have probably started that process. I think your future is going to look very different from how it would have turned out if you hadn’t undergone this journey. But that is the future. What you are talking about now is the past. You know as well as I do that no one will ever be able to answer those questions you are asking. And you must be brave enough to accept that.”
I sighed deeply. I was hoping that Julian’s answer would be different, but I knew it wouldn’t be.
“You can’t move forward while looking back, Jonathan,” said Julian firmly. “And there is nothing you can do to change the past.”
“But I feel as if I should do something to make amends, to show how sorry I am,” I said.
“There are two things you can do,” said Julian. I looked up at him, feeling for the first time hopeful about this.
“Two things you must do,” Julian continued. “First is make sure that you never neglect a friend that way again; that you don’t bear silent witness to the cruelty and bad behavior of others.”
I nodded. I had already made that resolution to myself months ago.
“And second,” Julian continued, “you must forgive yourself.”
Julian was looking at me intently.
“Do you remember the crane talisman, Jonathan?”
“Yes,” I said, thinking fondly of Ayame.
“Do you remember what that letter said about the importance of treating others kindly, and treating yourself the same way? It is important that you forgive others. It is essential that you forgive yourself.”
I ran my hands down my legs. I knew Julian was right. It might be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I had to stop wallowing in regret. I had to let it go. And move on.
“And speaking of forgiveness,” said Julian. He was standing up. “There is someone else who would like to see you.”
The sun had now disappeared completely, leaving only a faint glow along the horizon. The moon was bright in the sky, hanging like a golden coin against a deep bank of velvet. I looked around. Light was sparkling off the water in the reflecting pool, but the garden was dark and empty. Then I noticed a small figure at the edge of the stone avenue … walking toward me. I looked over at Julian, but he was gone. When I turned back, the moonlight revealed the figure of a woman: petite and slender; long, dark hair disappearing behind her shoulders. She was close enough now that I could see the smile spreading across her face. Annisha! My heart leaped and I sprang to my feet.
Then, as I moved toward her, I saw something else. The tiny figure of my son appeared just behind his mother. Adam put his head down and pumped his arms as he raced past Annisha. I stooped down with my arms open to receive him. All I could manage to say was his name before tears choked my voice.
ANNISHA, ADAM AND I stayed in Agra for three days before heading back home. The time we spent together in India felt like the most important thing I had ever done.
Julian told me to keep the talismans—and the letters. “Perhaps someday,” he said, “you will want to give the talismans to Adam and teach him everything you have learned from them.” The thought of that made me smile.
WHEN I RETURNED TO WORK after my long absence, it was to a sea of new faces, and to an office without David, or Sven for that matter. I spent a long time talking with various managers and the new CEO. A lot of people, including my clients, tried to talk me into staying in sales. But I knew where I would do my best work. Eventually they agreed, and after several months as acting technical director, they gave me the post permanently.
Of course, before all of that unfolded, I got rid of the apartment and moved back in with Annisha and Adam. Adam immediately started a campaign to get me to be an assistant coach for his soccer team. He seemed surprised at how quickly I agreed. And Annisha and I started on the slow, careful work of rebuilding our marriage.
One of the first things we did was institute a new tradition—a once-a-month Sunday dinner with my mother, my sister and her family, and Annisha’s parents. And we started to plan our next vacation.
“Where shall we go?” asked Annisha, as she sat looking at some of the travel books my mother had lent us. “Who should we see?”
“Let’s start at the beginning,” I suggested, thinking fondly of my new life and my new friends. “Let’s start with Istanbul.”
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THE TALISMAN LETTERS
The Power of Authenticity
The most important gift we can give ourselves is the commitment to living our authentic life. To be true to ourselves, however, is not an easy task. We must break free of the seductions of society and live life on our own terms, under our own values and aligned with our original dreams. We must tap our hidden selves; explore the deep-seated, unseen hopes, desires, strengths and weaknesses that make us who we are. We have to understand where we have been and know where we are going. Every decision we make, every step we take, must be informed by our commitment to living a life that is true and honest and authentic to ourselves and ourselves alone. And as we proceed, we are certain to experience fortune well beyond our highest imagination.
Embrace Your Fears
What holds us back in life is the invisible architecture of fear. It keeps us in our comfort zones, which are, in truth, the least safe places in which to live. Indeed, the greatest risk in life is taking no risks. But every time we do that which we fear, we take back the power that fear has stolen from us—for on the other side of our fears lives our strength. Every time we step into the discomfort of growth and progress, we become more free. The more fears we walk through, the more power we reclaim. In this way, we grow both fearless and powerful, and thus are able to live the lives of our dreams.
Live with Kindness
It is important to remember that just as our words are our thoughts verbalized, so our deeds are our beliefs actualized. No action, no matter how small, is insignificant—how we treat someone defines how we treat everyone, including ourselves. If we disrespect another, we disrespect ourselves. If we are mistrustful of others, we are distrustful of ourselves. If we are cruel to another, we will be cruel to ourselves. If we can’t appreciate those around us, we won’t appreciate ourselves. With every person we engage, in everything we do, we must be kinder than expected, more generous than anticipated, more positive than we thought possible. Every moment in front of another human being is an opportunity to express our highest values and to influence someone with our humanity. We can make the world better, one person at a time.