He had leaped, once. Quit his job as a litigation lawyer—the corner office, the Rolex, the fiancée who matched his 401(k) with her own. He had walked into the wilderness of “self-discovery” like a man entering a grocery store for a single tomato and leaving with a mango, a machete, and a map to nowhere.
“The real master is not the one who gives answers. It is the one who helps you sit with the question until the question burns away.”
And for the first time in three years, he didn’t run from it. He sat. He waited. He burned.