This Simple Monastery Lesson Fixed My Quarter-Life Crisis (Buddhist Story)

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There was a young man, 25, who came to stay at our monastery. He wasn't religious, he told me that right away, as if he needed to make sure I didn't try to convert him. I am not here for God, he said. I'm just tired. Everything feels off. He had one of those tech jobs, remote, well-paid, lots of perks. But he talked like someone whose soul had been evicted from his body. 
    
I used to be excited, he told me on his second day. Now I wake up with this weight, like I'm late for something I can't name. On his third morning, he burnt his toast. We have an old wood-fired toaster here. No buttons, no tech, just you, the fire, and your attention. He forgot it for a few seconds too long, and when he pulled it out, it was pitch black, charred. 

He stared at it, like he'd just failed some unspoken exam. Then he started aggressively scraping it with the edge of his spoon, sighing under his breath. He kept muttering: Stupid toaster, stupid. 

I watched him for a moment. Then I said: Eat it. He stopped. What? Eat it, don't fix it. Just taste it. He looked at me like I was joking. I wasn't. He took a bite reluctantly. Then another. His face twisted. He chuckled awkwardly and said: It's awful. I nodded. Yeah, but it's yours. He looked at me, unsure. I asked: Why are you really here? He paused, and then he said: Because I think I messed up. My job, my relationships, my 20s. 

I look around and everyone else seems to know where they are going. And I am just burnt out. I feel like I missed the window. I said: You're trying to scrape your life back to something that doesn't exist. You think if you fix it enough, edit your past, clean up the regrets, it'll taste the way you want it. But life doesn't work that way. He was quiet. 

I continued: What if the goal isn't to make it perfect? What if the goal is to taste it as it is, and learn what you want different next time? He didn't respond, but something in him softened. The next morning, he burnt his toast again, on purpose. Ate it slowly, no spoon, no scraping, then he smiled, just a little. 

Before he left, he said: I think I've been so obsessed with getting everything right, that I forgot life isn't the final draft, it's just breakfast, over and over. You burn some, you get better. 

I said: Exactly. You see in life, in your life, perfection isn't the point, presence is. Stop scraping your past, taste what's here, and let each burnt moment teach you how to cook the next morning better. 

Thank you so much for reading, and stay blessed.