When the Universe Winks: The Magic Man and Two-Tons of Jade
I’m a magnet for seekers and dreamers, have been for years. Wandering the spiritual Path is like traversing the Appalachian Trail — new friends arrive, seemingly out of nowhere. Some hike along at a brisk pace, with you for a fleeting moment, others linger and talk, even camp out for a time. A few choose to abandon the journey altogether, never to be seen again.
I’ve watched numerous such friends begin their spiritual journey, only to inevitably encounter their own personal Chapel Perilous on a particularly Dark Night of the Soul. It’s a predictable stop for those who travel the road. Veteran hikers know it’s coming, but they don’t. When it arrives, you are excited for them — which seems an odd emotion when a friend’s in crisis. But, as long as they continue the journey, you know what awaits them on the other side—true knowledge of self.
The other day, I witnessed a particularly magical version of this crucible present itself. A good friend, who’d studied in Israel for years, came to work with me a few years back. We hit it off, often speaking on topics of identity, work, God, and all matter of sports (you know what they say about “all seek and no play.”).
This year, she took maternity leave for the birth of her first child. Many other friends along the Way have experienced momentous breakthroughs of letting go during childbirth and the months which followed, forced into reflection as they underwent physical, social, and professional change. I could tell that such questions lingered upon her return.
A meeting with a prospective client on this particular day was markedly unusual. It would turn out to be her last with our company. As the caller’s screen came online, the walls behind him featured the word “Magic” — the rest of his company’s name obscured by his broad shoulders. Off to his right, a royal blue and gold movie banner reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory hung vertically.
As my friend proceeded with her sales pitch, a headless figure appeared from around the corner, his standing figure cropped at the shoulders by the frame of the digital window. His shirt prominently featured the word “Magic” on his dark blue polo shirt. The “Magic” man commended her on her insightful and penetrating questions. He asked her whether she’d ever heard of Donald Miller and the Hero’s Journey. She said that she’d often spoken of it with me, although she’d never read his books herself.
The Magic Man went on to explain the premise: a reluctant hero, in need of a guide. The hero has a problem: external, internal, and philosophical. It was the job of the guide to create a call to action so that the hero can achieve success and avoid failure. The Magic Man asked my friend how well she understood their problem, “like did she really, really, really understand them?” You ask good questions, but what is our external problem, our internal problem, and our philosophical problem? And how is your solution going to guide them to take action to cause them to be successful and avoid failure?
As the father exited stage left to work on the printer, the son, embarrassed, said, “Look at the time…12:34...” His voice trailed. “Sounds like you’ve got some homework.”
My colleague laughed, “Any homework that helps you ace the test is always worth it.”
The Magic Man returned to the frame, “Back to Donald Miller and Storybrand. Do you know who the hero of Star Wars: A New Hope is?”
My friend shook her head.
“It’s Luke Skywalker who lives on a planet called Tatooine with his uncle and his aunt and he wants to be a Jedi, but how is he ever going to get off that planet, right?” At this point, the Magic Man points to his son. “This is Luke Skywalker. He’s trying to figure that out. And along comes the guide. And who’s the guide?”
“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” chimes in my friend, shaking her head realizing that she knew the answer to the Star Wars hero question all along.
“Exactly. Now, do your best Yoda voice for me,” says the Magic Man.
“Oh, no, no, no!” Says my friend, “I can’t, I can’t.”
“Patience you must have, young Padawan,” says the Magic Man, holding a laser printout of Yoda in front of his face as he performs an impression. The Magic Man finishes and laughs at himself, “This must be the most unique call you’ve had.”
My friend agrees, “In the six years I’ve been here, this is a top 3 favorite call.” She goes on to note the man’s unique last name. Its name few ever pronounce correctly as the family invented it upon arrival in the New World. But my friend has good intuition. She ventures a guess, and, to everyone’s surprise, nails the Anglicization of a Sicilian name on the first try. She then inquires about the Russian forename of his seated son. The man tells her that he is the youngest of 7 children, born in Russia while their family was caring for Russian orphans. Heeding the call to adventure is in the blood.
As the call wrapped up, my friend promised to send over some follow-up materials immediately following the call, “As for my Reluctant Hero Homework, that may take me a few days to make sure it’s up to Yoda’s expectations.”
She wrapped up by telling him how he might appreciate a new feature called a Journey and how it might be useful for him to know more about.
After the call, my friend Slacked me a synopsis of her call with the Magic Man, and the Hero’s Journey. “I knew when Dad asked me how familiar I was with Donald Miller, I was the wrong person for the demo.” Little did she know that she was less than an hour away from crossing the threshold.
I told her that I, too, had just hopped off a call with a reluctant hero of my own who’d declined my call to action. He was a businessman coming off the embarrassing loss of a deli after his employees stole from him and was looking to reinvent himself back in his old world of insurance. But at the end of the day, he couldn’t bring himself to do the hard work to start over. He would rather spend his evenings smoking cigars and drinking bourbon on his farm than try to reinvent himself at sixty. Who can blame him?
For some reason, I’d felt drawn to share with the man a story I’d heard the previous night.
“I recently watched a speech by Arthur Brooks where he described hiring a guide for a tour of a museum in Taiwan. The guide led him to a two-ton jade figure with a Chinese village carved into the side. ‘There’s a big philosophical difference between Chinese and Western art. When you, as a Westerner, think of a work of art yet to be started, what’s the image that pops into your head?’
To which Arthur replied, ‘An empty canvas.’
He said, ‘Right, because you think of art as something that comes from nothing. When I think of a work of art that has yet to be started, I think of an uncut jade boulder. Why? Because the work of art is already in there. I just have to expose it by chipping away the jade.’
As Arthur pondered this philosophical distinction, the guide continued, ‘That’s how Westerners see success too. And it’s different from the way we do. You think of your life as an empty canvas to fill up with brush strokes. More paint, more money, more power, more pleasure, more relationships, more prestige, more Instagram followers, more whatever. Bigger Rolodex — more brush strokes.’ The guide paused, ‘But here’s the thing. When you Westerners get really successful, by that age, the canvas is full. And one more brush stroke adds nothing. Here’s where we are really lucky because what we think of as a successful life is chipping away the jade until by the end of our lives we expose the beautiful work of art that is our true selves.’”
My friend laughed, used to my philosophical Slack sidebars. An hour later, she texted me — she had been fired. She was floored, but I wasn’t surprised. I’d told her during her maternity leave that I thought it was coming. You start to get a feeling for these things, the ground shifting beneath your feet. It’s partially mundane factors — finances, new leadership, market changes. But there are other, more subtle, factors at play. Like a mother who knows when the baby is coming, you can sense when someone is ready for a spiritual rebirth.
As I write this, I can’t promise you something quite as blatant as “Magic” men or hamfisted literary devices will come to life when your time comes to meet the multilayered art project that you call yourself. But this I can tell you: When that moment at the crossroads comes, remember the two-ton jade sculpture. Be one of the lucky ones who answers the call, who takes the chance to chip away at everything that is not that beautiful work of art that is your true self. Grab the hammer and chisel and get to work.
Oh, and by the way, the sunrise after the Dark Night is the most beautiful you’ve ever seen.
