My happiness studies once brought me to a Buddhist monastery, where due to my height and leather jacket, the monks dubbed me “Brother Terminator.”
But I wasn’t the sole non-cenobite around. A young PTSD victim had moved in, seeking inner peace. Catching me tinkering with an early draft of my book, he asked to read what I’d written up to that point.
The next day, he hugged me and said “reading your book was the first time I’ve laughed and felt hope in months.” Every day his words spur me to work harder, smarter and faster to spread happiness.