TLDR: I May Be Wrong is filled with memorable stories, but its greatest lesson is surprisingly ordinary. Learning to doubt our own opinions may be one of the most peaceful habits we can cultivate.

Note to self: The next time Wilson feels an eye-roll ready to go or is about to lash out at someone else, try repeating three times: I may be wrong.

That was the mantra a meditation teacher once gave Björn Natthiko Lindeblad, a Swedish economist who walked away from a promising career in his mid-twenties to spend the next seventeen years as a monk in the Thai forest tradition. It sounds almost too simple to work.

Indeed, it is easier said than done. But, on the few occasions when it worked for me, I noticed a gentle sense of peace coursing within.

I picked up this book after receiving multiple recommendations for it, including one from a friend who is not a Buddhist. After reading just three pages into the book, I got a glimpse of why it is so popular, even amongst those who may not be Buddhists.

The Prologue

395 words. In just 395 words, Natthiko gave the reader a taste of the following:

• A succinct summary of his life journey
• Just exactly what he gave up when he was a monk, and how long he did it for
• The most important lesson he learnt as a monk
• A cliffhanger about what was awaiting him in the last two years of his life

Reading the prologue feels like watching the first few seconds of those lightning-paced reels on TikTok or Instagram nowadays; you get all the juiciest details meant to keep you hooked. Interestingly, how Natthiko’s life unfolded may feel just as surreal and unbelievable as some of those reels with plot twists swinging at you once every 30 seconds.

The Style

38 chapters, each landing with one clear point, and some are only two pages long. Natthiko’s insights are interspersed with anecdotes from his life, with his dry humour peppered throughout the book. The conversational tone of the book makes it easy to read and I sometimes felt like I was listening to a friend sharing about his life.

The First Four Chapters

In the first chapter, Natthiko describes an experience of samādhi (meditative stillness) he had when he was eight years old. His account is reminiscent of the then-Bodhisatta’s samādhi experience under the rose-apple tree before his enlightenment as the Buddha.

The second chapter then goes into his educational journey, his ascent up the career ladder before culminating in the existential crisis he experienced at 26 years old. That was when he shared his initial encounter with meditation.

More importantly, that encounter signalled the beginning of the wisdom deep within starting to bubble at the surface.

Chapter Three eloquently describes his guidance on how to meditate, coupled with lovely metaphors that helps one to visualise how meditation could be like. The chapter comes across as authentic, honest and relatable, without feeling like one is being preached at. Instead, he invites the reader to try out meditation. He does not shy away from acknowledging the difficulties of meditation and highlights the value of that stillness that can be found within all of us.

We then witness Natthiko embark on his search for meaning after quitting in Chapter Four. It includes an encounter of him being jilted when on his eat-pray-love journey to Thailand. Strictly speaking, there was more of “eat” and “love”.

Interestingly, when the love did not work out, it prompted him to move onto “pray” instead and that signalled the start of his adventures at a monastery.  

By now, I have only gone into 24 pages of the book. Natthiko is truly an expert at storytelling. His vivid descriptions and honesty at baring his heart out made it a compelling read thus far.

Life as a Monk

The book went on to explore the scale of challenges Natthiko faced living life as a monk. There were anecdotes about physical dangers encountered when living in the forest and how they served as teachings for him. He also shared about encounters with different teachers at Wah Pah Nanachat, the monastery set up by Ajahn Chah catering to an international community keen on practising Buddhism. For those familiar with the Thai forest tradition, you may recognise many familiar names in the book, including Ajahn Jayasaro, who served as the abbot of the monastery when Natthiko was there.

I found it fascinating to read about Natthiko’s journey as a monk, through his struggles with control, the power of letting go and how monastic life resembles mundane life much more than we think.

His account of the time spent in the monastery helps to paint a more realistic picture of monkhood, giving us an insider’s view of how life could be like as a monastic.

One of the most memorable parts from this section was a quote from a postcard sent by Ajahn Jayasaro to Natthiko when he was spending time in hermitage, away from the monastic community:

“It seems to me, the more refined forms of happiness are characterised by the absence of things, rather than the presence of things.”

For readers who have experienced the wisdom arising after progressively letting go more, you may resonate with Natthiko’s anecdotes and inner thoughts and that could help further strengthen your faith in the Triple Gem.

The Biggest Draw of the Book

What I enjoyed most about the book was Natthiko’s authenticity and rawness in his words, especially when it came to the deepest thoughts and darkest periods. He did not see the world in a dichotomised way, just simply framing the world in black and white. By sharing his struggles, his embarrassments and his darkest times with such honesty, I get a feeling that this person’s sense of self is probably rather diminished already.

Also, I was reminded of the book When Breath Becomes Air and wondered if the idea of impending death could cause some people to be less self-conscious and to focus on what truly matters.

Gems of Wisdom

This book contains a treasure trove of insights and given our variety of life experiences, we may relate more to certain insights. For me, the eponymous quote “I may be wrong” hits the hardest.

Contrary to Natthiko, I tend to see the world rather distinctly in terms of extremes and more often than not, it stems from a belief that my view is always right. 

It was only after reading Natthiko’s account of how he gradually trusted his opinions less and how that has changed his perspective on things that I started to look out for times when I was wrong. My mind was adroit at finding reasons to deny that fact, to trivialise my mistakes and to protect my ego.

More importantly, death is a great teacher and Natthiko had clearly learnt a lot from this instructor. For those who have not encountered death in your immediate family or friends, this could be an opportunity for you to uncover some wisdom which may come in handy eventually when we meet death, either through others or when it is our turn.

In the Patoda Sutta, the Buddha compares this to four types of horses, each stirred by a different depth of the goad (a prickly stick). One moves at the sight of its shadow. Another only when struck to the bone.

For horses, a trainer uses a goad to spur a horse into motion, sometimes raised just enough to cast a shadow, sometimes pressed hard enough to break skin. For people, the Buddha names four equivalent goads: hearing that a stranger has died, seeing it with your own eyes, losing someone close to you, or finally facing your own body breaking down.

The horse that is stirred becomes resolute, and that resolve is what turns into training.

Awareness on its own changes nothing. It has to be followed by the discipline to sit with the discomfort rather than look away from it, the same discipline Natthiko spent seventeen years building in the forest.

Perhaps, we should consider which horse we are most alike to. Reading Natthiko’s account might just be enough of a shadow to get us moving, long before life delivers the harder version of the lesson. The work, though, only begins after we notice the shadow. What we do with that awareness forms the actual practice.

Conclusion

I love reading autobiographies and chatting with others to learn about their lives. I find that there is a lot to learn from the experiences of others and since it is unlikely that we will experience all there is to life, we can benefit a lot from others’ stories.

There are, however, some common threads in the stories we gather from different people and it is intriguing how sometimes a same story recounted in a different setting could touch us in a different way. Ajahn Brahm, one of my favourite teachers, appears in the closing pages of the book, in the form of an excerpt Natthiko shared from one of Ajahn Brahm’s talks on death.

So, perhaps you may want to consider reading this man’s account of his life. An account of letting go, written by a man who was, by the end, being asked to let go of everything.

Further Readings

• Stillness Flowing: 

A biography of Ajahn Chah, written by Ajahn Jayasaro and read by Ajahn Siripanyo. I highly recommend the audiobook version because Ajahn Siripanyo’s voice brings the story to life.

• Without and Within:

A book written by Ajahn Jayasaro in a question-and-answer format, shedding light on common questions about Buddhism. I loved how Ajahn Jayasaro struck a fine balance between capturing the essence of the Buddhist teachings while keeping the words interesting and not overly technical in nature.