Books & Breath Book Club Review: I May Be Wrong by Björn Natthiko Lindeblad

This post is for everyone who couldn't make it to our last gathering — so you don't miss the conversation, just the time zone. It's also for anyone who found their way here looking for an honest, thoughtful take on this book. You're welcome here too.

I May Be Wrong by Björn Natthiko Lindeblad

Genre: Memoir / Buddhist Spirituality / Personal Reflection

We came into this one curious.

A Swedish economist spends 17 years as a Buddhist monk in the forest, then finds his way back into the world.

Björn Natthiko Lindeblad writes about all of it without making it sound like either a sacrifice or an achievement. Just a life, honestly lived and honestly told.

A refreshing voice with humility. And it sets the tone for everything that follows.

What the Group Said

One of the first things we kept coming back to was the writing style. Stream of consciousness. Present tense. There's an honesty to it that feels unhurried — like you're following along as Björn is figuring things out, because that's genuinely how it reads. That's how thoughts actually move, and it's refreshing when a book doesn't try to tidy that up.

Authentic. Approachable. The kind of voice that makes you feel like you could sit down with this person and not have to be anyone in particular.

But none of that takes away from how easy this book is to be with. Not demanding. Not trying to convince you of anything. It feels more like documentation than persuasion — this is how it went — and there's something really generous about that. A spiritual quest shared, not sold. Comfortable, enjoyable, organic. A lighthearted book that carries more weight than it lets on.

We gave it a 7.5 out of 10.

What was delightful to discuss

Right from the very first chapter, Björn makes it clear he prefers the word awareness over mindfulness — and he traces it to a moment from childhood. He's eight years old, at his grandparents' house, pausing at a kitchen window. The noise inside him falls silent. The chrome toaster is so beautiful he skips a breath. Everything seems to shimmer. He describes it as the world whispering: welcome home. That's what awareness feels like to him — not involving the "mind", but a big, empty, welcoming space.

Mindfulness, he says, sounds like hard work. Awareness feels like leaning into something soft.

That small distinction opened up something bigger for us.

Awareness versus mindfulness — we had a lot to say here, and honestly we could have kept going.

Mindfulness, some of us felt, sits closer to proprioception. Consciously taking in what's arriving. Processing. Someone described it as tuning into an aura, an energy field — there's an intentionality to it, a kind of taming of reactions and responses, becoming more sensible in how you meet what comes.

Awareness felt a little different to some of us. More like body and mind moving together in an open field. An alertness to what might be approaching, rather than a management of what's already here. Less about taming, maybe more about spaciousness and warmth.

Maybe the distinction matters less than the fact that we're asking the question at all. It was the invitation to notice how we're actually living.

What I find myself sitting with

Ajahn Chah writes that some people live so far from themselves they never once notice their own breath.

What does it mean to live close to yourself? To be at ease in your own company? To actually keep your own company — and to recognize that's real, ongoing work?

We talked about how some gentle self-judgment can even be useful in that — not harsh, but honest enough to help you find the person you want to be with. The person you're still becoming.

Living close to yourself might be one of the bigger things we can do for ourselves. It's not always comfortable.

We had so much to share with each other that someone had to gently remind us the call had to end.

If something is still sitting with you, a question you're turning over or a passage you keep returning to, bring it to the Reader's Lounge. That's exactly what it's there for.

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Next Up

Untie the Wild Woman

After a memoir of quiet mornings and hard-earned stillness, we turn to something that feels like it might ask different questions altogether. And arriving at the month of Mother's Day, Untie the Wild Woman feels like exactly the right book at exactly the right time — whether you're a mother, have one, or carry something wild that's been waiting to be heard. We're curious to find out together.

May Meeting:

Saturday, May 17, 2026 at 9:00 AM Taiwan Time

In your time zone:

New Zealand (NZST) — Saturday 1:00 PM

Australia (AEST) — Saturday 11:00 AM

US Eastern — Friday, May 16 at 9:00 PM

US Central — Friday, May 16 at 8:00 PM

US Pacific — Friday, May 16 at 6:00 PM

I hope to see you there!