The Fisherman
In the prologue of Matthew Kelly’s Off Balance, he tells a familiar story about an investment banker and a fisherman.
A powerful, wealthy man, worn thin by stress, visits a small coastal village in Mexico to rest. One morning he notices a fishing boat returning early. Curious, he walks to the dock. The fisherman has several large tuna.
“Why come in so early?” the banker asks.
“This is enough for my family,” the fisherman says. “We’ll eat some and trade the rest for what we need.”
“Why not stay out longer and catch more?” the banker persists.
The fisherman smiles. “I sleep late, fish a little—for pleasure—take a siesta with my wife, play with my kids, eat dinner with my family, and in the evening I sip wine and play guitar with my friends.”
“I’m a Harvard-trained businessman,” the banker says. “I can help. Fish longer, earn more, buy a bigger boat. Then a second boat. Hire a crew. Build a fleet. Open a cannery. Export globally. Move to New York. Take the company public. You’ll make more money than you could in ten lifetimes.”
The fisherman considers this. “Then what?”
“Then,” the banker says, “you can retire to a small coastal town, fish for pleasure, nap with your wife, eat dinner with your family, and sip wine with your friends while you play guitar.”
The story made me smile. It’s a sharp reminder not to get caught up in the chase—for money, for status, for the next rung. Money is a tool. It’s only useful inasmuch as it helps you live the life you actually want.
The fisherman recognized he was already living the dream.
I’ve been practicing that kind of gratitude myself. When people ask, “How are you?” I like to say, “I’m living the dream.” Most days, I mean it. On occasion I work from home. A kid bursts in and says, “Look at my fort I made! This room is for my stuffed orca, she has a bed and a kitchen and that kitty is her friend. And I writed you something! It says ‘Dad I wont you to play after werk.’”
In twenty years—when I’m “rich and famous,” as the joke goes—these will be the good old days I wish I could get back. Even with whatever riches or travel or big houses might come, I’ll miss being a little broke, looking forward to grilling for my family, and sipping an old fashioned with my friends.
Still, the story misses something important.
Sometimes there’s a bigger reason to work hard, and it isn’t money, fame, or power. Sometimes people pour themselves into building something that serves—a mission larger than the self, a contribution that leaves a dent in the world. When you find that kind of purpose, the call is to show up, give your best, and leave things better than you found them.
I have big goals and dreams. They may involve getting rich, but that’s a byproduct, not the point. Contentment keeps me grounded; purpose keeps me growing. The art is knowing which voice to follow in which season.
What about you? Do you have a mission that stretches beyond your own comfort? What imprint do you want to leave? Is money your end goal—or a means to an end? And where, already, are you living the dream?
