The Mexican Fisherman and the Investment Banker

On a quiet morning, an American investment banker exhausted from years of high-pressure deals and endless flights wandered along the sun-drenched coast of a small Mexican village.  The sea sparkled, gulls wheeled above, and the scent of salt drifted in the air.  There, he noticed a modest boat gliding into the harbour.

Inside sat a lone fisherman, weathered by sun and sea, smiling easily. His boat carried several large, gleaming yellowfin tuna each one fresh, heavy, and glistening with life.

The banker, impressed, called out, “How long did it take you to catch those?”

“Only a little while,” the fisherman replied.

Perplexed, the banker pressed further. “Why not stay out longer and catch more?”

The fisherman shrugged gently. “I have enough. Enough to support my family’s needs.”

The banker frowned. “But then, what do you do with the rest of your time?”

The fisherman’s eyes softened. “I sleep late.  I fish a little.  I play with my children.  In the afternoons, I take siesta with my wife.  In the evenings, I stroll to the village, sip wine, and play guitar with my amigos.  It is a full life, señor.”

The banker couldn’t help but scoff. His mind, trained in spreadsheets and strategy, could not comprehend such simplicity.

“Listen,” he said eagerly, “I am a Harvard MBA. I could help you.  You should fish longer, catch more, buy a bigger boat.  With that, more boats.  Soon, a fleet!  Instead of selling to the middleman, you could sell directly, perhaps even open your own cannery.  You would control product, processing, distribution. Then, of course, you would need to leave this village. You’d move to Mexico City, then Los Angeles, then New York. There you would run your growing empire.”

The fisherman tilted his head. “And how long would all this take?”

“Fifteen, maybe twenty years.”

“And then?”

The banker’s face lit with triumph. “Then comes the best part! You would announce an IPO, sell your company stock, and become very rich. You could make millions!”

“Millions, señor? And then what?”

The banker leaned in, as if sharing the punchline of a joke. “Then you retire. You move to a small coastal village.  You sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll into the village each evening, sip wine, play your guitar with your amigos…”

The fisherman let the silence linger. The gulls cried overhead, the sea lapped gently at the shore.

Finally, he asked with a wry smile: “Señor… are those business degrees hard to get?”