the fisherman

"Pura vida"
Costa Rica, April 2009

On our first day in Costa Rica, we took a sweaty, cramped, 4-hour bus ride from San Jose to Manuel Antonio on the Pacific Coast. We were the only tourists on a bus full of locals. Partly inspired by wonderment at this intimate glimpse of daily life, and partly attempting to distract my lovely travel companions from waves of nausea, I remembered a story and re-told it (poorly, I might add). Originally seen on a wall at Jimmy John's.

An American businessman was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellow-fin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The Mexican replied, only a little while. The American then asked, why didn't he stay out longer and catch more fish? The Mexican said he had enough to support his family's immediate needs. The American then asked, but what do you do with the rest of your time?

The Mexican fisherman said, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with mi esposa, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life, senor.”

The American scoffed, “I am a Harvard MBA and can help you. You should spend more time fishing, and with the proceeds buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy several boats, and eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman, you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing, and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise.”

The Mexican fisherman asked, “But senor, how long will this all take?”

To which the American replied, “15-20 years.”

“But what then, senor?”

The American laughed and said, "That’s the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO, sell your company stock to the public, and become very rich. You would make millions!"

“Millions, senor? Then what?”

The American said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play guitar with your amigos."

The allegory --- its message intensified by Costa Rica's "pura vida" motto, gorgeous beaches, volcanoes, and local friends made along the way --- fueled many a beer-hazed philosophical discussion that week.

As med school graduation nears, I remember why I first began this blog after college. Starting this project seemed both a reminder to distill my often absentminded musings into concrete ideas, and an efficient way to keep in touch (at least passively) with friends far and near. Maintaining a blog is a different beast entirely. I began to reflect (and write) less frequently during the busy clinical 3rd/4th years of med school --- ironically, the years yielding to date the highest highs and the lowest lows I've ever experienced intellectually, emotionally, and physically. I have no doubt that residency will push the limits even farther, and I hope I will take the time to reflect along the way (read: the blog is back!)

That said, life isn't always so serious (though I often am), and most of what ends up on here is trivial shit just for entertainment. Mostly mine, but hopefully yours as well.

A few more from Costa Rica.







To Alberto, Rodolfo, Diego, and Harlem: thanks for being our fishermen.