How Much is Enough? - Great Story I Read At Jimmy Johns

The 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 my wife, 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 could 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, 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 and 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 your guitar with your amigos.”

I just passed an old teacher. If asked to describe her, the first word that comes to mind is dowdy; she has a deeply interesting sense of style. The weird part is, she doesn't fit the dowdy old lady stereotype. She's petite, and probably around 25 - there's so much she could do with her appearance. But she dresses in old lady sweaters and mom jeans, pairs sneakers with long flared skirts. I don't know why she does this. I don't see how she can think this looks good. Most of all, I don't see how she has the confidence to leave her apartment looking like a bag lady every morning.
I am aware that this is a mean, mean thing to say and I just want to make it clear that I love her and don't judge her for her choice of garb. I just don't understand it.
Then it occurs to me that maybe she's comfortable. God knows I strive to be comfortable in my clothes, and even though I put a lot of thought into how I dress, I rarely am. And maybe she's so comfortable dressing like that because it isn't about the clothes to her. Maybe its about her skin. Maybe shes one of the few people who knows how to be comfortable in it.

I sometimes wonder about the quality of truth. I mean, I wonder about the quality of a lot of things. Cashmere scarves, love, the water I'm drinking. But truth has recently caught my eye. Because although there is a working definition of what truth is, there is no scale by which to measure how true something may be. There is no standard by which to know whether what I think is true is the same as what you think is true, or what he thinks is true. Which somewhat makes truth comparable to thought. You cannot have a false thought. I cannot think I like you when in fact I don't. Once a thought finds its way into expression it can lie as much as you want it to, but pure thought cannot purposely be false.
So in some ways I suppose one could say that as far truth goes, everything is as true or false as you think it is. But that seems confusing too, because we all think different things. For instance, a grad student came up to the circulation desk a few minutes ago and I thought he smelled like smoke. And even though I'm fairly certain that his wife or girlfriend will think so too, maybe he doesn't. Maybe he thinks the only thing he smells like is last night. I swear, you men have to start showering.