The Banker and the Fisherman

I ask people in their twenties, thirties, and forties one question. Just one. And the response I get more often than I'd like is a look that suggests I've said something either deeply personal or mildly illegal.

The question is: what's your end game?

That's it. No follow-up. No trick. Just: where is all of this going?

Most people are busy. Grinding. Staying in motion. They've built elaborate systems for not stopping. And the question of where all that motion is taking them has somehow never made the agenda. I ask it anyway. I've cost myself at least two friendships this way and I consider it a reasonable trade. (I kid...)

This familiar story is why I ask. You might of heard it, but I might have a different take on it.

An investment banker was vacationing in a small coastal village when a fishing boat pulled into the dock.

One man. A handful of large, fresh fish.

The banker was impressed. "How long did it take to catch those?"

"Not long," the fisherman said.

"Why didn't you stay out and catch more?"

The fisherman shrugged. "I have enough for my family."

"So what do you do with the rest of your day?"

"Sleep in. Fish a little. Play with my kids. Take a nap with my wife. Walk into the village at night, drink wine, play guitar with my friends." He smiled. "Full life."

The banker looked at this man the way certain people look at anyone who seems happy without trying hard enough. He could not let it stand.

"I have an MBA from Harvard," he said. "I can help you."

The fisherman had not asked for help. The fisherman was, by all available evidence, doing fine. The banker continued.

"Stay out longer, catch more, buy a bigger boat. Then a second boat. Then a fleet. Cut out the middleman, sell direct, open your own cannery. Control the whole supply chain."

"And how long does that take?" the fisherman asked.

"Fifteen, maybe twenty years."

"Then what?"

"Then you take the company public. Sell the stock. Make millions."

The fisherman nodded slowly. "Millions. Then what?"

The banker grinned. He loved this part.

"Then you retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village. Sleep in. Fish a little. Play with your kids. Take naps with your wife. Sip wine in the evenings and play guitar with your friends."

The fisherman looked at him for a long moment. You could see him doing the math. You could see the banker, very slowly, also doing the math and not yet arriving at the answer.

"So," the fisherman said. "I'm already there?"

Most people read this story as a warning against ambition.

That's not how I read it.

The fisherman isn't the winner because he did less. He's the winner because he knew what he wanted. He built a life that matched his actual goals and stopped there on purpose. Call it precision, not laziness.

Most people can't say the same.

They're ten years into a plan they never consciously chose. Working toward a finish line that keeps moving. Deferring the good stuff to a "someday" that doesn't have a date on it and keeps getting pushed to the following someday.

That's the real trap. Not ambition. Ambition without a direction.

Here's where my version of this story takes a turn.

The Un-Retired Life isn't about becoming the fisherman.

For some people, that really is the answer. Fishing village. Small, slow, enough. Done. Genuinely, good for them. And I mean that without a single trace of condescension, which is something I can't always say.

But that's not me.

I build. Always building. Not because I have to, but because when I stop I miss it the way you miss a word that's on the tip of your tongue. A low-grade irritation that doesn't quit until you find what you were looking for.

And here's the part people don't expect: I also fish. Actual fishing, for trout, when I need to think. I take long lunches whenever I want. I live at the beach. I've done the no-itinerary honeymoon. I've taken the full-stop vacations. Two weeks in, every time, I want my work back.

I want the building. The forward motion. The specific feeling that something I genuinely love is happening because I made it happen.

The building, the fishing, the long lunches, the beach. All part of the same life. None of it is the reward for tolerating the rest.

That's not the banker's trap. The banker was building toward something he'd never reach. I'm building something I already love being inside of.

The difference is the question.

Do you know what your days are supposed to feel like? Ask it about today, not twenty years from now.

If you don't know the answer, you're the banker. Running a plan that might deliver you exactly where you already could have been.

That's The Un-Retired Life. Stop sacrificing today for an imaginary tomorrow. Build the life now.

So let me ask you one more time.

What's your end game?

If you haven't grabbed The Perpetual Freedom Work-Life Manifesto yet, it's free. 18 pages on what the Un-Retired Life actually looks like in practice. And how to build it.

[DOWNLOAD: The Perpetual Freedom Work-Life Manifesto (Free PDF)]

Gil