Wish I'd Said It

In the last five years, I've undergone a significant philosophical transition. I had reached the pinnacle of my career, only to find that I hated it and it was miserable. I walked away from my corporate management position to be a dream-chaser instead of a ladder-climber. More than a few people have watched this transition with confused expressions. In fact, I almost didn't get the job that I now love because my resume seemed so out-of-whack with the position I was seeking. Three-and-a-half years later, my boss sometimes still seems to think that I'm just waiting for something better to come along. Even though words are the brush strokes with which I paint my world, I've had a hard time explaining the whole lifestyle change in a way that people simultaneously understand and believe.

Until now. One of the simple pleasures my husband and I have enjoyed since I took a job closer to home is eating lunch together. (How many parents of four can say they enjoy a meal together without kids at least once a week?) Today we met at Jimmy Johns, and a sign on the wall had this story. It captures the heart and soul of my new outlook. I wish I'd written it, but I didn't. Some other enlightened soul beat me to it, and God bless him/her for it.

The American Tourist and Mexican Fisherman

A story similar in spirit to the philosophy of Chuang Tzu

Author Unknown

An American tourist 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 yellowfin tuna. The tourist 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 tourist then asked, "Why didn't you stay out longer and catch more fish?"

The Mexican said, "With this I have more than enough to support my family's needs."

The tourist 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."

The tourist scoffed, " I 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. 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 could leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then Los Angeles and eventually New York where you could run your ever-expanding enterprise."

The Mexican fisherman asked, "But, how long will this all take?"

The tourist replied, "15 to 20 years."

"But what then?" asked the Mexican.

The tourist laughed and said, "That's the best part. When the time is right you would sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions."

"Millions?...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."

Dear X91G4200

Dear X91G4200,

I don't know your technical name, so I've assigned you one that I hope is acceptable in your micro-colony. Maybe your name is "Mike." If so, I apologize. It is not my intent to offend you.

I'm merely writing to suggest that you consider moving on. You've outstayed your welcome in my respiratory system. I want my voice back. I miss having oxygen whenever I want it. Nyquil is not my first choice for nightcap. No, really.

You amused the children at first. Long periods of Mom being rendered unable to remain vertical led to wanton snacking and unabated Wii sessions. My inability to yell without ascending into tones hearable only to the family dogs was a treat for them, too. However, they are yearning for hot meals and they are tired of fetching tissues of cough drops.

My employer would undoubtedly like to see me actually make it to work more than one day in a row. My students are beginning to wonder if I've moved and left no forwarding address.

To put it bluntly, it's time for you to leave. Take your snot and leave my mucous membranes. Take your hot and cold flashes, I don't need 'em. Take your aches and call it a season. Don't think of me. Don't think of me.

I'll just be swallowing without excruciating pain and inflating my lungs to their fullest capacity. Have a nice life cycle. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here.