Yesterday, I ended up skipping the daily write up. I broke my 118-day streak. It was a habit, but maybe for the wrong reasons. I had time, and it wouldn't have been a hassle. I just didn't have anything to say. That was yesterday.
I'm currently in Indonesia with my wife and son Somers. The whole build in public thing, listing my revenues at the bottom of the page, feels off. Like I'm doing this for somebody else, or to impress someone. Who am I trying to impress, and what exactly does the scoreboard with the revenues really give? Originally, this was done in the spirit of build in public, and being an open source of information.
The whole thing feels inauthentic. And yesterday, rather than try to be Seth Godin, which I definitely never could be — he's a marketing demigod — I skipped it. If I don't feel like writing, I'm not going to force it.
Today, one of my favourite parables came to mind. It's probably best known as the Mexican fisherman and the Harvard-MBA-trained investment banker. It goes like this.
An American banker takes his holiday in a small fishing village in Mexico. One morning he watches a fisherman tie up his little boat, a couple of big yellowfin in the bottom. Good fish, the banker says. How long did they take you? A couple of hours. Why not stay out longer and catch more? This is enough for my family, the fisherman says.
So what do you do with the rest of your day?
The fisherman shrugs. I sleep in. I fish a little. I play with my kids, have lunch with my wife, take a nap. In the evening I walk into the village, drink wine and play guitar with my friends.
The banker can't leave it alone. He has an MBA, he explains, and the fisherman is thinking too small. Stay out longer. Sell the extra fish, buy a bigger boat. The bigger boat pays for a second, then a fleet. Cut out the middleman, sell straight to the processor, then open your own cannery. Own the catch, the processing, the sales. He'd have to leave the village, of course — Mexico City to start, later Los Angeles, eventually New York.
And how long would all that take? the fisherman asks.
Fifteen, maybe twenty years.
Then what?
Then you sell, the banker says. Take the company public, walk away with millions.
Millions. Then what?
Then you retire, says the banker. Buy a little place in a fishing village. Sleep in. Fish a little. Play with your grandkids, have lunch with your wife, take a nap. Walk into the village in the evening, drink wine and play guitar with your friends.
Sitting here in East Nusa Tenggara, Indonesia, I see the boat taxi drivers all the time. I'm envious of the life they have. They're always smiling and laughing as they talk to each other. During the day, they rotate through the travellers, like me, who want to go to and from the local surf break my family and I surf nearly every day. At lunch time, they spark up a fire and cook a fish that one of them likely caught a few hours before, and share the roasted fish together. They have almost nothing.
Meanwhile, I have so much, and am constantly feeling a low-grade anxiety that I'm not doing enough. I could be doing more, getting more clients. I could be back trying to do more prospecting, more client calls. But for what purpose? And at what cost to the time I have with my son?
Today, no scoreboard. If I feel like updating the scoreboard because something changes, or I get excited about something, maybe I'll post it. Maybe I won't, and maybe I'll write tomorrow.
Day 120 of 365.