Candid Conversations Newsletter: In the Same Place

Nothing Is Lost

A short while back, my Whale-minded friend and I went out for a drink. There was a new cocktail bar I wanted him to experience. He had been working long hours, running on little sleep, and hadn’t carved out much time for himself. It felt like the right kind of interruption.

Months earlier, the bartender and I had struck up a connection through a shared respect for the craft. The craft of cocktails. The quiet intricacy of balancing taste, structure, and depth. A rum-based cocktail, for instance, can tell a story. The aging process. The barrels used. The distillation. The discipline required to achieve balance. That night, as the glasses came together, another story surfaced.

The Fisherman 🎣

My whale-minded friend shared a story about a fisherman and a businessman. You’ve probably heard it before.

A businessman, on vacation, goes for an early morning walk along the beach. He sees a fisherman casting his line, and they strike up a conversation. Eventually, the businessman asks, “What do you do with the fish you catch?”

The fisherman replies with quiet enthusiasm, “I sell some at the market. Then I go home and my wife cooks the rest.”

Curious, the businessman presses on.

“You know what you could do?”

“What’s that?” asks the fisherman.

“You could fish for longer.”

“Why?”

“So you could hire more people. Build a fishing business.”

“And why would I do that?”

“So you could be rich.”

“Why?”

“So you could go on vacation. Somewhere beautiful. Like this.”

The fisherman pauses, looks around, and asks gently, “Beautiful like this?”

The Businessman 👨🏾‍💼

In past reflections, we’ve spoken about paradox. About superposition. Where two things can be true at the same time. In this story, both the businessman and the fisherman are right. They hold different realities, shaped by different paths, yet they arrive in the same place.

The businessman has a story of ambition and accumulation, complete with receipts.

The fisherman has a story of sufficiency and presence.

Neither is lacking.

Neither is wrong.

They simply traveled differently.

In the Same Place 🌅

I love gifting books. What’s the point of loving something if you can’t share its impact?

The Alchemist is one I’ve given often, especially to close friends. Not because it offers answers, but because it provokes a deeper question about the journey itself. About how nothing is wasted.

The story follows Santiago, a shepherd who loves reading books and drinking wine. He sets out in search of a treasure, selling his sheep along the way. He meets people from different cultures and walks of life. A gypsy woman. An old man with the weight of wisdom. A woman he falls in love with. He learns to listen. To the wind. To the world. To himself. He travels far, believing the treasure lies somewhere distant.

Only to discover, at the end, that the treasure was buried near the place where he once slept while out with his sheep. Reading his book. Drinking his wine. Tending to his flock.

There’s something important about that journey,  isn’t there?

The Return 🚧

I often think of my life as running parallel to that of the businessman, the fisherman, and Santiago. All at once.

I grew up in a small community rich in bonding capital. Rich soil. Dense vegetation. Nights filled with a symphony of toads, cicadas, and crickets. The stream murmuring in the background. An occasional dog barking, as if keeping watch while we slept.

And then there were the other lives.

The multiple hats.

The roles and responsibilities.

The movement between worlds.

Each chapter offering a different lens.

A different rhythm.

Different journeys.

Yet the same place.

Nothing gets lost.

What Do We Do With This 🪧

A few years ago, I sat in the midst of my aunts and uncles and their close friends, sharing a drink after a long and arduous day. I was mindful and grateful for the moment. One of those that may never repeat. I couldn’t let the opportunity pass. I might lose the chance for another candid conversation. The circumstances might return later, but with a different tone and texture. Life has its own way.

That night, I openly challenged them as the generation that wasn’t always open or vulnerable with us. I described it as being taught how to drive without ever being given directions or a map. Taught how to move. How to maneuver corners and turns. But not how to find the way beyond our immediate surroundings. And in our own attempts, when we are lost, we not only lose access or direction. They are not always available, nor graceful, in offering course correction without judgment or reprimand.

My uncle responded and said,

“Why bother asking for directions at that point?” Then he smiled. “Just continue.”

He said it jokingly. I received it as wisdom.

Because how can you give something you don’t yet have?

We all laughed. It shared a lighthearted moment. Yet something profound settled in the space between us.

So what do we do with all of this?

We continue.

Continue to strive.

Continue to seek.

Continue to grow.

Continue to be curious.

Continue the journey, while being mindful of how the present is unfolding.

In The Alchemist, alchemy is rooted in the idea of turning lead into gold.

Our own journey does the same.

It shapes us into who we are meant to be.

But life happens. I get it.

It happens to some more harshly than others.

Perspective matters.

And when we miss the in-between, we miss the lessons that live in the nuance.

Our journeys reveal tools to us.

Tools required for transformation.

For the renewing of the mind.

What does that look like?

Perhaps it looks like a fisherman and a businessman sharing a gentle moment. Both holding an appreciation for the beauty before them, their journeys leading to the same place.

My Whale-minded friend and I often go back to that story, as a reminder of the in-between. A reminder of our roots, growth, grounding, and continued evolution.

I hope this week’s edition resonated with your own evolution, or if nothing else, offered you a bit of clarity as you traverse your own path. 

Until such time…