A veritable of warm turquoise waters, white powder soft sandy beaches, rows and rows of lounging palms, and a happy little hammock with your name on it. Do we have a chorus of yeses?

So why don’t you?

We often dream about life on tropical islands, the dream of paradise, the dream of a safe secure happy little village with pina coldas and Hawaiian shirts. We slave away, selling our time in monthly blocks for half a month off in a little piece of paradise (isn’t it ironic though that paradise is hellishly expensive).

So we lounge around, drink cocktails, play games, swim, surf, eat sushi, make “holiday” friends, share moments with people you travelled with, and most importantly for this discussion – hatch plans or schemes to get back there, or spend more time there, or at the very least wish that your life was the life of the ‘simple fisherman’.

The details vary but the story goes at little something like this:

(Feel free to skip the story if you’ve read it before, there’s no test afterwards)

An American businessman was at the pier of a tiny coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin 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 that 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 replied, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take a 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 and 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 increase your profits and sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this tiny coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then to LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise.”

The Mexican fisherman asked, “But senor, how long will this all take?”

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 tiny coastal fishing village where you could sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take a siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the
evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos.”

So there it is, sell up everything, find a sunny spot and live like the poor simple fisherman. “Ah hah” you say “its not that easy, I have …” And there follows a list of often very reasonable excuses. The truth is if we really want to, and if we could overcome the fear, we would.

I have a theory though, that had occurred to me recently while pondering this island that I’m meant to buy (read the about section towards the end).

I don’t think that we could handle it.

My thinking is that big city folk, people used to the pulse, people used to doing things when and wherever they so please, would not be able to handle the pace change for the rest of their lives.

Its just a theory, but I think that most people when they get back on their planes after those two weeks, adamant that the island-rum-fuelled-mad-hatter schemes to buy a little shack at the end of the beach and teach surfing (surfing just recently learned, mind you), at the very back of their minds in the dark dank corners where that neglected little honest voice lives, they know that they won’t (perhaps couldn’t) do it.

My theory though is that for extended periods of time, years, most people not raised in such a ‘slow’ setting would start to climb the walls.

The point, so eloquently hidden in the wide open vistas of island paradises, is that we need a purpose, we need to contribute, we need to struggle at some level. Life in paradise would be boring, if would hold no challenge. We live in  deserts with limited, frozen tundra where the seas freeze, where the monsoon comes down in sheets,  for that very reason – we like a challenge.

Lets ignore the resistance to change factor for minute, my firm belief is that human beings have to varying degrees, a survival drive built in,  a yearning for challenges, for a touch of hardship. If this is neglected we tend to get depressed and eventually would die of boredom. We so often find ways to make the challenge of survival bigger, by being self-destructive. We climb mountains, dive deeper, fly faster, go further, all in the name of challenge. Of feeling alive. The easy life is not a life for all.

My proof is only anecdotal, the depressed wealthy, the mind-numbed cubical induced rut dweller, the seeming lack of technology development in ‘paradise’. To put it into a single point, human beings seem to excel when they push against something. Our stories often hint to this when we succeed “when all hope is lost”, when we “triumph against all adversity”, when we “rise up, united as one”. We like a good fight, to get our hands dirty, to put our backs into it. And  tragically perhaps paradise may be simply about sunshine and happiness.

In the mean time, I’m trying to ease into the island life slowly, so its not such a shock to the system.