The fisherman

Consider Bryan, a purveyor of the most exquisite saltwater fish for high-end aquariums. His competitors relied on large-scale wholesalers, their tanks filled with stressed, uniformly-colored fish that hid in plastic corals. Bryan’s small shop, however, was a different world. His aquariums were vibrant tapestries of life, each specimen shimmering with a unique vitality. The difference wasn’t just in the water quality or the food; it was in the effort no customer could ever see.

Bryan dove for many of his fish himself, free-diving in clear blue waters to carefully select healthy specimens from thriving reefs. But his true art was practiced closer to shore, in the patient, murky water of the estuaries.

There was a particular, elusive wrasse, a fish of breathtaking iridescence that was notoriously difficult to catch. Wholesalers used nets that damaged their delicate scales, leaving them dull and listless. Bryan’s method was different. He would rise before dawn, not to a boat, but to a rocky shore. For hours, he would stand perfectly still in the cool water, holding a line with a tiny, hand-tied lure. He studied the tides, the light, the subtle language of the current.

This wasn’t fishing; it was a form of meditation. It was a difficult, often fruitless undertaking. He would often return empty-handed, salt-crusted and tired, while his competitors had already filled their orders from a catalog.

A young intern atop a beached pirogue, eager to see a return on this investment of time, once asked him, “Why? We could order ten of them wrasses by noon and have them by next day.”

Bryan didn’t look away from the water. “And they would look like every other wrasse in every other tank,” he said softly. “The goal is not to have the fish. The goal is to win the fish. The care I take in catching it, that effort is what you see in the color of the fish, ya. That calm is what we are actually selling. It is the difference between owning something and earning it.”

He finally felt a subtle tug. With a gentle, practiced hand, he guided not a panicked animal, but a calm, bewildered creature into a waiting holding bucket. Later, in his shop, that same wrasse didn’t hide. It glided through the water, its colors blazing like a captured galaxy.

The customer saw a beautiful fish. But Bryan saw the stillness of the morning, the patience, the failed attempts, and the perfect execution of a difficult task. The reward was the sale, but the work was the silent, invisible reason the sale was even possible. It was his, and his alone, and it made all the difference.