I now own a vast commercial farm, with hundreds of acres stretching as far as the eye can see. People often ask me how I manage such a massive agricultural empire. The truth is, my journey began on a tiny piece of land—a small family plot behind our old house.
When I was a boy, my father and I would spend hours there. We grew potatoes and tomatoes just to feed ourselves. Back then, farming felt like an endless battle against weeds and unpredictable weather. I used to complain that my hands were always dirty and my back constantly ached. "Someday," I promised myself, "I will never have to bend over in the dirt again."
Decades later, I achieved my dream. Today, I sit in a comfortable office overlooking thousands of acres, managing tractors and crop yields. But ironically, retirement has not brought me the rest I once desired. Now that I am officially retired, I find myself spending every morning in my backyard garden, stubbornly pulling up weeds and watering my prize-winning roses.
My wife often laughs at me. She says it is quite ridiculous that a man who oversees millions of dollars' worth of crops still insists on doing heavy physical labor for free, just to grow a few carrots. I suppose some habits are simply too deeply rooted to be pulled out.
Just this morning, I was standing by the window, gazing out at my distant fields and quietly reflecting on my long history of hard work and ultimate success. I was feeling rather proud of myself, lost in a moment of deep nostalgia. Suddenly, my wife’s voice broke through my reverie: "Stop admiring your glorious past! The vegetables in the garden will die if you don't water them right now. Get back to work!" And so, off I went, shovel in hand, back to the very dirt I swore I’d left behind.