A high-ranking manager at a major corporation recently faced a frightening health wake-up call. After suffering a heart attack, his doctor delivered firm advice: step away from city life and spend several weeks resting on a quiet farm. The manager pushed back at first, but in the end, he reluctantly packed his bags and headed for the countryside.
From the moment he arrived, he was surrounded by an unfamiliar world—wide open land, clean air, and an almost unsettling silence. Accustomed to constant emails, ringing phones, caffeine-fueled meetings, and packed schedules, the stillness felt strange. Within just two days, he was restless and bored, longing for the buzz of corporate life.
Desperate to stay busy, he asked the farmer for something to do. Expecting the city executive to fail, the farmer assigned him a dirty, unpleasant task: cleaning all the cow manure out of the barn. Surprisingly, the manager finished before the day was over.
When the farmer praised him, the manager shrugged and replied,
“I’ve dealt with far worse messes back at the office.”
The following day, the farmer raised the stakes and gave him a tougher job—preparing 500 chickens for market. It was grim work, but by evening, the task was complete. The manager simply said,
“I’ve spent years making hard decisions and cutting heads figuratively. Doing it literally wasn’t much different.”
On the third day, thinking he’d finally found an easy task, the farmer handed the manager a sack of potatoes and two boxes—one labeled large and the other small.
“That’s simple,” the manager said confidently.
But when the farmer returned at sunset, the boxes were still empty. The manager sat nearby, exhausted and defeated. He looked up and confessed,
“You don’t understand. This job is nothing but decisions—and I’ve spent my whole career avoiding them.”
The farmer laughed.
“Funny how you can handle chaos and blood but freeze when faced with a potato.”
That moment hit hard. In the corporate world, the manager had hidden behind meetings, reports, and committees, letting others take responsibility for choices. On the farm, every potato felt personal—like a judgment on his ability to decide.
That evening, he reflected on how disconnected he’d become from even the smallest decisions. The next morning, he finally sorted the potatoes and told the farmer,
“I get it now. Not every decision needs a meeting.”
During his stay, he even learned to turn those potatoes into a simple snack:
Simple Roasted Potatoes
When it was time to return to the city, the manager was calmer, more patient, and noticeably happier. He stopped micromanaging and began trusting his team to make decisions without constant oversight.
When his assistant commented on the change, he laughed and said,
“Potatoes. They taught me more than any MBA ever did.”
The lesson is simple: you can lead a massive organization, but if you can’t make small decisions in life, it’s time to slow down. Real wisdom often comes from stepping away, getting your hands dirty, and having the courage to simply choose.
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