THE CATCH

Can we admit that the thing that mesmerizes and haunts us, the thing we long for and obsess over, is sometimes only really wanted in the chase?

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We stand on the edge of the dock and look out over dark water. There is nothing to see but the reflection of myself, thinner than I ought to be and impressively tanned from just two days on the dock.

I AM NOT ACCUSTOMED TO SITTING AND SO I FIND MY NEWEST PROJECT AT THE END OF A LONG POLE WITH A SHARP HOOK. SOMEWHERE, I AM TOLD, BENEATH THE SWAYING, SWOOSHING WATERS ARE SCHOOLS OF BLUEGILL, SUNFISH, BASS, PERCH, AND TROUT.  

On mornings when I rise at 4:30 there is nearly always some small fishing vessel idled just off the diving board, a tell that our “island,” as Archie calls it, is situated ideally in the shadows where these gilled monsters await.

The thing is, I find it surprisingly intoxicating to grasp too tightly to one end while waiting for the other to bow and tug.

I text my friend Sheri with the other hand, her husband is in his own cancer fight,“ Saving your life is exhausting…and exhilarating,” I type. My words are knowing and intimate. My experience gives me permission to be frank—

The anticipation of good news or bad generates this peculiar adrenaline rush.
And the rush keeps us upright when we run out of the energy to stand.

I imagine hope is shaped a lot like an invisible fish at the end of the line. So I sit on the edge of the dock and wait for the presence of it while realizing simultaneously that hope is not something invisible but intrinsic, as malleable as my suntan.

THOSE WHO SAY FISHING IS BORING HAVE MISSED THE POINT ENTIRELY. THAT IS, THE EXPECTANCY IS AS THRILLING AS THE CATCH.

This morning, I am expectant. Of what, I am not exactly clear. But the lake is seductive with her secrets, and I am drawn irresistibly in to the possibility of something just a little more dramatic than the everyday happenings of life here on land.

Some of us yearn for decades for something we think we want—
We obsess and manipulate,
Persist and pursue,
Until nothing else matters. No other outcome will do.
But then, when the thing is realized,
It can never measure up, to what was invested and expected…

Does this somehow sound familiar to you?

I elegantly toss the line as far as I’m able. Slowly reel. Tug. Tug. It’s the movement forward that matters, the presence of life that must be imitated at all costs. While my hands go about the business of grasping and winding, my eyes plant intently on a little boy at the end of the long diving board peering down into the depths.

This is the catch that I did nothing to earn other than loving his grandpa.

HAVE I MISSED THAT THE THINGS MOST-LOVED AND VALUED ARE GIFTS AND NOT REWARDS OF MY PURSUITS?

I have so often fixated on the hook on the end of the line.
But today I look away, even close my eyes, and take in the familiar laughter of broad-shouldered men who used to be my boys.

This is why I’ve come here.

The revelation washes over me that what I seek is already mine.

And just when I believe it can’t get any better,

There comes this insistent tug on the end of the line.

He delights in giving us exceedingly abundantly more than we can ever imagine or ask.

The catch is all around us. Sometimes immersed in the dark waters. Sometimes standing right by our side.

NOTES:

Third cast. A pull on the line. Of course everyone is squealing.
I calmly reel him in. But don’t fret! This little sunfish, although “good eating,” was gently released.

There's something charming about a serious fisherman gently removing the hook and then slowly setting his conquest free. The lessons of the deep are many but this one, in particular, comes to mind—
Sometimes the [long] pursuit is necessary to teach us that we don't need everything we desire. 

IMAGE: I'm a little more "revealing" in this photo than I'd like. But I had to make a choice—tie up my bathing suit or secure the line. I believe I did precisely the right thing. I hope you agree.