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You’ve heard all the mystical soul-resolving voodoo folks throw out about fishing — how all you need to cure life’s ills is a bit of string, a bobber, a soggy worm and a couple hours with a body of water. To quote Han Solo in “Star Wars: The Force Awakens” — “It’s true. All of it.”
The secret isn’t in the act of fishing itself. At least, I don’t think so. The soul-soothing magic comes from taking a minute to slow down, to step away from the minutia of our day to day lives and exist in the moment. You can get this type of healing from any number of activities, if you remember to do them. Pick up a book. Sit in a tree stand. Sip a glass of sweet tea on your front porch and watch the fireflies paint circles in the night sky.
This is why we humans love going to the beach, laying on the sand, watching the tide roll ever inward and just existing for a moment. These quiet moments scrub clean the spirit.
But let’s get real. We live in Arkansas, and the fishin’ is good. It’s something I’m learning way too late in life on the behest of my son, who begs me to take him routinely.
Recently, we hit a pond with a good friend. It was a stocked pond, but my son didn’t know that.
If fishing is soul-cleansing, then fostering a love for fishing in the heart of a 12-year-old is near salvation-enducing. We weren’t fishing; we were catching, sometimes getting hits immediately after our lines hit the water.
My son had never experienced this sort of fishing. I took a picture of him holding his largest bass, an expression of pure, undiluted joy across his face. It might be my favorite photo of him in existence. It reminds me that taking things slow still has value for the young, whose worlds are wrapped up in computer screens and social media and school-sanctioned activities. It reminds me that teaching someone how to do something can be more valuable than doing it yourself. It reminds me not to suppress my own joy when I reel in the big one — whether that big one is a fish or some other goal I’ve set my heart on.
I can’t tell you the times I have tasted success only to brush it away as if it were no big deal. “If I can do it, then it must not be that difficult or important.” It reminds me to fish on. To cast again. To keep trying. Eventually, you’ll haul up the one that got away time and again. You’ll hold it on the bank with a huge smile. Maybe someone will take your picture.
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Photo credit: Pixabay