From the Brink

Some thoughts on fishing and work-life balance

Today was another day that I didn’t go fishing, which leads to another week that I haven’t gone fishing.  I had the best of intentions.  I told other people I was going.  I had it on my mental “to do” list (get through your 8:30am work meeting, then get the heck out of the house).  I had checked the weather (warm with a little bit of snow).  I knew where I wanted to go.  Still, here I am at four o’clock in the afternoon eating soup in bed. 

I’ve forgotten what this feels like.  After a year and a half of unemployment (bad for my bank account, good for fishing), I’m now gratefully re-employed, and I’ve forgotten how difficult it is to find that Holy Grail of contemporary society: work-life balance.  “Do something you’re passionate about,” they say.  “Find a job that is fulfilling and important, where you can be a positive force in the world.”  What they fail to tell you is that the good work will often take everything you have.  Why is it good work?  Because you have to attend to it with your heart and soul.  You have to use all of your physical, mental, and emotional resources, and on a hard day there will be nothing left, not even for the fish.

I’ve met a few folks who seem to have found the answer.  And when I say “a few,” I mean they are unicorns.  If you’re Mother Teresa, of course you can hack it.  If every fiber of your being is built for altruism, perhaps you can survive on that impulse alone.  I’ve also met folks who are incredible time managers, speed readers, delegators, Yoga masters.  They’re extraordinarily good at drawing boundaries, or maybe they have a photographic memory (these are just some of my working theories).  Everyone else I know is either burned out or teetering on the edge, bouncing between exhaustion and having a few days off.

Somewhere in the back of my mind are vague thoughts of how this likely relates to capitalism, to the commoditization of humanity, to the way in which we are cogs in the wheel of a big machine that is eating us up and spitting us out, our resistance stifled by the overwhelming need to take a nap.  And it dawns on me that today I’ve made a terrible mistake.  In my cortisol-induced coma I forgot that I am always, always happier if I can get outside with my fly rod, no matter how cranky or crusty I feel.  In 16 years of angling I have never once said “gosh, I really wish I hadn’t gone fishing today. I wish I’d stayed at home.”

So I recommit myself to the following mantra: Do not think that you are better off giving in.  You must always remember that there is nothing more apt to bring you back from the brink than watching a fly line float on water.

-EH, March 2021