The Fish That Taught Me To Let Go

I've loved fishing for as long as I can remember. In fact, my grandfather and my dad taught me how to cast a line shortly after I learned how to walk. Looking back, that may explain why I still get excited when I wake up in the morning and get ready to go fishing.

They would take me to the marina where they kept their boats, and we'd spend hours fishing from the pier. Back then, every fish seemed huge. I didn't know the difference between a "keeper" and "throw it back." If it had fins and pulled on the line, I was convinced I had hooked the biggest fish ever.

We caught redfish, speckled trout, flounder, and plenty of catfish what we called "hardheads." Although, if you asked my dad, there may have been another hardhead standing on the pier holding the fishing rod.

At the time, I didn't realize we were making memories. There were no cell phones, no notifications, and no one saying, "Hold on, let me Google that." We simply talked. I asked a million questions. My grandfather and dad answered most of them or at least enough to keep me asking more. Somewhere between baiting hooks and untangling lines, they taught me about life, patience, hard work, and the value of simply being together. That love of fishing has stayed with me my entire life.

For me, fishing is therapy with a tackle box. It's where life slows down. The noise gets quieter. The world feels a little less complicated. For a few hours, the biggest decision I have to make is whether the fish prefer shrimp or croakers, plastics or whatever else might be popular for their tasting. It's exciting to catch fish, but it is just as enjoyable sitting and enjoying the sights and the sounds of the bayou.

After buying our fishing camp which, if you're from Louisiana, you know is simply a house on the water where life magically gets better. We have become students of the bayou. We've learned about tides, winds, currents, water clarity, bait, moon phases, and all the little things that seasoned fishermen somehow know without ever opening a book. We clean our own fish, cook what we catch, and nothing makes us happier than sharing fresh fish with friends and family.

Lately, the fish have gotten...interesting. I've caught an alligator gar, giant catfish, nasty stingrays and two blacktip sharks. Now here's the important part of the story. We're catching these monsters from our little 13-foot Boston Whaler Sport. To put that in perspective, some people have coolers bigger than our boat. So, imagine hooking something that's three to four feet long, covered with teeth that belong in a horror movie, and absolutely convinced you're ruining its day.

As these creatures got closer to the boat, I had one very clear thought: there is absolutely no way this thing is getting in my boat. Suddenly, fishing became less about catching fish and more about negotiating my own survival (I'm being a little dramatic).

Do I try to pull it into the boat? Do I somehow remove a tiny hook from a mouth with these huge teeth? Do I simply cut the line? For me, the answer became obvious, Cut the line. Let that fish go live another day. And maybe let me live another day too.

The experience made me think about life. Sometimes we spend so much energy trying to hold onto something simply because we've already hooked it. We convince ourselves we must finish what we started, prove we can handle it, or drag it into our boat no matter how dangerous or exhausting it becomes. But not everything you catch is meant to keep. Some opportunities aren't right for you. Some arguments aren't worth winning. Some relationships aren't healthy. Some responsibilities belong to someone else. And sometimes the wisest thing you can do isn't to pull harder, it's to cut the line.

In the past year, I've learned that there is no shame in letting go. It's okay to move on, move forward, and find happiness in other places, experiences, people, and work. Someone said to me recently that my light is back. I think we go through hard things to bring us back to focus and find joy in where we are and who are sharing this journey with.

I hope you find your joy and happiness - you deserve it.