Everyone was always talking about how the pressures of the week would be pulled away by the river’s currents. But that morning, it just felt like the water was one more thing pressing against him.

He hadn’t been fly fishing for long. In the past half dozen months he had accumulated all the essential gear. The casting came easy enough. Finding spots to try was intimidating, but he relied on the kindness of online message boards. The same few flies were in his normal rotation. Most importantly, a trout or two came to hand nearly every time he went out. But each time he felt that tug he was surprised; unsure about what he’d done differently to chance into a fish on that particular cast.

The haphazard nature of the actual fishing was a bit concerning. Learning was always something he enjoyed. While not overly materialistic, he did like getting shiny new things that served a purpose. The community of other fly fishers  seemed authentic and pleasant and legitimately helpful. But still, there was this nagging feeling that he didn’t know what he was doing out there. He was just out there. Occasionally, a fish made a mistake.

Work was stressful. Quotas were just out of reach. While the environment and the  tenor of team emails were benign enough, he had been at it long enough to know that falling short was not something that was sustainable. It had been a hard month. And this wasn’t the first hard month. Reasons, given enough times, become excuses. He fully expected that the meeting notifications for Monday would be corrective in nature. Fair; but not fun.

Fishing this Saturday was  his attempt to take his mind off that anticipation. He was distracting himself at a stream in which he had  been able to  catch fish with relative consistency.  About ten minutes in, something had grabbed his fly and pulled hard for a few seconds. Almost before he knew it, his line went slack again. The sense of failure mounted. Now he had a bad week at work and a  bad start to what was supposed to be the remedy for a bad week at work.

His personal life was not much better. Online dating was never where he expected to be in his early 30’s. But every other option had been exhausted. Friends and mentors assured him it wasn’t weird. That didn’t make it feel not weird. And the repeated strikeouts didn’t bring along any positive reinforcement. Consequently, the daily routine involved  hesitating  about getting on the app, getting on the app, and spending time on the app before  getting frustrated by the app.

Hours went by and nothing remarkable happened. Four lost flies and at least six feet of tangled tippet were the only quantifiable aspects of the  morning and early afternoon. The discouragement of being ineffective at leisure on top of everything else made him look at the rod, reel, and open box of flies with a tinge of disdain. As he sat, the contempt began to grow. Sensing this, he reeled in and packed up. He didn’t know much about fishing but he knew that it wasn’t good to spend time being frustrated at inanimate objects.

Walking back upstream towards his car he thought about work. He considered what he would say to take ownership of his shortcomings. There was no sense in trying to justify or circumvent the numbers not adding up. The best plan of attack would be to own it. That decision rolling around in his head, his thoughts turned to  the dating situation. It was unpleasant and unfortunate. But where had hating the process gotten him? Unless a woman materialized on the stream (and that itself would bring a whole host of concerns), using the app patiently was what he would have to endure. After all, it only takes one.

He realized he softly spoke those last words out loud. That surprised him a bit. He didn’t talk to himself; ever. And while he was coming to grips with a new development in his internal dialogue, he noticed he was staring at a particular point in the water. There seemed to be a slight difference in the color, in the way the water moved, and… there was something very trout-like about whatever was down there. Startled by all of this happening all at once, he looked around to figure out where he was in relation to his vehicle. Quickly it dawned on him that this was where he had hooked and lost that fish all the way back when he started his day. He hadn’t seen the fish the first time around. Truth be told, he had been fishing so aggressively that he hadn’t been looking. Now it was just right there.

For at least twenty minutes he watched it. With the gentlest of fin movements it stayed in one spot in the river. A quick motion in one direction or another allowed it to inspect or eat a passing insect. The swift currents which should be pressing it’s bright body downstream were actually helping it stay where it needed to be; where it was supposed to be.

He didn’t cast any more that trip. But he took extra care to put away his rod, his reel, and ensure that his flies were dry and organized for next Saturday.