An Empty Hook

As the years go by and new technologies come and go, the world seems to be
moving at a constant frantic pace. In our modern, consumer driven society it’s
sometimes hard to find the time to stop and appreciate what we have. The
American working world is thriving and competitive, every obstacle we face consumes us, making it easy to get trapped in the seemingly non-stop race of life, forgetting what really matters. For our own sake, it is time to take a step back from our frantic life style and learn to appreciate the little things in life. It’s a commonplace story to hear of the work alcoholic man or woman who worked and worked until they were old and rich, and then realized they had nothing in the end. If more people took the
time to appreciate the little things, more often then not they’ll find life is
a lot more rewarding.

Of course that reward can comes in many different forms:
Love…memories…fish.

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Fishing is a fine art. It takes the refining of cast off methods, and the
honing of the proper technique to fully master the art of the reel in, not to
forget lots of patience. Nothing is slower than waiting for that subtle tug at
the end of your line.

My dad taught me how to fish. My twin brother and I used
to practice in the front yard with a rod and a weight in the place of a hook,
fishing for twigs. I’ve caught lots of things before, grass, rocks, other
fishing rods, but never a fish. After spending some time with a fisherman you
learn that they mean serious business and you’re mad to think that they’d share
tips or bait. Over the past summer, my dad and grandma and I went fishing
together. We needed a break from the constant rhythm of our everyday life. I
was having my usual luck, which is no luck at all, and my dad had already
caught three fish, my grandma, one. We’d been fishing for hours and still no
luck I was sun burnt and riddled with mosquito bites. I’d cast off my line
and reeled it in hundreds of times and my patience was wearing thin. My dad
suddenly felt a jerk in his line, another fish. He was starting to reel it in
when he called me over. He handed me the rod. I was excited and scared at the
same time. After several close calls I finally managed to reel in the fish. My
dad came over and untangled the hook from the fish’s mouth. My grandma replied,
“that’s true love”, meaning my dad must really love me to have let me reel in
his fish. Even though this took place in the span of a few minutes, now when I look back I can remember in great detail the feel of the fish’s scales and the resistance as I pulled it in. I can recall these moments with more ease and meaning than what happened last week or who did what to who. With applications
and auditions upon me I don’t look back on my frantic, routine school days but
moments like this that are singular and unique.

Catching a fish may seem like a small thing but I’ve often found that it is the
little things in life that make hardship worth while and when you take the time
life is given purpose, however whimsical a purpose that may be, but if I constantly cast off and reel in all I’ll pull out is grass and an empty hook.