ON TURNING 50, FISHING, AND THE MEANING OF LIFE

An impossible rationalization of fishing, saving the world, and life on the back nine

By Capt. John McMurray

PG13 – Reader discretion advised. 

It wasn’t too long ago that living past 50 was extraordinary.

At the beginning of the 19^th century, no country in the world had a life expectancy longer than 40 years, and it really wasn’t ‘til the 1950s when being 40 was considered “middle-aged.” I’m still not even sure what 50 is considered these days, but it’s hard to believe I’m not significantly past the mid-point (note: my lifestyle probably has some bearing here).  

What I’m getting at is that I don’t think we’ve quite evolved to be able to deal with 50. Or maybe, it’s just myself I’m talking about…

Yeah, I turned 50 last March… without much fanfare. A few hundred people on Facebook, most of whom I don’t even know, wishing me “happy birthday.” A COVID-small party with a few good friends, and a debilitating hangover that lasted more than one day (If you’re post-40, you know exactly what I’m talking about).

What followed was a struggle. Not necessarily unique to this fishing season but certainly more pronounced, and not really with anyone or anything in particular, except maybe myself. Because the truth is that when you’re well on your way through the back nine, and you really begin to feel your mortality, and your sh*t starts to break down (on your body and your boats), and you have a string of bad fishing days in a row (ahem, my entire June) you start questioning what you do, and who you are (which are inevitability linked) and even why you’re here. And then there’s the “what does it all mean?” rabbit-hole, if you’re stupid enough to go down it (and I often am).

The tough thing about all of that is there are no answers. There never was, and there never will be. So what’s the point?

I’m gonna try and tackle that here. But first, let me clarify the intent.

When I sat down to write this, it was a two-day, 10-thousand-word thought-dump. I’ve managed to pare it down quite a bit (probably not enough) and in the end, I left in five sections I thought deserved to see the light of day. Of course, they don’t all fit together as neatly as I would have like them to, but, well, life doesn’t fit together neatly. So, while I tried to tie everything together in The End…well, you read it.

If you are lazy, just skip the last two sections where I try and draw conclusions. 

Or don’t read it. I don’t care. This exercise was more for me than any of you.  

On fishing, luck, euphoria and despair

For better or worse, there are a few of us who built a life around fishing. Call it gross self-indulgence if you want. But maybe there’s a little more to it than that…or maybe not.  

Lots of people think they want to fish their lives away, but the truth is that there aren’t many who do. It’s a physically, mentally, and emotionally hard way to live, but it can also be very rewarding. The truth though is that there are few people who are stubborn or stupid enough. And most make rational choices when the understanding of what it’s really like begins to take shape.

Somewhere along the way though, it got me, and became not simply what I do, but who I am.  Separating my life underway from that on land has become increasingly hard. And as I push through the latter half, I’m realizing how it’s changed me, maybe broken me, in more ways than one.

That’s at least partly due to an unreasonable need to rationalize everything…particularly the bad days.

While I hate to admit it, there were more than my fair share of them this past season. And maybe it’s a sign that my other captains, more often than not, out-fished me this year. I’m not saying my time is over. I’ll likely do this ‘til it kills me. But, there are cracks in the gelcoat, and like an outboard with too many hours on it, maybe some loss of compression.

Interesting thing about 50 is you start to get worse at things instead of better.

Not just athletic stuff, but simple things, like maintaining your balance when it’s rough out, and actually seeing things–like birds or a knot you’re struggling to tie—and well, sometimes it’s just getting out of bed after a few rough days in a row that’s difficult. With pretty much anything that requires physical effort, you start to get past the denial and understand that things might not work as well as they used to. And yeah, maybe there’s a little bit of paranoia creeping in, but there were more than a few times this year where I thought that maybe I was losing that edge. (Note to my Captains and mates who might be reading this: Whatever, I’m still the boss motherFers so you better show deference!)

The truth about fishing though, is that there really is no such thing as being “good” or having an “edge.” On any given day, everyone is “good” and anyone can suck. Without a doubt, a LOT of success in fishing (and life) is related to, or even based on, luck. And that’s a hard pill to swallow sometimes.   

Of course, you have to know what you’re doing out there before luck can be of any use to you at all. But whoever first said “I’d rather be lucky than good” was not only brilliant, but brutally honest. (Note: Apparently this quote is credited to Lefty Gomez, who played for the Yankees in the 1930s, but I’m certain its origins go way farther back than that)

I’ve been doing this long enough to understand that there IS such a thing as luck. You can be a REALLY good fisherman. The BEST. Your knowledge and experience could exceed that of the entire fleet. But luck still has you by the balls. On the water, anyone can out-fish you on any given day. It is very true that no matter who you are and how much you prepare, you are still under the thumb of lady luck. And she’s a real b*tch. She can and does squash your soul, frequently and relentlessly. And I’m beginning to think she likes it.

Maybe I got spoiled by ten years of somewhat easy fishing offshore, but this year seemed surprisingly hard at times. It was often that skill, experience, etc. wasn’t the deciding factor, and you just had to be “lucky” to run into them. And man did it suck to be at your plan A spot at dawn working your ass off to get a bite, and then around 10am, some bonehead sees your boat, sets up right next to you and hooks up immediately. I mean, I hate to admit it, but that kind of thing happened more than once.

When we did get dialed in on a bite, for days at a time, crushing it, for some inexplicable reason, one day it’d seem like I was one of the only boats in the fleet that wasn’t getting bit. And when/if we finally did, there was some sort of catastrophic tackle failure, or we’d just inexplicably drop a good one. Why? I seriously wish I knew. But it did regularly make me want to strangle someone. Just the same though, there were those days where I was one of the only boats that did hook up.

Of course there’s skill, having the right networks, a working inReach, not to mention decades of knowledge involved, but having a certain fish swim by a certain bait in the water? Luck is absolutely, undeniably, a real thing.

Does it have to do with karma, or some other cosmic force we mere humans aren’t meant to comprehend? Maybe it does, but up to now I certainly haven’t seen karma work in any real discernable way. It doesn’t matter really. Luck is the true equalizer. In fishing, in life…

Yes, “luck is the intersection of opportunity and preparedness.” But again, there are NO good, or great fishermen. There are simply those who work hard, spend more time on the water than others, take unreasonable chances and play close attention what happens on a daily basis. Absolutely, there are patterns, but those patterns often change as quickly as the wind changes direction. Yet having that knowledge, experience and being prepared, when that luck does turn, well, for sure you are well positioned to take advantage of it.

Yeah, of course I try to be one of those hard-working, lots-of-time-on-the-water Captains, and F if I don’t put more work into this than just about anyone…but really, those luck-based ups and downs will wreck you. Particularly if you’re an Irish Catholic kid like me, who grew up believing that the harder you work, the more effort you put into something, the harder you try, the more you will be rewarded. You will be good and maybe even the best if you work the hardest. But that is simply NOT the case in fishing (ahem, and again kind of in life). And that just sucks.  

The anger and subsequent depression that sometimes comes with a string of bad luck…it will creep up on you when you’re working your ass off and don’t have time to deal with anything other than keeping boats running, fueled, iced, etc. And then, when you have some time off it’ll wrap itself around you and absolutely crush you, if you let it.  

But hey, “you get what you get, and you don’t get upset.” The ocean doesn’t owe us sh*t. On any given day, a first-timer with half-dead bait and an 80-wide can be the hero to your zero. Fishing varies from year to year and even day to day. So does life. And neither is “fair.” Things are tough some days, some weeks, some months, and of course some years overall. And then, for no apparent reason, it gets good again. But comparing your performance to others in this game is counterproductive at best, destructive at worst. Some days ya get’em, some days ya don’t. In the fishing business, and in life, better learn that you don’t, that you can’t, score every time. 

Whatever the forces behind this mysterious luck thing, I know one thing for certain—luck, either good or bad, ALWAYS runs out. And if you’ve been in this business long enough, you know full well, when you have a sh*tty day, or a few sh*tty days in a row, or maybe even an entire week, there’s a real chance that the next day things will turn. You’ll find a few fish…and maybe you’ll feel a little less like shooting yourself.

It is for that reason that no matter how bad things get on the water (or maybe in your life), and no matter how unlikely you’re gonna encounter what you’re looking for, like a degenerate gambler, you make that bet, you get yourself outta bed and go… every freakin’ day. Not because you have to (there are certainly easier ways to make a living), but because you want to.

Of course, the flip side of all of that is that even when things are about as good as it gets out there, you know full well that those glass-calm conditions and blitzing fish you experience one day, could, and likely will, be four-foot whitecaps and a dead sea the next.

The truth is that the life of a fisherman is lived in periods of euphoria and despair, over…and over again.

I do believe this life attracts people with, ahem, “issues,” but if you weren’t a little bipolar before doing this kinda thing, well, you certainly will be after.

In case you didn’t get it yet by now, I’m not just talking about fishing.   I don’t care how lucky you are. Life is a pendulum that swings back and forth. Hard times/good times, love/hate, euphoria/despair.

Being a full-time fisherman, failure is part of the algorithm. Failure in equipment, failure to make the “right” decision, failure to get that pinwheeling tuna in the boat. And just when you think you can’t stand anymore failure, a powerhead lets go. It often seems as if you have little control over things.

But man, when that pendulum swings back in your favor?  Euphoria… manifested in extraordinary moments, extraordinary days, extraordinary weeks, even extraordinary months (let’s not get carried away). And while it may be more apparent and pronounced on the water, it’s absolutely the same with life in general.

Things don’t go your way all the time—and in my case, it seems like most of the time. Not only in my fishing business, but also in my life. If it can go wrong, it generally does.  While it’s a constant struggle to convince myself that’s okay, well, it totally is. Because those moments, both on and off the water—not just the extraordinary ones, but the little ones that happen every day—unquestionably, they make it all worth it.

But I’ll get back to that.

On Faith, Death, and Spawning

No one likes to think about it, but it is an absolute truth. You’re gonna die. Maybe it’s in 50 years, maybe it’s tomorrow. Maybe it’s in a blaze of glory, doing something you love, or maybe it’ll be slow, painful, and drawn out. But listen – You’re gonna F’n die… 

That’s definitely something you start thinking about more when you’re teeing up on the back nine.

Religion…it’s like optimism.  Once you lose it, it’s extremely hard to find again.  I did give it a chance, at least for the first half of my life. But in the end, no matter how much I was exposed to it, I couldn’t make myself believe in an all-encompassing entity based on a very old book. I’m not gonna say I don’t believe in a God, because deep down, of course I do.  I mean, everyone believes in God when you’re 40 miles out in December and taking water over the bow because your path home is home straight into 6’ at 4-seconds.  But I lost religion a long time ago, which truthfully, I regret.   Because once you let go, the world starts to become a much darker place. 

Still, I often say the Serenity Prayer on the way out. And sometimes numerous times during the day. If for no other reason than it just makes sense to me.  But what I really try to no longer do is pray for fish, or pray that we don’t lose a fish we happen to be on for an uncomfortably long time. Because I’m certain, if a God does exist, he doesn’t grant fish wishes. I know this to be true from decades of experience. And yeah, maybe I’ve sold my soul to the Devil for a fish or two one to many times. (note: not to be taken seriously)

The point here is that while I want to believe there’s an afterlife, it seems unlikely to me. When you take your last breath, and your heart stops beating and you finally lose consciousness, maybe that’s it. Your soul disappears with your brain function, while the rest of the world continues to turn.

Hinduism, Buddhism, Sikhism, etc., they all accept the theory of reincarnation, and frankly that seems more likely than a beautiful place in the sky where all the souls without bodies congregate to live forever in bliss. I kinda hope not though, because if there is such a thing as reincarnation, I’m pretty sure I’m coming back as a bunker or sand eel or something like that.

But, maybe the real reincarnation is in your DNA when you spawn. Our kids are us. A literal mixing of physical and mental characteristics of Mom and Dad (except maybe a recessive gene or two, which would explain my kids’ good grades).

Whether it’s my kid or not, nothing is more awesome than seeing the stoke on a kid’s face when he/she sticks a good fish or catches a wave. That sorta feeling is probably biological, because I know/we know that that’s a younger, better, purer me/us in there. But really, I look at my kids every day and see a full, or near-full gas tank while mine seems to be pushing closer and closer toward empty. 

When we’re gone, maybe those kids are the only part of us left. And really, if we don’t get these little versions of ourselves outdoors, enjoying the things that give us meaning and purpose, well, will they even be able to find meaning/purpose?  And just as important, will there be anyone left to protect the things we love/loved? The truth is that it all really could be gone in one single generation. Because it certainly does seem like we’re moving closer and closer towards a digital culture, where “real” is replaced with “virtual.”

More and more, I’m starting to live my life through my kids. I’m letting waves go by that I never would have, and the kid gets the first shot at busting or cruising fish. And really, I’m usually unpacking camera gear, and/or shouting “YEW!” at ‘em, rather than try’n to get mine. 

Being a parent, uncle, role-model or just a friend to a kid – taking him/her to do the things that give you purpose and meaning –sharing the “moments”–maybe I’m overstating, but that kinda thing may be one of the most selfless and important things we can do on this earth.  And it may be what truly gives us life after death.       

Let’s not be fooled though. In my case, I’m still a selfish prick that will sell my soul and yours for a fish or two.

Because that’s just what junkies do. 

On Being a Junkie

I’m kind of a socially uncomfortable person. To some extent I always have been. But it goes even farther than that now. I’ve somehow become uncomfortable on land in general. Unless I’m able to keep myself really busy, I’m anxious, easily annoyed and, unless I’m focusing on something that’ll get me back out on the water, I’m sometimes unpleasant to be around (key word: sometimes).

But…it is 100% true that once I’m floating, or pointed southeast and land starts to disappear behind me, my mood noticeably improves.

That can certainly be attributed to the hope and anticipation that kicks in after the frantic rush to get everything ready to get underway. For three decades, each day, every day I push off, it has yet to become less intense. And when it’s on out there? You won’t find a more stoked dude on the planet. For sure, that mood can and likely will change on a dime when/if the weather turns, and/or the fishing is slow, or even mediocre, but I’m still more tolerable.

That’s because fishing, in its purest form, isn’t really an action, it’s a sensation, one that we inherited from ancestors who lived hundreds and thousands of years before us. If you don’t get that, well then you probably won’t…because you’re simply not one of us.  But, if I had to explain it, it’s the feeling in your mid-section when the line comes tight. It’s the adrenalin dump when a fish empties 100 yards of line off a reel in seconds. And really, it’s simply the feeling of purpose when you’re engaged, or even just working on stuff that’ll get ya there.

I know that I am the best version of myself on the water. Excited, talkative, maybe even charming (yeah, that’s a stretch). The minute I step foot on land, there’s a slow steady transition to assh*le.

That’s because I’m a junkie. I need the Ocean. She doesn’t need me, but I need her. I need fishing. I need those extraordinary moments when it all comes together in the way you hope it will. Or even just the expectation that those moments may happen, even when I know full-well that they often don’t.  

This sort of dependence has made life on land problematic. I’ve learned to work with it, but while I rarely struggle to find time to work on the boats and fish, finding real time to spend with the family is tough. I make promises, about spending less time on the water, and I have every intention of keeping them…but the reality is that I rarely do. I’ve got plans to change that in 2022. But the sad truth is that some of us consistently sacrifice love, health (mental and physical), and happiness for that simple tug.

I know I’m not alone though. I’ve somehow surrounded myself with a cadre of degenerates. (In more than a few cases I’ve hired them). For that? I suppose I’m grateful (even when they do out-fish me).  

Do I want my son/my reincarnated-half-self to turn out like this? I certainly do not, because let me tell you, it’s NOT a path to happiness. But damn if it doesn’t look like he’s headed there. And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I wasn’t just a little bit proud of that. I sure ain’t gonna try and stop it. ‘Cause the heart does what it will.

My daughter? Well, she seems way too smart, and more like her mother. Just hope she has the sense to away from the junkies. 

Let’s move on.

On Saving The World

In my 20s and 30s I was naive. My idea of saving the world—getting all those conservation-minded recreational fishermen to band together so we could stop those “greedy industrial commercial fishermen” from “raping the seas”—was romantic, idealist, and…it was bullsh*t. 

While I sure thought I was, I was never a do-gooder, a selfless conservationist, environmentalist, or anything like that. My motivation was/is that I just wanted more fish in the water to fuel an addiction, and yes, so that I could run a business that pays for it (i.e. gross self-indulgence). And really… those were MY fish!

After spending the last 15 years sitting on various management bodies and advisory panels, I’ve changed my tune some. Because the truth is that with just about EVERYTHING, your way isn’t always the only way. In this case, marine fish are a public resource. I don’t own them, you don’t own them, and certainly commercial fishermen don’t own them. And me? Charter boat Captains? Anglers? ENGOs? And anyone else who has an interest in keeping a few fish in the water? Well, we’re all just another stakeholder.

I always did and I still do absolutely believe that it’s important to engage in meaningful, constructive ways on things you feel strongly about. To make sure that your particular voice is heard, and ultimately becomes part of the decision-making process. But let’s be clear about something – you have no more or no less right to that resource than anyone else. And when the commercial folks say they’re supplying fish to the non-fishing consumer, well, they are.

Striking a balance between sometimes competing interests is what the management, or really any governing process, is supposed to be about. It ain’t simply about getting what you want, and F the other stakeholders. At least it shouldn’t be.

I’ve evolved to understand that it isn’t terribly important who gets the fish. Only that they be managed in a sustainable and equitable way, so that they are accessible to everyone. I do know for sure that in most cases that’s way easier said than done. In the case where managers can achieve it, well, generally no one goes home happy. But it’s the right way to do things.   

Unfortunately, things have gotten overly complicated, we talk even the simplest things to death, and sometimes it seems like we’ve lost the ability to make reasonable common-sense decisions. Understandably, everything has to go through a process, but decisions get bogged down in details that only a select few can actually understand. Like everything Government it’s a messy process. And what comes out in the end is so nuanced that it’s hard to even understand how we got there, much less explain it to other people. 

But know this…when you see the outcome, and you’re unhappy with it, it’s usually the result of an effort not just to strike a balance, but to manage stuff so that there are still fish around not just next year but a decade or more from now. So, while it may seem like the governing/management process is broken, well, maybe it is a little bit. But these are NOT random decisions made by stupid people. They are decisions that are informed by science and that are carefully debated and vetted, usually by more than a few smart people and yes, real stakeholders. 

So yeah, there was a time where I thought I was “saving the world,” and that all those decision-makers were just stupid and short-sighted. And in some cases, it still seems so. But several decades later I understand the deliberative process and all the science it takes to reach those decisions. And more so than anything, I understand that it’s about way more than my (or anyone’s) narrow self-interests.

But that certainly doesn’t appear to be how the rest of the world has evolved.

The internet, social media in particular, has created an environment where people don’t have to work together, or even see and talk to each other. So, they surround themselves with like-minded people, insist on their-way-or-the-highway, disregard science and facts that might weaken their beliefs, and share ridiculous memes that don’t do either side of an issue justice. There’s no sense of compromise, or even an attempt to understand other people’s concerns/positions, and it is absolutely true that things are becoming more and more polarized.

I’m definitely NOT just taking about fisheries. I’m talking about EVERYTHING. And you know I’m right.

If you truly want managers—or legislators, for that matter—to see and understand your point of view, then you’ll engage in the right ways, though the right channels. You’ll show up at the right hearings and you’ll make calls and write letters when needed. Social media rants?  More times than not, they are narrow-minded, self-serving, and not terribly productive.

As I get older I have less and less of a desire to “save the world.” Mostly because it’s stupid to think your idea of saving the world, which likely suits your interests and yours alone, somehow trumps everyone else’s.

The best we can do is to make sure our points of view are presented loud and clear, and heard by the right people, so they are indeed part of the decision-making process. I’ve seen that kind of engagement change the minds of decision-makers on more than a few occasions. The truth is that’s what moves the needle. Not memes.

In The End…

Of course, I don’t claim to know what the meaning of life is.

I do know for sure that life rewards those who work hard, but it’s also true that it punishes those same people frequently. Good and bad luck exists both on and off the water. And life in general for most people isn’t “fair” or easy. It’s how you deal with the pendulum swings that defines you.

Maybe you’re one of those extraordinary people with luck on your side, where it’s rare that something goes wrong. But I’m not. Never have been, and never will be. Stuff breaks, like all the time. And I make the wrong decisions regularly, both on and off the water. And I struggle with the consequences. I think that’s the truth about most people. Life on the water is messy, and so is life in general. It’s not necessarily about achieving “happiness” or “success;” it’s the pursuit, the chase, that gets us out of bed and gives us a bearing.

One of the interesting things about fishing is that no matter how much you do it, it’s such a fluid, constantly changing environment that you are always struggling to adapt and learn new stuff, whether it’s on the deck or squeezed into a bilge. It’s often those struggles that build character, and make you a better fisherman, (and less of a pus*y). And when/if you can manage to look at it that way, the failures don’t seem so catastrophic.

Life on land can sometimes seem meaningless and soul-sucking. But it sure as hell isn’t. And it’s where most of life’s truly meaningful moments occur. So stop being a selfish pr*ck (talking to myself).

The kids, man. They are us. They may be how we live on after our ashes are dumped into the ocean.  Let’s not screw it up for them, and let’s not screw them up. Let’s make sure they get outside and let’s make sure it’s possible for them to find meaning, without their iPhones.  

You likely can’t save the world, but you can make sure your voice is heard in your own little corner. That’s about the best most of us can do.

And it’s true that if you write, even if your writing sucks, you won’t ever need a psychiatrist, therapist, or whatever they’re called these days.

I can’t say I ever really thought my life would end up where it is right now. There was/is no great plan…it all just happened. I think that’s the case with most people. But at 50 I’m good with the course I’ve plotted and don’t plan on deviating. 

The life of a fisherman is hard, and I think for most, life in general is hard. But however sh*tty the hours are, and however hard I work, and however much of an unhealthy dependence on fishing I’ve maybe developed, I can still say with all honestly that I’m good. And while most of the time it’s a sh*t-how, I’m doing exactly what I want to do right now, and I’ll likely do it for as long as I’m physically able to.

The truth is that that every day on the water, even if it absolutely sucks, is a blessing. If I died tomorrow (knocking on wood) I’d be totally fine with how it all went down. There was/is adventure, lots of it. There was/is heartbreak, lots of it. And, most importantly, there is passion and love. Love for the water, love for the fish, love for the other reprobates that I share it all with, and of course lots of love for the family.

The Moments

But in the end, when you strip it all of that stuff away… maybe the real meaning of life can be found in the moments. The ones that resonate and affect us in deeper ways. The ones you know you will remember, and the ones that others will remember about you when you’re gone. 

They are as simple as the feeling of anticipationwhen you push off the dock. The extraordinary beauty at 40 knots as the sun peeks over a glass horizon and paints the sky a brilliant color that very few people get to see. Or the IPA-enhanced sunsets as you’re cleaning up at the end of a long day. 

It’s that heart-jump when a striper unexpectedly crushes a popper, inches from a sod bank. The ferocious albie feed, where a few dozen fish tear through dark red pods of bay anchovies and your fly gets inhaled almost before it hits the water. The epic whale and porpoise feeds that you sometimes end up smack in the middle of. The 200-pound tuna that comes out of nowhere, like magic, to smash a plug. And it’s definitely the wonderful sound that a spinning reel makes when it’s melting 80-pound braid under an extraordinary amount of drag.

And…it’s the remarkable adrenaline dump that comes with all that stuff.

The end game, should you be lucky enough to get there? Pure happiness—the high-fives, fist-bumps, the “F-yeahs.”

Perhaps more than any of that, it’s the stoke on your four-year-old’s face when he’s caught his first schoolie. And the even bigger smile when he’s 12 and lands a 70-inch bluefin with his buddies. When you’ve proven to him that you’re still pretty damn cool. It’s when that same kid drops into an eight-foot wall of saltwater, rips a perfect bottom turn and grabs a rail. It’s the moments when you full well realize that your boy is becoming a better version of you. 

On land, it’s the extraordinary beauty of a condescending teenage daughter that tries really hard not to, but can’t help but laugh at your lame-a*s Dad-joke. It’s those nights at the dinner table when the second drink kicks in, and where everyone seems like each other again. It’s when your parents tell you that they love you, and will do anything for you in your time of need, and you know they mean every bit of it. It’s your wife’s embrace when you finally lose your sh*t.

It’s the hugs man. Always, the hugs…

Live in those moments. Because they are the greatest place you’ll ever exist.

There was a time when I thought such moments were “escapes” from real life.  But at 50 I know they are real life, and they are important parts.   

Maybe going down the fisherman road was self-indulgent, and I certainly don’t claim any great value in the grand scheme. But when you boil everything away, what I try to do every day is create—and share—”moments.” In doing that, I regularly get to make folks extremely happy.  And that sorta happiness?  It’s extremely contagious.   It makes everything worth it. 

At 50, I’ve begrudgingly learned that life isn’t about achieving some sort of manufactured idea of success, nor is it about doing better than someone else at something. It sure as F isn’t about money, or saving the world, or catching a few fish.

It’s about the moments, all those moments, even the small ones.

Enjoy them, embrace them…share them. Because in the end…  Maybe that’s all we really have