How do you…

I’m entering the sunset year of my 30s today.

These past few years have been a long exercise in learning how to listen to the chaotic energies that are cognitive dissonance, and learning how to hold more than one truth at once.

Sadness and joy exist within me almost all the time, and I’m finding that I’m becoming more grateful for that instead of fighting for one or the other.

Sadness keeps me grounded and helps me keep perspective. It helps me notice the small things that are beautiful, and to take the time to really appreciate that I’m here to bear witness to them.

Joy keeps me grateful, hopeful, and capable of loving and being loved. It helps me hold the weight of the darkness of the world – and the light – equally in two hands.

I’m finding freedom in the realization that I’m not made for just one path; I’m made for many.

Here’s to a year of finding strength in vulnerability, joy in the day-to-day mundane, and the ability to embrace sadness as a way to keep me rooted in the knowledge that today is one to be appreciated, because we may not have another.

Thank you for all the birthday wishes! Here’s to another year, whatever it may bring. 🍻

“life is a long lesson in humility”

“The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope.” – John Buchan

I have this memory of being a young girl, probably in my early teens, riding in a car somewhere and being wracked with guilt about not being a humble person. I don’t remember the circumstances, but I remember the thought very clearly that humility meant total self-sacrifice. It wasn’t until I was way older that I finally came to understand what it really means to be humble.

I think I can say in confidence that we all have different ways of viewing the world. Our beliefs, ideals, values, ways we interact with it, what we do, how we treat others, and how we treat ourselves are all shaped by so many factors; none of them exactly the same and so all of us are ever so slightly different. I think that our knee-jerk response to confronting a conflicting way of approaching the world says a lot more about us than we might care to admit.

Fly fishing is one thing that, to me, is still so pure. I used to regret not finding it sooner, but now I’m so glad it took me a while. I have so much more appreciation for it now than I would have when I was younger. It’s given me a sense of purpose and a strong sense of self, and I love the way I can see (and appreciate) beauty in the littlest of things that those who have been at it a long time seem to overlook.

Ego finds its way into every part of us, eventually. I’m relishing this time I have with fly fishing while it’s still so new, and in the perspective on life it has given me.

My last blog post was pretty tongue-in-cheek. Of course women can fly fish, and of course nothing is really stopping us from pursuing it. But I wrote it that way on purpose because I did mean to attempt to get the point across that what stops us from really listening to different points of view is our ego shouting over everything, even reason, to fight off what it perceives to be a threat to our very identity. It was interesting to hear people’s thoughts on it because I learned a lot about those people’s worldviews, which gave me more insight into why I felt the way I did about the topic.

When we’re young, we have no clue who the fuck we are. We all go through this journey of trying to find where we fit in, what we believe, and who our tribe is. In my anthropology studies, I’ve come to understand that we, as a species, all need to belong to a tribe. Even people who live totally isolated lives have a tribe, it’s just very, very small. It might only be one other person, or it might be a family group, or it might even be an entire political or religious group. This tribe is composed of people who are like-minded, who understand the way everyone ticks, who share smiliar values and goals. It keeps us safe, connected, and sure in who we are.

My oldest son is 13 and he’s just starting on his journey. As his mother, it’s hard to let him distance himself from me in his search, but I’m reminded of all the mothers that have come before me who have sent their sons off into the wilderness to become a man. I don’t know what it means to be a man; how could I? So all I can do is try to put him in the path of good ones who will help him figure it out.

Tribes are necessary. But the thing about tribes is that they’re not very welcoming of outsiders. One thing I did when I was on my own journey, starting when I realized I didn’t want to remain a Catholic, was to purposefully deconstruct everything I thought I knew, bit by bit. I sought out different ideas, strange ways of life, ideas that made my blood boil; driven by endless curiosity. For a long time, I rejected the idea that I needed a tribe. I wanted to live outside of that bubble. I wanted to have a fluid paradigm. I was driven by all the judgement and hatred and suffering and jealousy and depression and evil I saw in the world to see if there was a way it could all exist in any kind of harmony with all the good things I saw.

In a lot of ways, I’m still searching for that answer.

Anthropology helped me understand that there is no escape from my paradigm, but how important it is to be aware of it. If you’re studying a culture that’s foreign to your own, you need to keep objectivity at the forefront. The only way to do that is to understand, first, where you come from and how you see the world. Then to embrace it. Then, when you’re faced with “the other,” you can observe and report objectively. Your worldview will undoubtedly shift, but you won’t lose yourself in the process. I’ve found that method remarkably helpful in this current political landscape, as well as in my journey as a mother and a friend and the many other roles I have held.

It’s no different in fly fishing, I’m finding. Even in such a small sport and community where we all find the same thrill and enjoyment in the same thing isn’t immune from it. Our egos still find us and hold us fast to ways that we somehow think are better than others. But I’m also finding that generosity, passion, kindness, and humility are common traits among many fly anglers. Through them and through my own journey, I’ve learned a lot about what humility really is.

Humility is not found in self-sacrifice; it is found in being sure of your ability to gracefully hold your ground and overcome any obstacle.

It is understanding that you’re connected to everyone and everything, no matter where you are in the world or where you are on your journey.

It’s being cognizant of the evil in the world, but still seeing the good that does exist here too.

Humility is the awareness of how small and unimportant you are, but allowing that knowledge to set you free.

It is the ability to listen to and observe others’ views and truly put yourself in their shoes to try to understand, even when you know you won’t agree.

It’s seeing who you are – every part – and accepting all of it. Then working to grow and learn; keeping in mind that you’ll never have all the answers.

I don’t think that we’ll ever all “just get along,” even though that’s a nice thought. I think ignorance and hatred and judgement will live on because that’s an integral part of who we are. It keeps us connected to our tribe and rooted in our identities. Humility is an admirable goal, but nobody will ever truly achieve it – and that’s kind of the whole point. Like fly fishing, it is elusive but obtainable and full of occasions for hope; knowing we’ll never be anything more than just a small part of something much larger than ourselves.

Why Women Can’t Fly Fish

It’s roughly my two-year anniversary with fly fishing, and to commemorate this event (the only anniversary I will ever remember, much to my boyfriend’s dismay), I wanted to write something about a topic close to my heart… why women can’t fly fish.

Stay with me, here.

If there is only one thing this recent #metoo movement has highlighted, it’s that women in the U.S. (I can’t speak for other cultures) have vastly different experiences of the world than men do (on average). Biology aside, we’re conditioned and treated differently, and everything around us perpetuates that distinction. From the media to movies to our families to our peers to advertising to workplaces to sports and beyond, men and women are each fed something entirely different, and we’re each expected to fit into those roles. Men who don’t are deemed sensitive and weak, and women who don’t are deemed controlling and aggressive (which, you might note, are negative “typical” characteristics of the opposite gender, but are looked on super negatively in this light because they don’t “fit in” with what’s expected). Selma Hayek recently released a courageous and gut-wrenching letter about her experience with Harvey Weinstein that highlights a lot of this.

But without getting super political or analytical here, it’s just the way it is that women have a hard time breaking into male-dominated fields. I think we can all agree on that? I was reading an article this morning about a woman who started a company with the goal of making it easier for people without the typical background of a viable candidate to break into tech fields. But a problem they face is the pool they have to work with is small, especially when it comes to women. Not many women are getting degrees in science and technology, and even fewer stay in those fields.

Which brings us to why women can’t fly fish. Or really, why women are discouraged from trying. Fly shops don’t carry much women’s gear because it simply doesn’t sell. Manufacturers aren’t super motivated to look into creating gear designed for women because it’s difficult to move product that doesn’t sell. The problem is in the small pool of women, but I have two main issues with that. 1) Why not try to understand what would bring women into shops and into waders and then go from there? 2) Why does this assumption exist that women wouldn’t be interested, so nobody should really reach out to that demographic? Most ladies I’ve talked to are interested, they’re just intimidated.

Who do you see in advertisements and all over Instagram? Who do you see when you walk into any fly shop or in any guide’s boat? Yeah… guys. All guys. Penises everywhere. Even the girls on Instagram fly fishing accounts are usually dressed and posed in a way to attract guys and get more followers. (By the way: you do you, ladies. No shaming on that one going around over here.) A quick Google search and you’ll see what I mean…

But have you noticed anything changing in the industry? I have, even in the two years I’ve been around this thing. According to a study done by the Recreational Boating & Fishing Foundation, 31% of American fly anglers are women, and that’s the only demographic that’s seeing any growth. I think part of that is due to efforts that have been made to make the sport more appealing to women, like Orvis’ 50/50 On the Water or Patagonia’s head-start on designing gear for women or Simms using more women in their advertising. Women are attracting more women to the sport, and smart advertising is a major component there. The more women I see in advertisements and the more gear I see that actually fits and actually works for me is so exciting. Like attracts like and advertising has target markets for a reason. If women see “themselves” in ads, in attractive and well-fitting gear, holding big fish, standing in gorgeous landscapes, see classes and events tailored to their needs, etc… they’re far more likely to want in, AND they’re far more likely to feel comfortable doing so.

I’m making an argument using a business model here more than anything, but think about it… Using gender bias as a positive mechanism here, women are generally considered to be more in-tune with their emotions, more caring, more passionate about their environment, more patient, better listeners, more detail-oriented, less ego-driven, better leaders, more organized, and yep I’m gonna say it – smarter. Exactly the kind of people you’d want working to conserve your favorite waters, tying flies, teaching, working in fly shops, and guiding. (Yes we’re a HUGE untapped market, but we all know that fly fishing gives us way more than money can buy.)

The people I’ve met who are avid anglers and are in the business one way or another all have something in common. They are proud, driven, resourceful, generous people, but most of all they are passionate. I’ve worked in a male-dominated field since I was out of high school and those kinds of fields generally invigorate and inspire me more than scare me off, but holy shit… that first step into a fly shop was terrifying. I had no idea what to expect, but one thing I knew was that you better know SOMETHING (or at least be good enough at bullshitting) before you walk into a male-dominated… anything, because if not, you will get eaten alive. I couldn’t have been more wrong about that shop, thankfully. But if you’re a woman who is interested in getting into fly fishing, it is hella intimidating knowing where to start, asking potentially stupid questions, finding resources, and knowing where to look for gear that works.

My boyfriend works in a fly shop, and often women will come in with their significant other who usually immediately acts like I don’t exist even if I’m standing right next to him, while their partner looks at me with a super bright smile that radiates: “THANK GOD YOU’RE HERE.”

I can tell you one thing for sure… I never would have gotten into fly fishing if I hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to a couple ladies that night I walked into that fly shop who gave me their numbers and FB info and told me about some women-oriented resources to get me started. I remember a fellow lady angler said once to me that it is intimidating getting into fly fishing when it’s so dominated by guys, and a guy scoffed, “Pft, it shouldn’t be, we’re all just people.” And if you’re a girl then you probably understand exactly why that right there is why we need more women in fly fishing.

Fly fishing arguably should be a women’s sport. It’s poetic, romantic, beautiful, gritty, requires hard work and patience, fills our lungs with fresh air, tans our skin, and brightens our eyes. It’s a legit form of meditation, and casting is almost like yoga in the way the rod becomes an extension of your body. The fish we catch are treated with our utmost respect and care, and every time we go out we’re aiming to learn something more about our world. We’re looking to bring those lessons into our every day life, teach them to our children, and use them to take care of the earth.

Women, if you’re reading this and you’re interested in doing something like fly fishing, just do it! It can be so hard for us to do things for ourselves, especially if that means going it alone, but it doesn’t have to be a scary thing.

There’s lots of resources out there now for learning how to keep yourself safe and info on trustworthy shops that are open, kind, and helpful to our gender. Schultz Outfitters is one of them, and to give you something specific, they’re starting their annual Bar Flies events again soon. It’s a weekly event that’s held at a local bar where you learn how to tie flies. It’s an awesome, fun, no-pressure way to get introduced to the world of fly fishing. You get to be creative, socialize, drink, eat, and there’s more and more women at this event every year. The beginner table is a great place for anyone to start and is totally judgement free. And if you find it’s not for you, then you’re only out $20 and a couple hours, but hopefully you’ll have gained new friends and learned something new.

Thanks for reading, and tight lines!

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day is done

A very dear friend of mine is going through some really hard times lately and it has made me conscious of this question again… what kind of person am I in a time of crisis?

One memory I go back to consistently when asking myself that question is a time when my mom was driving a friend back home after Catechism class. It was the dead of winter and her home was along a dark, tree-lined dirt road. We were driving along when the van suddenly spun out of control. I remember closing my eyes and praying feverishly; just losing my mind with fear. But my mom remained calm and somehow knew what to do and this big passenger van spun along on the road and came to a halt without any harm done to any of us.

A lot of times, or so they say, a person’s true character is measured in those kinds of instances. Unfortunately I’ve had a few of those, and the first number of times I was not someone I was proud of. I went off the wall, was sneaky and underhanded, passive aggressive, and vindictive. I took myself as a martyr, as a pity party for one, and as the victim of circumstance.

And then one of the times when I finally started to learn from all of it instead of taking it all on my shoulders and willing someone to run over my head with their car tires… a friend said something that stuck: “This is a shitty situation but even still, be someone YOU can be proud of. Keep your wits about you, my friend. This will pass.”

There was a long period of time in my life when I felt so alone. I felt so hopeless and I felt like I would and could never be someone I was proud of. I looked into the future and all I saw was inky, dark blackness. I was so tired. I looked at my son and my life and I saw a person in the mirror that I didn’t even recognize. I was tried. And tried again. And again. And again. Each time, I wanted to bury myself into the dirt so I would never have to go through it again, and frankly I questioned whether or not I even could.

I met people through all of that who actually took the time to hear me out. I didn’t speak much, so it was through an online forum that I was a member of. The only way I felt even remotely comfortable expressing myself was through the written word, so I joined purely out of an intense desire to be heard. After a while, I really started opening up about these crises I was going through, and they took my hand and led me through it. Because of them, I gathered up enough courage to reach out to my family, and then from there, years later, when it really sunk in that they loved and supported me through thick and thin, to open myself up enough to forge friendships in the physical realm.

There was so much I had to learn, and so many people I hurt in the process.

A technique I learned in therapy years ago, because I’m sure she picked up on my need for it far before I did, was something meant to balance the rational mind and the emotional heart. I can’t remember what it was called, but the theory goes that only when you can achieve balance between the two, can you even hope to start to find peace.

Frankly… at first I thought it was horse shit. Anything remotely positive was like an overtly-saccharine suppository meant to keep us smiling through the pain because nobody likes to see darkness seep into their happy little Stepford lives. I wanted to walk away with both middle fingers in the air AND flashing my butthole because I’d rather hang on to my misery than give into something like that, thank you very much.

But that idea, like many that very gifted, patient, and kind therapist gave me, had planted a very tiny seed. So small, but eventually I started to see something new. I’d always visualized my mind as this demon. It made me see them, so why wasn’t it also one of them, right? It seemed to always be working against me, waging wars and terrible storms. Contrary to popular opinion, it felt like my heart was what was good in me, but that and my black hole of a mind were constantly at war with one another. I wanted so badly to be a good person, and I knew I was – or could be at any rate – but my demon of a brain kept fucking it all up.

So, so slowly, that mustard seed of a thought started taking form until some crisis of life happened that made me start to really look everywhere else but outward… it made me take a good, hard look at myself. I really had no other choice unless I was to really and truly give up on everything, so I figured I already really hated who I was, so what did I have to lose? I saw that war going on in myself and I got onto the battlefield and I just looked. I felt all the feelings it brought up and I observed my own thoughts and my own emotions and my own actions, even the ones I had previously been too ashamed to look at.

I found that at the heart of it all was a really intense cognitive dissonance. I knew who I wanted to be, and every time I did something contrary to that ideal, I wanted pain in response to it. I wanted to beat myself over the head with it and I wanted to suffer for it. I don’t really know how, but eventually I understood that I was going to have to make peace between the two images I had of myself. I didn’t know how I would do that, but I knew I had to.

There’s a saying that the first and hardest step is acceptance. I don’t think I could agree with that any more than I do now, looking back. Sometimes you don’t have to know. You don’t have to have any fucking clue what you’re going to do; all you have to do is see it and acknowledge it. Then, and only then, will acceptance come.

I remember when it did for me. It came in the form of this really subtle feeling like I actually wanted to be at peace (aka “happy.”) Happiness is certainly everyone’s ultimate goal… but… is it? It was shocking to me to figure out that I actually wanted to be  happy, when all I wanted before was to be miserable and broken and comfortable with that. I had no idea what to do with, and really didn’t even want, a “happy” life. It was just comfortable to stick to those ol’ familiar ruts of complaining and blaming and unhappiness. So to come to this place where I saw what peace really was, and what it meant to me, and that I actually wanted that… well. That was a shift in my paradigm, to say the least.

So I guess the more important question to ask might be along these lines…  “Am I really willing to do what it takes to find peace? Am I  truly OK with the fact that peace will not ever mean a life free from conflict? What will happiness look like to me then? Is that something I still want?” It might be wise to stray away from any kind of question requiring any kind of action. It might be wise to stray away from any kind of get-rich-quick scheme that those “HOW TO FIND HAPPINESS IN TEN EASY STEPS” websites claim. Sure they’re not all wrong, but in this immediate gratification culture we live in, the simple step of observation often goes well over-looked.

I’ve always admired my parents for their faith in God, and I’ve struggled for years with the knowledge that I don’t know God like they do. I see Him very, very differently. They credit their faith for getting them through incredibly trying times, and tell me that without faith, you have nothing. I do agree with them, although I see it differently. I don’t see God as any kind of anthropogenic force; I see Him in everything. I see Him as Nature; unfeeling and beautiful and raw with creative energy. I see Him as pain; in a mother who has lost her child, as a culture who is losing their history; in a country ravaged by war or famine. I see Him in the small every day acts of kindness; a smile to a stranger, a dollar to somebody who has nothing, a cold cloth to a child who is feverish. I see value in every religion. I see God everywhere. But if there was ONE… one way of thinking that really makes sense to me, it would be Buddhism.

With Buddhism, it’s the philosophies that drew me in and that kept me going when I didn’t think I could anymore. It’s what taught me to be introspective and compassionate. It’s what helped me merge the two drastically different people I saw myself as, and it’s what helped me find peace in living with both.

I find myself wanting to preach to people a lot. One of my weaknesses that I had to learn to accept was that I am an insufferable know-it-all. I’m smart but I’m not even close to being a genius. I can find answers to many things but I don’t have the answers for most things. I look at the things I write and then the things of teachers I truly admire and I see a glaring lack of Ego in theirs and a truly alarming presence of such in mine.

But a thing I love about Buddhism is that it helps you learn to bring it on back. Our minds over-complicate everything and the answer you’re searching for is often right in front of you all along. It helps you learn that everything is always a process. And more importantly, no matter where you are… that’s where you are. No judgement, no expectations, no nothing. Just acceptance… if you want it, it’s yours to find on your own terms.

For me that means re-finding my curiosity. I’ve always been SO curious, and that is the good part of me being a know-it-all; I want to KNOW. I want to observe, I want to learn, I want to see how and why things work and how and why people believe and think and behave how they do. I want to just know, and really… I just want to understand. But sometimes once I feel like I’ve figured something out, I commit the cardinal sin of thinking that’s just how it is. Because I figured it out, you see. It makes sense to me so thus it must make sense to everyone else if they follow the same reasoning… see? But curiosity… that’s the cornerstone of it all. Take the Ego out, and that’s the innocence that lies in that flaw. They’re all one in the same and there’s no need to be ashamed, because it is birthed out of something good and the action is something I can take and learn and grow with.

So I disagree with my first statement made here. The person you are in a time of crisis is the person you are, but that’s not the whole story. It will show you your deepest fears, it will bring out all the things you’d prefer stay hidden, it will definitely show you who your true friends are, and it will highlight things about yourself you maybe never even knew. But the blessed thing about times of crises is that strengths and weaknesses don’t even really matter. Time isn’t even a thing in those times, so why would such trivial things be of any note? And so there is one thing I will agree with… and that is people are made or they are broken in those times, depending on what they do with what they find. Let it break you and you might be surprised at what you learn. Or you might let it kill you. It’s not up to the circumstances, it’s not up to anyone else. It’s all up to you.

And on that note, I want to introduce carp fishing.

But this is far long enough, so stay tuned if you’d like! The next one will be far less serious, I promise.

A Post For the Broke Homies

One thing I hope to accomplish with this blog is to share things I’m learning as I go. One day I’ll look back and laugh at how naive I was, I’m sure, but I bet I’ll also wish that I still had this kind of doe-eyed optimism before I get all jaded. So here goes.

Getting into angling as an adult can be intimidating. At least it has been for me, as I’ve written about before a bit. I think one of the hardest things, beyond knowing where the hell to even start, is what you actually need to get started.

Don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of useful things out there and a lot of companies I want to support. Not to mention all the things you can buy that make being a newbie (or an expert) a lot easier.

BUT.

I’m a single mom to two boys and I’m not exactly rolling in dough – although sometimes I spend like I am because #responsible. But the money factor alone almost scared me off from picking up fly fishing at all.

If you’re an angler who can afford all kinds of fancy shit…? Dude, go for it. But if you’re not, who says you need all those fancy gadgets anyways? You can keep the dream alive about what it felt like to go fishing when you were a little kid. Adults tend to over complicate things to death (and I mean we kind of have to sometimes), but this is one thing that simply has no need to be made complicated. It carries the promise of a life full of learning and growing and happiness, but you absolutely do not need to go broke along the way.

One thing I have learned for sure is that you really don’t need much in order to get out on the water. If you’re looking to get started but don’t know where to start or what you really, really need (and bear in mind that everyone is different so this will vary), here’s what I think is essential.

FISHING

• A rod
• A reel that is complimentary to whatever size rod you have
• Backing and line (or if you’re going with a spey rod: backing, running line, head, and tip)
• Leaders and tippet
• A selection of flies
• Clothing that is suitable for the weather

These things are not really essential per se, but are somewhere between essential and nice to have, leaning towards essential:

• Polarized sunglasses (these help you see AND protect your eyeballs from stray hooks)
• A hat (this serves the same purpose as good glasses – safety and better visibility)
• A waterproof bag or backpack (something to hold your stuff)
• Nippers (teeth also work, although that is not recommended)
• Hemostats (for those flies that are a bitch to get out)
• A bottle of water and a snack (trust me on this one)
• Some kind of boat or tube (not nearly essential but offers cool opportunities)

Things that are worth a splurge:

• Beginning classes! These are invaluable when run by good teachers. A search online can hook you up with something near you, or if you’re in the Southeast Michigan area, do yourself a favor and check out Schultz Outfitters. They offer a variety of classes and workshops for everyone from novices to experts.
• Waders and boots are very nice to have but are arguably inessential. You can fish from the shore or from a boat if the water is cold. For warm water species, you can wet wade in whatever you want when the water’s warm. If you don’t have these your options are limited, but you can definitely fish without them.
• Neoprene booties. If you get boots and plan on wet wading, get these too. They’re not too pricey and they come in handy when you don’t want to sweat to death in waders but also don’t want to go into a piece of water totally unprotected.
• Good line! Do yourself a solid and get a nice one, or multiple ones. It’s more than worth it.
• Clothing made for fishing in the elements really makes a big difference.

If you’re really tight on funds, there are inexpensive (or free!) options:

• Check out thrift shops and garage sales, or even ask relatives if they have any stuff they’re not using.
• Enter giveaways and watch for sales.
• Reuse, borrow, research before making any purchase, don’t let anyone sucker you into thinking you need something that you don’t.
• Buy from places that are honest and that have a genuine interest in helping you reach your goals.
• Subscribe to places on Facebook to be notified of free classes, workshops, and events in your area.
• Some people look down on it, but YouTube really is your friend here too. Just use common sense when picking which videos to follow. Orvis also has some really helpful videos on their website!

FLY TYING

As far as tying goes, it is so tempting for me to just tie everything under the sun and run out and buy materials for whatever pattern catches my eye, but that adds up really fast. I have materials in my desk that I still haven’t touched because I bought them with a specific idea in mind but then forgot what I was going to do because I’m like a squirrel with ADHD running like a spaz to each new and shiny acorn when it comes to that stuff. (Exhibit A: that run-on sentence.) I’ve been having to force myself to sit down and tie the same patterns to actually use all my materials. It helps hone skills too though. When you use the same techniques multiple times in a row, even if you aren’t as much of a perfectionist as I am, you actually do start to see some cool improvements. It helps creativity and innovation too when you have a limited set of materials to work with.

To get started tying, first figure out what you’re going to be fishing a lot of that year; that helps narrow it down. But not what you’ll be fishing for on trips, like I did at first, but what you’ll be fishing for at home. Find a small handful of patterns that people say work well and that are easy to tie and that use basic techniques. Get materials for those flies in like three different colors, then that’s it. Use it up and stick with it. Not only will you save lots of money but you’ll also get those basic techniques down, and you’ll be able to build on them when you’re ready to move on to something different.

Some tying tools you will absolutely need:

• Vise (do yourself a favor and get a good one right off the bat, I had to replace my first two within the span of a year)
• Bobbin
• Threader
• Loop spinner
• A good pair of scissors
• Brushable glue
• Good lighting

Some tying tools have DIY alternatives.

• Hair Packer = barrel of a Bic pen
• Hair Stacker = so many options… any kind of tubular item will work really, as long as it won’t build up static
• Good scissors = Get cheap ones and learn quickly why you need good ones… Or use nail clippers or a razor
• Bobbin = half hitches (although please do yourself a favor and get a bobbin)
• Whip Finisher = fingers
• Hackle Pliers = fingers (and rotating vice if you have one)
• Bodkin = sewing needle
• Brushable/super glue = cheaper at hardware stores

So, that’s my advice, from one cash-strapped novice to another. Don’t ever let money be a deterrent to get into fly fishing. It can be an expensive endeavor, but it really doesn’t have to be!

remember me as a time of day

 

The night of the day that you left us, there was a moment when I snuck away from the crowds of people in the house and crept slowly into your bedroom, as if you were still there. They had just taken your body away. I had sat and nursed my three-month-old baby, your nephew who you rushed home to see but barely got to know, when they brought the gurney in and went up to get you. I felt calm and focused on soaking in every detail, burning it into my memory. I handed the baby off and stood next to the kind, uniformed people who let me and my dad say goodbye and the priests say a prayer. I was so grateful to have that moment.

It was surreal to stand in your room; in the spot where you last stood. You were still in there, somehow – I was sure of it. I expected the atmosphere in the room to feel heavy but it felt chilly and peaceful. The feeling of your presence was so palpable. The note you left was still on your computer screen and I took a picture of it because I didn’t want to ever lose your last words to us.

I sat on your bed. Ran my fingers over your things. Breathed in the smell of that ferret you treated as your own flesh and blood. I could feel the whispers of your fingerprints on the last things you touched. The shape of some of your last movements molded into the softness of your bed sheets. I was simultaneously afraid to touch anything for fear of disturbing or somehow desecrating how you left things, but also felt an incredible pull towards everything you left behind, like holding on to them would somehow bring you back for a moment.

There is (or was?) an exhibit at the natural history museum in NYC with some of the first known fossilized human footprints from Australopithecus afarensis. They’re known as The Laetoli Footprints. I had learned about them in school and stumbling across them in the real world took my breath away.

I’m not really a sentimental person – at least not in the way you might expect a woman to be. Numbers on a calendar don’t mean that much to me; I don’t really assign much meaning to gifts or anything material. Heirlooms and artifacts are fascinating but what interests me more is the spirit surrounding the objects. How they were used, what they can tell us about the people who used them and when and why. I will carry the thought behind a gift with me far longer than I carry the actual object.

But footprints are like the purest form of anything that can be left behind by any living thing that has since passed. Those A. afarensis were just walking through damp volcanic ash. Just walking. To where, from where, why… we don’t (and will never) know. All we have is the mark they left behind from that one moment in their lives. And, to me, that is incredibly powerful. They were alive in that moment. The weight of their very existence, the space they inhabited, the way they moved… there was a moment in time when they lived, and the earth preserved that moment for us to find millions of years later.

The footprints of my brother were everywhere in that room. We had to quickly clean it out and paint it for when me and the boys moved in, but the memory and the thought of that space he occupied and the steps he took in that room that day has never left me.

It wasn’t very long ago when I finally sat at his grave and told him that I understood, and that I didn’t want to hold him to this world anymore, and that I wished him peace. Since then, I haven’t felt his presence. Any dreams of him have been happy and peaceful instead of the horrors I faced at first. The demons of fear that I hadn’t confronted in years but suddenly returned with a vengeance whenever I would try to close my eyes finally faded. I’m glad for that. I know there’s a logical reason behind all of that, but to me, that means he’s free. Free from his pain and free from his struggles and free from the attachments of the people who loved him but who he felt like a great and terrible burden to. I felt like my grief and my holding on was a tether that kept his spirit chained to his suffering here. If I truly wanted him to be at peace, I came to understand I’d truly have to let him go.

He might not still be with us, but our memories and our stories and that feeling we get when we remember his smile haven’t gone anywhere… The way that grief morphs and changes with the years but never leaves us… That makes him live on forever.

Happy 25th, Tony. I love you forever and always.

—

In case you are struggling… you are not alone. http://chat.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/GetHelp/LifelineChat.aspx

reinvented.

In honor of the beginning of spring, I want to tell you two stories today, if I may.

I’ve written about the lake up north that my family would go to when I was growing up. I haven’t written about how my dad taught us how to swim. He was on the swim team in school, see, and he felt that the best way to teach us to swim was to throw us in the lake and let us figure it out on our own. He was right there with us the whole time, but it was scary. Scary but effective, and as far as I know, we all appreciated it in the long run because it made us stronger and more independent in the water and out of it.

I remember one day though, when I was maybe 5 or so. I was in the shallower water with my dad, and I suddenly felt something brush my leg. As 5-year-old imaginations go, I was convinced it was a giant fish that was readying itself to make a meal of my leg, so I begged and cried and pleaded for my dad to please pick me up. He refused, saying it was just seaweed. I tried climbing up his leg but he firmly said no and put me back in the water.

That lesson of his backfired a bit because I was terrified of fish for years after that. Looking back he says he probably took it a bit far that time and he should have picked me up or at least shown me that it really was just an aquatic plant, but what can ya do. Parenting isn’t a sport for the weak. I still get a bit nervous swimming in the deeper ends of lakes now, but for the most part I’ve gotten over that fear, and fishing (bait and fly) over the years has helped a lot with that, which I can thank my dad for directly, so it all worked out in the end.

Fast forward to the spring of 2016; my first time fly fishing since that one time when I was 12.

I felt gravel shift slightly under my feet and float past my ankles as I moved lazily through the chilly water of the Manistee River. I looked the part, all decked out in name brand gear: waders, boots, pack, hat, sunglasses, rod, reel, line, leaders, fly… everything I’d put together, bought, won, worked for, and tied myself… but I felt like an idiot in all that shit. I felt like a total fraud as the full weight of exactly how little having the right name on your waders does for you. I’ve never been a materialistic person, how did I get swept up in all that so easily? It was our last day and I was tired, sore, hungover, hungry, and deflated. I cursed myself for not bringing a snack or eating breakfast, and looked longingly over at the bank, wondering if the girls would judge me too harshly if I were to just lie down in the dirt for a little bit – not that I really cared all that much if they did. It was my first ever fishing trip as an adult and for probably the hundredth time that weekend I asked myself, “Why am I doing this, again?”

I wasn’t having any luck so I took my fly in my hand and walked downstream a
bit. Then I kept walking. I kept walking until I was around a bend and couldn’t see anyone anymore. I think we were all on the same page with that this particular morning – we were spread far and wide along the river, silent and pensive, joined only by a couple lone anglers on the opposite bank. I slowly cast into the water, not putting in much effort, disheartened. I could see young fish swimming around me, so I stopped fishing and just occupied myself with watching their dance. It’s easy to forget your troubles that way. There’s something so soothing about watching nature go about its business. I lifted my eyes to the bank and I saw the wind moving the grass, felt the sun on my skin, saw birds flying up above. I felt my soul settle into the earth and something of a smile crept into my cheeks.

Then I got back to work.

I had gotten a few good bumps while essentially trolling (don’t hate) throughout the weekend, so I decided to try to mimic that motion with the way I stripped in my fly – a little olive green streamer with a bright orange head. I got a small brown trout almost immediately, and I laughed, reinvigorated.

A few more casts produced nothing so I decided to walk back to the friend closest to me to see how she was doing. Letting my line drag behind me just in case, I suddenly felt a pretty solid hit. I quickly turned and strip set, doubtful, but I had it! I hadn’t really had to fight a fish yet and to my inexperienced hand this fish felt like a monster, so I didn’t know quite what to do. I could see my friend just at the bend but it was far enough away and I didn’t want to yell out. I quickly snapped a couple pictures of its thrashing about in case I lost it, then I just did whatever felt right. I coaxed it into the shallower water near the bank and finally got it into my hand.

I was shaking, ecstatic. I suddenly understood why the hell I was doing this, again. It was for being in nature, it was for the disappointment and struggle, it was for the adventures, and it was for that fish. Overcoming obstacles, fears, self doubt, and my own daily bullshit. I tried to gesture to my friend to come over and help me get a picture, but she was still pretty far down and I didn’t want to keep the fish for that long, so I snapped an awkward selfie while trying not to let it slip out of my shivering hand and then let it get back to livin.

I will never forget that beautiful brown trout that infused the fever into my soul. The very first fish I got on that trip (my first ever on the fly) started it, but this angel of the river, and every one after, secured it.

Life is a funny thing, you know. I’ve gone from being terrified of fish to getting swept up in this world of flies and fish. I am always aware of how little I know still, how much I have left to learn, how much I will always have left to learn. I value the perspective I have on it for now because I know it won’t last forever. This wide-eyed, slightly scared, sense of wonder will gradually be replaced with wisdom gained from living in reality for a time; learning things the hard way and, when I’m lucky, some things the easy way. I know I won’t ever lose my love of everything about it, but I know that love of it will evolve into a different, more mature and jaded sort of love, and I’m not sure I want to see what that will look like just yet.

two sides of the same rotten coin

The thing about insecurity is that it is the inverse of narcissism; both centering on the self in either extreme.

Narcissism is “self-centeredness arising from failure to distinguish the self from external objects, either in very young babies or as a feature of mental disorder (Oxford Dictionary).” I would define insecurity as the exact opposite of that: a hyper-awareness of what distinguishes the self from external objects. One definition of insecurity provided by Oxford Dictionary is “the state of being open to danger or threat; lack of protection.” Insecurity and narcissism are two extremes of self-perception. They, at their varying degrees, are strongly attracted to each other because each has what the other lacks, and that joining creates a co-dependency on each other as they develop this very unhealthy bond: one in the role of a caretaker and the other a taker.

One thing I struggled with for a long time after the dissolution of my co-dependent marriage was being able to be honest about what happened. I wanted to either take or assign all the blame and I fought to find a middle ground with that. I found it very difficult to avoid seeing it in black and white; either I was a victim when I would assign all the blame or a martyr when I took it all on. I knew that if I was going to be able to really put it into perspective, I’d have to find a way for both to exist.

In trying to solve a problem – especially a very tangled and complicated one – I envision it like following a string through a dark and tangled forest. There is one bright white string against the dark greens and blacks, and it might be as thin and hard to find as a silken strand of spider web. But once I find it, I grab on to it and follow it back to the source. It can take years or it can take seconds, but it leads me to the cause of the problem. Only then am I able to work to fix it.

It took me a while to find this particular string, and even longer to find the source. I was able to find it when I was doing the dishes one day a few months ago and I was meditating on this. I felt like I’d been able to forgive everything a long time ago, but I was having trouble letting it go because although it was a textbook co-dependent relationship, I couldn’t move any further once I’d confronted that term I kept running into -that it was also an “emotionally abusive” one. I was afraid to confront it because I wasn’t sure what that would mean. I didn’t want what I found to affect our co-parenting relationship or the carefully constructed scaffolding that I built around myself in order to cope with everything that happened.

“I don’t feel comfortable with labeling that relationship as abusive because that would mean I’m a victim and I don’t feel that’s true,” I thought, as I cleaned a plate. “The very word ‘victim’ presumes innocence and I was not innocent in any of what happened.” Immediately, without even thinking about it, I replied to myself, “Well, that may be true. But did you deserve any of the wrong done to you – whether it was purposeful or not?” I would have answered “Yes” with no hesitation at my most insecure moments in life, and especially when his voice still rang that answer out loud and clear in my head, which made me feel cowed and guilty. But I immediately felt all the goodness and the strength in me and I knew the answer was no. I’m not perfect but my mistakes and my faults don’t negate what is good in me. And I’m not doomed to repeat my mistakes forever; I can learn from them and I can grow. And all of a sudden it was as simple as that and the shining white thread was in my hand.

I followed it back for a long time. Through all the doubt, uncertainty, guilt, anger, and fear. As it goes, the last few feet were extra gnarly. And then, just today, I broke out of the forest and found the source. The source, as it usually goes with these things, has nothing to do with anything I thought it might. It has nothing to do with him, nothing even to do with what my reactions or inactions were in response to his. What I want is to move forward and to let it all go, and in order to learn from the mistakes that were made, I had to come to a sincere understanding that the only relevant thing in all of this and where I want to go has to do with just me. Just my side of the coin, and that side alone. Only my insecurity. In effect, that separates me completely from the effects of that relationship, and suddenly I’m free from all of it. I don’t even need that scaffolding anymore.

And what that means exactly is mine to know. It’s my path to take towards fixing it. The thing about articles on the Internet and good friends’ advice is that they provide great insights, but we each still have to walk our own paths. It won’t become real for me until I’m able to find it for myself. Help is great, but nobody on this earth can do the work for me; it’s something I have to carry on my own. Not everybody agrees with that, but the cool thing about life is that you can try, but you’re never going to live your life in a way that everyone agrees with.

One thing I’ve been learning about my nature as a caretaker and learning how to be a caregiver instead is the simple fact that I have to trust other people to handle their own shit, and I have to work pretty damn hard to see and respect my own boundaries. As much as I’d like to, I cannot carry the whole world on my shoulders. I can help people carry their burdens, but I cannot take it all on for them. Let me tell you, man. It hurts. It is extremely painful to watch someone make mistakes and struggle with heartache and know there is absolutely nothing you can (or should) do besides just being present for them. You can’t tell them how to feel or what to do or how to fix it; all you can do is empathize. You can offer advice but you can’t expect that they’ll take it. Showing that restraint and focusing instead on being empathetic and present all while taking care of your own needs and your own heart does them a better service. Knowing that makes it a little easier to do, for me. Maybe not for you, but that’s the beauty of walking your own path, right?

I’m choosing to put this very personal entry up on this blog because the purpose of this thing is to share what I’m learning, and if I can’t help anyone with what I’ve learned and what I continue to learn in a personal as well as in a practical way (because the two are inseparable for me), then the suffering I’ve experienced in my life will have been for nothing. I can’t carry anything for anybody, but I can damn well offer up as much empathy and insight as I have to offer, as humble as it is. And that’s a pretty good place to start.

“Life is full of beauty. Notice it.”

A hard tapping at my bedroom window woke me this morning. Foggy headed, I turned my ears to the noise until my sleepy head registered that it was just the rain. I still had a few minutes until my alarm would go off. Not quite sunrise, my room lit with the dim shadows of the very early morning, my bed a warm nest of blankets that I was perfectly tucked into. Not ready to face the difficulties of the day ahead just yet, I pulled the covers up to my chin, rolled to my other side and drifted into a dream.

The place between waking and sleeping, especially in rain-filled early mornings like today, is my favorite place to be. I can simply witness a dream unfold as my subconscious builds a whole world from a series of feelings and fills in the rest with bits and pieces of distant memories and experiences. Or I can interact with the dream and let my conscious mind help create it. I chose to watch, today.

I was hiking to work, sick of cars and desks and computer screens. It was winter and it was cold, but I didn’t care – I needed to be in it. I watched my sneakered feet as I trekked one step in front of the other, careful not to slip. The icy sidewalk led me through a few old and familiar dreamscapes: dilapidated farm houses, cozy cabins, golden fields; buildings and vistas I wouldn’t recognize in real life but ones my dreaming mind knows at once.

I was still looking at my feet when I found myself in a new dream world. At first there was just a set of concrete stairs that disappeared down into nothing. As I descended, suddenly I was stopped in my tracks because the staircase below me had been flooded with water. A stranger appeared to my right, saying in a cheery voice, “Well shit, that was my route to work! Yours too?” I nodded in her direction and as I did, each bit of detail appeared before my eyes as it was narrated by this friendly stranger. At first I thought it might just be ankle-deep water that we could wade through, but she told me in her laughing voice that it was deep. Very deep. Deep enough to look up and see a ship bobbing in what had become a bay ahead of us, swinging back and forth into the water like a pendulum. Was it a ship, or was it an odd sort of building?

I looked behind me and saw a small group of faceless people sitting on more concrete steps, watching. I sat down with them, apologizing for blocking their view, I just wanted to take a couple photos. A camera materialized as I held my hands up to my face. After I took a few photos I lowered it and found myself standing on the ship.

I walked through, room by room, familiar faces mixed with unfamiliar ones. There was some kind of secret fly fishing event taking place; this kind of flooding doesn’t occur very often, their silent mouths, eager eyes told me. Everyone was excited and despite the rocking of the ship building, unafraid. I walked into a room where people were tying at a large white table. My dad walked in carrying what I was sure was a half drunk beer, but he set it down and picked up an opaque cup filled with tea instead, so I couldn’t be sure of what I’d seen. But he looked at me sheepishly and couldn’t formulate any words. Most dream emotions are diluted unless they are intense enough to break through the sheer veil, but I sensed that if I was feeling anything, it would be guilt.

Another room, another group of faces. A man I understood to be a young Howard Hughes stood in the middle of the small, dim room next to a large wooden pole. His face was bright as the sun and he was regaling a group of people with tales of his ship. They were invisible to me, but I could sense their presence. He looked at me and nodded. Shocked, I said, “Really?! Are you sure?” He came up to me and nodded again with a smile as big as the room, so I lifted the camera again and began sheepishly taking photos, growing in confidence as he gave me cheeky poses and silent laughter.

Our ship building was sinking, but nobody seemed concerned. Howard Hughes began calmly telling people what they could do to help, and listening to the technical knowledge required, I looked at him with desperation and said, “I want to help but I don’t know how to do any of those things.” He smiled and pointed back to the stairs where the people sat watching and he told me, “That’s OK, go ahead and protest with them!”

I felt dejected until I felt the camera gain five pounds and weigh in my hand as if to say, “Notice me.”

It felt like it had been hours but suddenly my alarm went off and brought me back to the waking world.

I have a new dream, and it is full of wonders.

“finding beauty in the dissonance”

There is a beauty in spey casting, a kind of poetry that comes with it.

You’re probably a lot like me. A complex creature with a mix of dark and light, innocence and vulgarity, hope and cynicism – seasons of life etched into skin and woven through veins. It’s impossible to meet a friend who perfectly compliments every side of us, so why not just be who you are, the same true you with every friend, and pull closer the ones who stick around? Life’s too short to wobble about unbalanced and caring about everything other than your own well-being.

Something funny: I never thought I was worth much; certainly not worth caring about. But it’s hard to walk the path of self awareness and not come to an understanding that there’s a difference between humility and self-deprecation. I placed too much value in humility when I was younger, before I could understand what it really was, and my self worth became crippled. It’s not unseemly or gross or egotistical at all to genuinely love who you are. It’s very much the opposite because genuine love is good, it is patient, it is kind.

I’ve heard the phrase so many times: “You have to love yourself before you can love others.” I used to hate it because it seemed selfish and shallow. Sitting now on the other side of the new year after the last one held so much (often painful) growth, I can see how much truth is in that simple statement. There’s no dichotomy there though. It’s not like you can’t love others if you don’t love yourself. But it’s fucking hard to love others well, then. How can you know what it looks like if you don’t have any for yourself? Love given freely to you will be dismissed like a fart in the wind because you won’t recognize it, won’t know what to do with it, or won’t feel worthy of it. Learn what it is, then you’ll start to freely give it to people instead of seeking it out, because that’s how it really works. That’s what love really is, I think. When it’s freely given back to you, you won’t soak it up like the driest sponge or scrape it from your tongue because you can’t stand the taste of it, but it will meet its likeness in you and you will radiate it all back into the world. Then the pieces will all start to slowly drift back together. 

The shift, for me, started when I felt my heart grow three sizes once I took down the barriers that have been holding it back for so long. One day I found my corner of the world where I was accepted as I am and I stopped feeling like I had to pretend. Then they just got smaller and smaller until one day they were nearly gone. I’ll never not see beauty in the darkness, but now I see that there is beauty in the light also, and I’m not afraid of it anymore. What a strange thing to say, but I’ve never been anything but a little strange. 

“That’s what real love amounts to – letting a person be what he really is. Most people love you for who you pretend to be. To keep their love, you keep pretending – performing. You get to love your pretence. It’s true, we’re locked in an image, an act – and the sad thing is, people get so used to their image, they grow attached to their masks. They love their chains. They forget all about who they really are. And if you try to remind them, they hate you for it, they feel like you’re trying to steal their most precious possession.” – Jim Morrison

Fly fishing has been the best form of therapy I’ve ever found, and I’ve tried a few. Spey casting (and casting with a switch rod) feels like the most natural thing in the whole entire world. It feels like it works with the rhythm of my body, like I don’t have to do it perfectly because there is no perfect there since my body moves differently than yours does. I just have to trust in myself. Trust my movements, trust my instincts. It takes everything I love about fly fishing and adds bitter cold, falling snow, stillness, slowness, quiet, peace. Pain and pleasure, suffering and joy. Working together in harmony as long as I can keep them in balance, which only requires faith in myself.