Back at the Water

Something remembered before I did.

I started fishing when I was a boy.

South Florida banks. A line in the water. No thoughts of what needed doing or who needed to be met. No map of how to get somewhere or when I’d arrive.

Just the water and the waiting.

Then I had to become someone. You probably know how that goes. The becoming takes everything. There isn’t room for quiet things that don’t produce anything.

Fishing stopped. No decision. It just died off and then it was gone.

For a long time I didn’t notice what I’d put down. I was busy. I was useful. I was needed. That felt like enough.

A few years ago I went back.

I don’t know exactly why. Something remembered before I did.

What I found is that I love it whether I catch anything or not. That surprised me. The boy on the bank didn’t know that yet. He wanted to catch something. The man who came back just wanted to be there. Back. Maybe known to himself in ways that reminded him of himself.

Still water. Line in the water. Waiting without needing to become at peace. Just being.

There’s something beneath the surface that was there before I was old enough to forget it. Patient. Unhurried. Not lost. Not hiding.

Just waiting for a man still enough to meet it. Still enough not to look past what was always there.

I think that’s what unlearning is. Not building something new. Going back to the water. Dropping a line.

Being willing for what was always there to show up.

The fish was always there.

Still walking. Back at the water.

For the willing.

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If this landed for you — share it with someone who might be ready to go back to the water.

New here? The Unlearning is a weekly publication for those willing to stop building the wall and start remembering what was always behind it. Find more at UnlearningMyself.com.

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