Sunday, November 16, 2014


Editor's note: Yes, this is a fishing blog (not that I've given it the maintenance or the TLC it truly deserves of late--and perhaps this post will explain that), but sometimes it's wise to focus on life behind the fishing. The reality. Fishing is an escape for some and for others, like me, it's a God-damned necessity. But reality... the life we live when the fish aren't watching... sometimes it deserves a good examination. So here goes: 

I remember sitting across the room from my therapist. She had listened to me--to us--for some time, and I could tell something was different about this visit. She was finally going to pull it out of me. I was going to have to be honest with her. And with myself. It had been months in the works, honestly. But it was also the moment when a decision went from "Good grief, am I going to this?" to "I don't think I have a choice." We had talked about communicating more clearly. Being more thoughtful. Being better parents. We talked about how we fought... how we argued. How we hurt one another.

We talked a lot about overcoming a loss of trust... betrayal. Full-on Biblical "Thou shalt not..." Ten Commandments shit.

But now, it was just the two of us. Me and the therapist. Her diplomas declaring her eligibility to help me with this heady shit suddenly made sense to me. She looked me right in the eyes and made a profound statement.

"Sometimes, we're just done."

Then she leaned in. With her forefinger, she slipped a wisp of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She exhaled, looked at the floor, and then lifted her eyes to mine once again. She seemed almost as uncomfortable as I felt.

"Are you done?"