When I was young, my friends and I loved to go fishing. I don't know why we loved it so much. Maybe it was the outdoors, the thrill of the catch, or jumping into swimming holes when the fish weren't biting. Fishing always has held a special place for me and, even though I don't fish as much as I would love, there have been some significant life lessons which have come from it.
We all caught Blue Gill. These little fish frequented the streams and creeks around where we lived. Many of the creeks would dry up in late summer, leaving fish carcasses for birds and bugs to devour. Yet, when the creeks would run again with the rainfalls of winter and spring, a whole new batch of these vibrant little fish would spawn again. The thing we liked about them was that they would snap and bite at bare hooks. If you threw in a line with a shiny little hook, you didn't need any bait. They would bite at that hook the moment it hit the water. My friend's mom would always ask us to bring back a few so she could put them in her garden. She always said the rotting fish would produce the best flowers and vegetables.
Even with all the little Blue Gill we would catch, nothing compared to catching larger fish. Trout were always a common fish for us to try and catch. They lived in the larger rivers, lakes and streams. Young trout were similar to the Blue Gill, snapping at anything shiny or eye catching. We would usually catch and release, hoping one day to catch them again when they got bigger. They were the ones we would see out in the open, swimming in the currents, looking for anything that caught their eye and looked like food. These were also the ones who fell prey to birds and animals looking to catch their next meal.
Older, larger Trout, however, were smart and tricky. They didn't fall for what came at them, for the shiny lure or bait that just didn't look right. They also hid more, staying out under rocks and trees. You had to find them, but make sure they don't find you.
Bass were also difficult to catch. Because of the heat during the summer, they usually were in much deeper waters, like the lakes in the area, and would come up to the surface during the cooler mornings and evenings. They were more selective, too. You had to really be patient and trick them into biting. Young Bass would venture closer to the banks and surface, but the larger, older Bass would hang out under rocks and in the shadowy, deeper water. You had to find them and, once you found them, trick them into biting your bait or lure. I remember many times losing my bait to a clever old Bass, who obviously was up to my trick and had his own way of still getting something to eat without being caught.
It wasn't uncommon for older Trout or Bass to have scars on them. I have seen scars which told me they were caught and released before. This means they fell for the trickery of a fisherman, but didn't pay for it with their lives. I also have seen scars on their bodies to indicate they had escaped a predator. In the case of spawning fish, there were scars to show the damage caused by rocks as they battled their way upstream. All the scars told stories, the brutal reality of survival the fish must endure.
As I sit here and think about all things I remember about fishing, I cannot help but find symbolism and relativity in my own life. I remember being young and ambitious, lacking in experience and, in my naivity, jumping at opportunities and decisions without realizing how many were just traps and foolishness. I think back to things I have done, thought and said, believing what I thought to be real, only to be disappointed and discouraged to discover I was wrong. Thankfully, I was only a catch and release in those moments!
Being older now, I can see the same thing in others and recognize it for what it is. I look at my scars, physical, mental and emotional, and know that these are reminders of the struggles I have faced in my own life. Others have their scars, too. It is in the struggle, the scars it leaves, which bring us all together. The young have just started to get their scars and, as a parent, I have to be willing to let my children receive scars of their own. They learn through their struggle, just as we learn through ours. Scars mean we lived, we endured and kept going. They are not awards, though. Our survival is our reward. Scars are the price we paid for it. Nobody welcomes them, but we all can appreciate them.
Life is full of struggles and, with it, all sorts of traps. Experience teaches us to distinguish between what is real and what is false. We eventually learn that a shiny hook is not food, it is a hook. We eventually learn that bait that drops in front of our faces, what appears too good to be true, is actually a trap. We learn that the next big thing may very well be the thing that traps us. We learn to recognize what is natural versus what is manufactured. We accept that success involves struggle and, at times, pain and scars.
Yet, through it all, we grow. We learn. We adapt. We don't jump at the first thing we see. We have discerning senses and logic. Our choices are more productive, because we are smarter. We don't need to jump around in the open, exposed to dangers and easily trapped. We enjoy life more, because we need less. Our choices are based on what is important, not what is flashy.
There is a reason so many small fish are born every year. So many never survive to adulthood and even less actually survive past spawning. Only a rare few, comparatively, actually live out their entire natural lives. From birth to old age, most are killed along the way.
As I ponder further on these lessons, I am also reminded of my martial arts journey. The same lessons are there, too. It doesn't take too much thought to see the examples. In reflection, I am at the point where I see the scars which I have collected along the way, the faces of all those I have known who are no longer training, and those who have stuck with it and represent where I want to be eventually in my own martial journey. I see so many who are like the young fish, snapping at the new and sniny, being caught by slick ideologies and martial salesmen, chasing fantasy over reality, who are open and exposed, vulnerable to all kinds of traps. I have been there myself, so I see myself and the scars I have received from it all bear testament to the struggles which have come from my younger days. But, now as I am older and have learned a great many lessons, I can say I am happier in my simplicity and clarity. I am more selective and critical of what I allow in my path, being fully aware that what appears too good to be true most often is.
I have learned that through patience, discernment and faith, all I truly need is revealed to me. What is true becomes easier to see and accept. Everything outside that becomes easier to ignore.
In discovering what is really important in my life and in my martial path, many things and ideas I thought I "needed" have been let go. Many people I thought I needed approval from or to associate with have been let go. Many aspects to my own self I thought were so important are now lesser in importance. As a result, I am more effective and less vulnerable. When I begin to lose that place, or find myself being lured, all I have to do is look down at the scars and the lessons they teach.
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