Return of the Neurotic Fly Fisherman

About 15 years ago I was a regular blogger. Before making pipes, before I was married, before I moved several times and long before the pandemic. 

My blogs consisted of my time spent out on the water fly fishing and my experiences there. It was a period of self reflection and immense emotional and spiritual growth. I had recently lost my father and had my first marriage dissolve. I felt isolated, lonely and afraid. The river provided me with solitude and space to sort out the confusion in my head. 

The river knows my name. My entire life has been consumed with this "working for the grade giver" mentality. Always comparing to others, measuring up, leveraging and seeking to be known and become greater. On the river those things disappear like a faint memory. The water soothes my soul and lets me know I'm part of something larger. Through those trickling creeks and powerful white water streams whispers from those droplets steer my thoughts towards my true north. 

Long before television and radio the rivers existed speaking to us, calling to us, directing us. Like wind the waters flow effortlessly unencumbered by the restrictions that apply to humans. There is a freedom in the water, wind and elemental forces that drive nature. The harshness of water cutting into large granite boulders forming habitats for insects and fish was the same force chiseling away at me. My definitions and labels that I had created for myself are not impressed by these waters. And when I step into it's presence all things inside me beg to be a part of this free flowing existence. 

And so here I am, still longing for my true north. Still returning to rivers and lakes to be reminded of my humanity and seeking the unrestricted forces of nature to mold me into someone only pleasing to Him who made me this way. No grade givers in the river, just welcoming slaps of water against me, pushing me further into myself...