My friends and I have always compared dating to fishing. We considered ourselves the captains of our fishing boats, searching through vast waters of bars and websites and sporting goods stores, searching for that big catch. We’ve wondered if maybe there was something wrong with our equipment. We’ve blamed the weather, the water, and the boat for a low harvest. We have caught fish that left a bad taste in our mouths. We have caught fish who weren’t big enough. We have caught smelly bottom feeders and the coveted King Salmon and everything in between.
Then I realized that I am the fucking fish. I keep biting on these damn catch and release lines. I keep getting reeled in, sometimes because I am hungry, and sometimes because that bait tastes so damn good. The thing about good bait though, is that it’s always tied to a hook. After being hooked a few times, I’ve learned to be more cautious with my lips.
I’m torn between wanting a passionate love and a love that will last forever because it’s safe. In my experience, to find a love that is both magic and mundane, is even more rare than seeing a fucking narwhal.
I have however, found magic inside of the mundane. I am very skilled at creating my own love stories out of relationships that consisted of everything but love. Sadly, those stories were never enough for me. When the fog cleared and reality rolled in, those stories left me drowning in disappointment.
Maybe the key here is to search instead for the mundane inside of the magic. Perhaps catching that elusive fish who doesn’t want to be caught is the fish most worthy of catching. When he thrashes in the river, fighting for freedom, but incapable of ignoring my bait… that is the fish that captures my attention like no other. I need passion. I need to feel pulled in against my own will. But I also need to know that I have caught something good and trustworthy. Once again, I am transformed into the angler.
And this is why I’m single. I need to be the fish and the fisherman. This is essentially a balance of power. I want the big fish, the smart fish, who has spent his life avoiding being caught. I also need to be the fish. I need to know that we both put up a fight, because that is the only way that I know how to tell when it’s real. When we want so badly to resist…when we both grow tired of tugging on the line…but neither one of us is capable of giving up…and then all at once, we both surrender. That is the only process I know of falling into something that is worthwhile. Love is a war of the heart and I have nothing but respect for the battle.
Today, I am a fish out of water.