Catch and Release

When I was sixteen, I spent the summer of 2017 mostly alone.

 

After moving to a new city, without friends or familiarity, 
I found solace catching bass in the ponds around my new neighborhood.

 

I ended up catching more than I could ever remember that summer.
But there is one catch I remember quite well.

 

It was another late afternoon, right around golden hour. 
Felt a tug on my line, reeled in and well... 
it was yet another bass.

 

I admired it the way any good fisherman would — good weight, beautiful patterns across its scales. 

 

Just a really pretty fish overall.

 

And as I held it in the fading light, I had a realization.
I thought to myself… what exactly am I doing here?

 

This thing is a beauty!

 

And I'm out here pulling it out of the water because I was bored and needed to do something during my afternoons.

 

So I put it back, let it revive for a few seconds, and off it went.
And it would be the last bass that I would ever catch...

 

Well okay... the last one for quite some time.

 

But in that moment, I came to understand very early on that caring for something doesn’t always mean holding on.

 

Sometimes it means letting go.

 

 

 

And many years later, I would find myself caring for someone more than I knew how to hold onto.

 

And I let them go.

 

Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t have.
If somehow our time could've lasted a little longer.

 

The thought crosses my mind more often than I'd like to admit.

 

But the truth is, I wasn’t who I needed to be back then,
and perhaps they weren’t either.

 

Sometimes a connection is meant to wake something in you.
A softness you weren’t expecting.
A depth you didn't know you still had.
And suddenly you’re holding something delicate, something meaningful.

 

Even if you're not meant to keep it.

 

To let go with appreciation,
admiration,
and a little bit of sorrow.

Catch and release.