Someone told me once that we tend to be repulsed by those traits in others that we loathe in ourselves. I've heard that several times in my life, now that I think of it. I suppose the implication in that philosophy is that everything that we experience outwardly is somehow really an internal experience; perhaps our outward reality is filtered through our selves. I don't know if it'd ever be possible to conclude that this or another metaphysical psychology is entirely accurate, but my subjective experience sure seems to support it. Let me share my most recent episode.
When I was a little guy, you'd be hard pressed to keep me away from any available body of water. If I disappeared for some length of time, you could almost certainly find me hovering near or over the closest pond or creek, holding some version (home made or otherwise) of fish-catching apparatus. I was close to obsessed with fishing, and with fish in general.
As soon as I was deemed old enough, my father bought me an aquarium, to show his support (and also to reward a good report card). And from there the household population of tanks grew steadily through high school. There was even an outdoor version, a huge hole dug into the back end of our property filled with water from the hose, into which an unfortunate bass was placed and fed a not-so-steady diet of nightcrawlers (whose harvest was dependent on the rains), for a length of time that I can't recall.
When I went to college, this passion only grew; I majored in fisheries resources, took a job at an Alaskan fishing lodge, and learned to fly fish the trout streams of Idaho. I told fish stories around campfires, daydreamed about fishing, often reminiscing silently about this or that high mountain lake I'd sought out for its particularly colorful cutthroat trout.
But something happened along the way. Somewhere the experience started to change. My highlight reel had less and less to do with the fish, and more to do with my company. I started reveling in others' successes nearly as much as my own, and cherishing the bond that fishing (and later, hunting) created between me and my buddies. With hunting, this camaraderie was amplified as it extended to anyone participating in the celebratory feast(s).
So, this tale brings me to Alaska, once again. Here, I've had the opportunity to catch countless fish, successfully landed the final of the 5 species of pacific salmon (king), and even experienced a new type of fishing: the bottom-fish (halibut) skate [which, awesomely, was likened to unwrapping a christmas present... you're pulling up this rope, hand over hand, waiting to see what's producing all the weight from the many circle hooks, "wondering if it'll be the ipod (halibut) or the mismatched socks (some unsavory species)."
Over this summer, I managed to conjure up some of those old feelings from my elementary school days, losing myself in the act of fishing alone. But far more powerful now is the relationships I develop with those who share in the experience somehow, whether actually fishing with me or just enjoying a delicious dinner after the fact.
And this isn't a loss in any way. To me, it's a deeper experience. Sure, there's still the direct, sensory input, with all its stimulation and beauty. But the connections between previously discrete things, in this case, between me and others, and with the surroundings, greater than the bits and pieces I'm directly interacting with, feeds some part of me in a much more enduring and subtle way.
And now I come to the point. With age, I find that there are so many things that are long gone from my life experience; things that were once fundamentally important, and that can trick me into feeling a loss. But with that loss, there is new space in my soul for things that seem broader, usually less intense and immediate, but at the same time more powerful and permanent.
With what seems to be some growth in perspective, now the same world, the same once-beloved experiences, are filtered in a different light. And that filter tells me something about who I am.
Hope you enjoyed my personal, self-indulgent journal...
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