Lessons From a Frozen Lake

Life has been rather hectic so far this year. The new decade has thrown me some curveballs early on, leading to this blog being unexpectedly put on the backburner for a bit. I wouldn’t say I’ve got it all wrapped up with a pretty little bow right now, but the dust is settling and I finally had a chance this weekend to slow down and get outside.

Over the holiday weekend, I visited my boyfriend in Spokane, Washington, where I myself will be moving next month (one of 2020’s curveballs). We were able to do a few fun things around town: go to a mini golf bar, hike in Riverside State Park, and eat our weight in wings at one of our favorite local spots. But the one thing I’ve been looking forward to most ince I scheduled this trip in November was going ice fishing.

For this year’s ice cold fishies, we trekked up to Lake Thomas in Colville National Forest, which is just about 30 miles south of the Great White North. Sitting on the frozen water all day not only provided us with a plentiful bounty of perch (19 for the day), it also gave me the chance to reflect on the last few months, and I made sure to soak in some of the lessons the lake taught me.

Commit and Set the Hook

When you fully commit to something, beautiful things can happen.

Especially with being a new angler, everyday on the water is a learning experience. My boyfriend sent me a video by Randy Newberg the day before I left for Spokane that was poking fun at things ice fishermen say a lot. He told me, “This is how we’re gonna be talking to each other by the end of Monday.”

He was right. And I think the quip he used the most was, “You really gotta set the hook.” I was getting a lot of bites, but was having a hard time landing the fish. My attempts to set the hook were borderline feeble. Once I realized how hard you have to commit to getting that fish, my successful bites started to outnumber the ones that got away with my bait.

Either many hours on the ice was making me delirious or I had a major breakthrough (I like to imagine it was the latter), but I started equating setting the hook to some big life decisions I’ve had to make recently. Sure, I’ve decided to move across a couple states and get some new jobs, but it’s taken me months to get here. Months of uncertainty, back-and-forth debates with myself, and a lack of commitment.

It was a bittersweet decision for me to leave San Diego, a place I’ve grown proud to call home since I moved here almost five years ago, but I feel it’s the right one. Once I fully committed and set the hook on that decision, I landed a job in Spokane. Since then, opportunities have presented themselves in ways I hadn’t even considered, and I couldn’t be more excited to start a new chapter in Washington.

So, you really do gotta set the hook if you want to catch the fish.

Embrace Hidden Success and the Unknown

You don’t know what’s under the ice. It could be a whole school of perch. It could be the biggest trout in the lake. Hell, it could be grass. You won’t know until you drop your line, get a bite (or not), and reel it back up.

You won’t know what you’re good at, what’s right for you, where you want to be, or what you want to do until you go and try things out. Success could be hiding just under the ice, but you need to get it. Otherwise, it’s just stuck there.

Don’t Be Afraid to Drill a New Hole

Sometimes things just don’t work out the way you’d hoped for, and you’ve got to remember that’s okay. You’ve got a whole lake to work with. Go find a new spot, drill a new hole, drop some fresh bait, and catch a fish.

 A hole can be like a comfort zone on the ice. This is the hole I’ve drilled, this is the hole I’ve sat at for “x” amount of time waiting for fish, this is the hole I’m committed to. This hole will bring me happiness. But sometimes, that’s just not the right spot and you need to go find another one.

For me, my comfort zone hole has been San Diego. I’ve spent almost five years here and I’ve been devoting most of my time to my three part-time jobs that barely get me by. Finally, I realized I wasn’t truly happy here anymore and maybe it was time to go drill a new hole.

There’s always some sense of hesitation when you leave a hole. What if a huge school (or a promotion at work) swims by right after I leave? What if the biggest, fattest fish in the lake (or my dream job) laughs at me as I walk away? Yeah, those things could happen. Or… you could drill this new hole, catch even more fish, and have an even better day on the ice.

Getting out of your comfort zone could be a bit unnerving at first, but branching out and taking chances will likely lead to more happiness (and more fish) for you in the long run.