This I Believe

Part One:

Here is the essay I chose. For those who don't want to follow the link, here it is:

The Power of Fishing

I believe in the power of fishing. I am not an avid angler, and I’m still not sure if real flies are used in fly fishing. However when I think back on my childhood, many of my warmest and most salient memories took place on a fish bank.

I remember running, playing, exploring, and growing as the adults fished, drank beer, and talked trash to each other as B. B. King and Millie Jackson belted the blues from eight-track tape decks in deuce and a quarters and El Caminos. I remember eating the day’s catch cooked outdoors on a Coleman stove. There was always plenty of hot sauce—and admonitions to be careful—with white bread on hand in case you got choked on an insidious fish bone.

One time the family went down to the pay lake with the warning, “If you don’t catch a fish you’ll have to walk home.” Half believing this, I was delighted and relieved when I reeled in a three-pound, or was it a five-pound, no it was definitely a seven-pound catfish. After a struggle that rivaled that of Captain Ahab in Moby Dick, I finally got it to shore. I didn’t have the nerve to take the ugly thing off the hook; luckily that was not a condition of getting a ride home. The poor fella sure was tasty, though.

As a young teen I was delighted when I reeled in seventeen white bass from the Sandusky River behind the sugar factory in Freemont, Ohio. I breathlessly told the story of my conquest to anyone who would listen. It was the last time I remember going fishing with my father. I was soon old enough to opt out, and I chose more urbane pursuits than sitting on a fish bank all day.
When my sister died unexpectedly at the age of seventeen, I remember feeling like I could not breathe. Everyone in our large family was grieving terribly. The world changed forever, like our own personal version of 9/11. Everything before that day meant something different, great or slight, the day after. I remember my father got up early the next day to go fishing—alone. It was his way of coping and everyone understood. I never saw him cry about my sister. I often wondered if the fish did. I have a mental picture of him pouring his heart out to a wide-eyed bluegill who listened sympathetically before swimming away.

Now, in my role as a mental health therapist for children, I often take them fishing. They talk more openly when slightly preoccupied with the many little tasks it takes to fish. They are able to learn patience and skills to deal with frustration that can serve them well in school and at home. They develop courage as they tackle the daunting task of baiting their hook with a squiggly, reluctant worm. However, I think the most curative factor is that on a fish bank they are not kids with problems. They are just kids—running, playing, exploring, and healing.

I personally can connect to this on many levels. In the simplest sense, fishing was a huge part of my childhood growing up as well. I have countless memories of me and my dad sitting in a canoe on the Pawcatuck River casting and trolling for trout or battling the 'chop' on a windy day on Lake Latonka. My mom even tells me how my dad would take my two year old self with him on his days off when my mom was working. Fishing has literally been a part of my life since before I could walk.

When I asked my dad why he liked fishing so much, his answer surprised me. For him it's not about how many fish he catches or the sense of accomplishment associated with reeling in the Big One, it's about the ability to get away from the world and being a part of something beautiful. It's at once relaxing and rewarding. Relaxing because we're out on the water away from cellphones and traffic and artificial noise. Rewarding because we've learned first-hand the beauty of nature and the importance of conserving it so that others can experience it as well.

Part Two:

 

I Believe I have a Duty to do my Best

I have been given a lot. On the most basic level I have inherited beneficial genes from my ancestors. I am also fortunate enough to have been given an unfathomable amount of time and large amounts of money and experiences from not just my parents, but also everyone else who wants to see me succeed. These factors, all of which I have no control over, when combined with my own internal motivation and desire to succeed, have led me to be in a position where I would consider myself to have great potential. Potential to have a large effect on the world, potential to benefit humanity, and potential to leave a long-lasting legacy on the planet.

Because of this, I have a duty to do my best. Anything less is a waste of the things I have been given. A waste of talent that I feel makes me undeserving of what others have given me so that I could be successful. In high school I was presented with kids who were lucky enough to have been given the same if not more than I had. Yet I saw plenty be satisfied with meeting the minimums and never reaching their full potential. I made a promise to myself that I would push myself so that when I'm 80 years old and looking back on my life, I won't think "I wish I tried harder", or "I could have done a lot better". I want to be 100% satisfied with everything I've done and the choices I've made as a whole. To do this I need to do my best. I don't necessarily need to be the best, just be the best that I can be.

In wrestling I fine-tuned this belief. I was not the strongest nor did I have the best technique, but I had a duty to my team to do my best. Maybe my best was winning half of my matches, maybe two thirds, maybe all but a couple.  I had no idea but as long as I did my best my coaches and fellow wrestlers would be proud of me. Not only this, but I would be proud of me. This I believe.