I went to Lexington Virginia this past weekend for my 10-year college reunion. I’ll come right out and say it – this was a big step for me. I’d had a bit of a nervous breakdown at my 5-year reunion, and I wasn’t sure how I’d handle being back at college for a weekend half a decade later.
I’ve been quite introverted and reserved all of my life, and going to a school with a vibrant social culture like W&L was not easy. I pledged a fraternity and played on the lacrosse team for four years, becoming somewhat immersed in the work hard-play hard culture. But there were also plenty of weekends where I would feel overwhelmed with the pace of life, skip town without telling a soul, and head down to the Bay for some fly fishing or duck hunting. At the time, it felt wonderful to crawl into my shell and feel unencumbered out on the water alone.
This fleeting behavior was not without consequences, and upon graduation, I realized that although I’d made a few close friends, I didn’t really know the rest of my classmates at all. They all stayed up to watch the sunrise the night before commencement, and I was probably back in my room planning the next fishing trip. I picked up my diploma and smiled for the cameras with a pang of regret that I hadn’t made more meaningful connections.
Unfortunately this regret began to follow me around and fester on my subconscious in the ensuing years. Regret that I went straight into graduate school upon completion of my undergraduate degree, and didn’t take a few years to learn the world in an entry-level job. Regret that after my graduate program, I spurned the big cities all my classmates were moving to and took a job in rural coastal Virginia where the outdoor pleasures were endless but the social life was barren. Burdened by those regrets, I returned to Lexington in 2016 for my 5-year reunion, but abruptly left midway through the weekend after panicking and feeling that I really didn’t know anyone there, and coming to the sad, self-loathing conclusion that my absence would go unnoticed.
Five years later, I tried it again, despite still lugging around simiar regrets and insecurities. Regret about my career choice and how my job had lost much of its initial allure. Regret that I hadn’t travelled everywhere I wanted to before becoming a father (more on this later). And regret about not doing my best to keep up with some of the few friends I’d made at school and whom I’d surely see this weekend.
Nonetheless, last Friday night I moseyed into the alumni party tent, downed a shot of bourbon, and eased into the intimidating mixing bowl of a few friends and plenty of quasi-strangers. And by the time I laid my drunk head down to sleep in the wee hours of Sunday morning, I was so glad I’d made the choice to attend. Hard as it was for me to overcome some timidity and self-doubt, I put on a brave face for the weekend and really enjoyed reconnecting with folks. I made a conscious effort to get out of my own head, and share in the world that others were living in.
I woke up Sunday morning mildly hungover and gloomy that it was all over. I could see myself circling around the abyss of regret like a vulture circles a dead opossum. Regret that this joyous weekend had to end. Regret that it was my last time to party like a college student before having a baby in three weeks. And lingering regret of not investing enough of myself in this town ten years ago. Luckily some deep determined part of my being was able to take the wheel and divert from that pit of misery. I packed up the car and headed up the Shenandoah Valley to a favorite trout stream.
As I had done years before, I was leaving Lexington and going fishing. Yet this time it would be different. As I rolled out of town, past the stunning white Colonnade, past the frat houses at Red Square, past the imposing edifice of VMI, and over the Maury River, I promised to myself I wouldn’t use this little excursion as a crutch, an escape hatch, or a place to runaway to.
Dawn crept over the Blue Ridge and lit up the valley while I cruised up I-81. I began to realize that the way I had been approaching fishing was not exactly healthy. I was fleeing from my anxieties to try to relax, yet instead of actually chilling out, I’d arrive at the water’s edge full of the same intensity I’d bring to the lacrosse field, my studies, or my attempts to navigate the social scene. There have been episodes of me getting needlessly angry at fishing companions, brutally cursing myself for errors, or even breaking equipment in a bout of bratty frustration. My unconscious default setting was actively getting in the way of the solace I was seeking.
While putting my rig together, I avowed that there would be no tantrums on this outing. There wasn’t much of a hatch, so I settled on the game plan that fish might either be chasing streamers or looking up for some meaty late season terrestrials. I methodically worked upstream, alternating between a leggy hellgrammite on the 6-weight and a damselfly on the 5 weight. I made extra effort to ignore my empty creel, and instead reflected on the experience I’d had this weekend with a self-kindness I hadn’t usually granted yours truly. I blew a few shots at visible fish, but was quick to forgive myself. I slipped on the muddy bank and sat my hand in a fresh warm cow pie, but skipped the cursing and just laughed. And then I threw a perfect cast and mended a perfect drift under a deep cut-bank; a spunky brown trout inhaled my offering, and the world was suddenly alright again.
Like any angler, I’m slightly exaggerating. Social insecurities will still linger and the wilderness will still be a convenient emotional hideout. But retreating from what stresses me, only to get out on the water with bottled up agitation is not a sustainable model for life. This mindful perspective is just a start, and there is plenty more work to be done. Nonetheless, I have this weekend etched into my brain as a blueprint of how I can more thoughtfully approach everything I do – family, friends, work, and fishing. It is a reference mark on how to balance it all, so that I might make each experience all the richer.