Although we didn’t have much light left because of the late start, the views were incredible and the company was great. A 15 minute barefoot walk had taken us out to the other side of the bay and our agenda for the night was simple: sunset fishing and beers.
Clamouring over a series of large boulders, Ty and I found an isolated spot, baited our hooks, and settled in to do some fishing. I don’t do it nearly enough but fishing contains easy going multitudes, and easy going multitudes are something I always enjoy.
I was happy to be with Ty. He appreciates the little things in life, understands the true essence of rarity and wears his kind heart on his sleeve. I once joked with Ty that he’s a modern day version of Huckleberry Finn, and that I was going to make him a shirt that said simply, “WWHFD?”
He liked that idea a lot.
“More people should do this,” I told Ty, taking a sip from my beer and staring out into the ocean.
I shook my head.
He nodded in agreement. ”Yeah, man, but some people are just lost.”
I took a moment to respond, “We don’t want to admit it, but we’re all lost. We’re all lost and we’re all trying to figure out how not to be.”
And then, much to my pleasant surprise, Ty fired back.
“But who says we have to be found?”
He smiled and looked my way.
“Touché, my friend.”
We were out fishing but really, that wasn’t the point. Deep down, we both knew that we weren’t going to catch anything that night – there was simply no way. For one, we lacked preparation, foresight and skill. For two, we had no idea if there were any fish in this part of the bay as neither of us had ever been there. For three, we were drinking and forgetting that we were actually fishing at all – at least I was. Consequently, I’d catch myself staring at the stars rather than noticing that my hook no longer had any bait.
But I was alright with that.
There are worse things to be lost in than a bit of light amidst the darkness.
After a few moments of silence, Ty jumped in. ”My dad thinks I’m wasting my life living on this island.” He looked out across the bay as the light slowly died, the colours were in mourning.
“Yeah, mine doesn’t necessarily understand me either, man. He doesn’t get why I’m not killing myself to buy a house, to own a car, to climb the social ladder. Imagine inviting them tonight. ‘Hey Dad, do you want to go somewhere you’ve never been and go fishing and climb over big, slippery rocks in the dark?’ It’s doubtful, my friend…”
Everything was silent.
Ty was next to me, but he was far away as well, lost in conversations past and wrapped up inside the pain of days gone by. As if to answer the questions swirling around inside his own head, he whispered, “We’re different and we have to accept that. It’s okay. And we’re okay…”
About the Author: Jeremy Goldberg: I make big things small, small things visible, and visible things known. But mainly, I’m trying to make the world better than it was yesterday. Currently in Australia. Connect with me here: