“To Everything-Turn, Turn, Turn”
by Heidi Meares
In 1965, folk-rock band The Byrds, lit up the music scene with some lyrics borrowed from the Good Book itself: “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.” With nothing but a sneeze between me and 40, I can say with total confidence I have found that to be true—in both life and fly-fishing. I personally believe it is living in the tension of this truth, and our fundamental inability to control it, that causes many sleepless nights, chiropractor visits, and break-ups. And yet, there is freedom to be had if we dare to embrace it.
Anyone who has spent some time outdoors, be it waist-deep in a clear stream or elbow-deep in the soil of a field, can attest to the indisputable evidence of change at work. Water moves, wind moves, the sun moves, and we move. We move in large ways, like state-to-state, as well as in small ways, like from opposite sides of the couch to alongside each other. The question is, what do we do when things change? At times we are the initiators of change, but often it initiates us.
At the risk of showing my age, over two decades ago a book turned into a movement for a time called, Who Moved My Cheese? It donned many an executive’s desk during the toddler years of what has now become known as change management. In the business-based fable, 4 characters—2 mice and 2 humans—enter a maze, discover a stockpile of cheese and then vary in their response when the stockpile runs out. The mice, Sniff and Scurry, are not surprised and proceed to hunt for more. The two humans, aptly named Hem and Haw, are devastated and remain stuck without sustenance until Haw decides to leave. Hem, however, struggles to surrender the ground zero of his disappointment.
I took a turn in a 12-step program at one point in my journey, and the first step is admitting you have a problem. And so in honor of that process, I admit here and now that I, Heidi Meares, have been both Hem and Haw. I have at times hunkered down in a certain place, way of doing things or thinking until change was thrust upon me. Sometimes I made it out and began to hunt again like Haw. Other times I was Hem, lingering too long in disillusionment and disappointment.
It’s been six years since we moved to a region with limited fly-fishing options. For that entire time I have struggled to surrender the memories of our weekends bathing in the lush fishing holes of Virginia, West Virginia and Maryland–high-sticking through a narrow rocky gorge for brookies or launching long, sweeping casts for a glimpse of a rainbow’s sparkling pink lines. It hasn’t been just those memories that have needed surrendered either, for these past six years have contained a lifetime’s worth of ups and downs. Yet in this season where my gear has remained depressingly dry, I have discovered an unlikely gift, for fly-fishing has morphed from an activity I enjoy into a metaphorically rich framework. It’s given me imagery and language to draw upon as I seek to understand the context of this chapter in my life’s story.
For example, I’m realizing that I need to fish the water I’m at, rather than the water I wish I was at. If I want to feel the pull of the line through my left hand more often, I’m going to have to adjust to using sinking line. And in these parts, bass is king, so I have to release the connection I’ve made that fishing is only worth it when it’s for trout. One of my absolute favorite parts of fly-fishing is wading. Aside from the sheer delight of it, there’s something about walking into the water that feels sacred to me. Be that as it may, where I live now most fishing is done in a boat.
These realizations feel applicable to my marriage, parenting, relationships and vocation. My husband Brad and I are about to celebrate 19 years in a couple weeks. We’ve seen a lot of change in that time. It’s a constant challenge to not glorify the past or fantasize about the future, but fish and enjoy the water we’re in today. Especially, when it’s not easy water. Hence why we’ve incorporated the phrase “bless the partial” into our vernacular. We picked it up from our readings of author John Eldredge and simply put, it means to enjoy the parts of goodness present in everything. Like when I’ve gotten skunked at the river as far as netting one was concerned, but had an incredible time anyway by focusing on the joy in doing battle in surroundings more grand than any cathedral.
I’ve discovered that blessing the partial allows me to hold everything more loosely. I, and everyone around me, can breathe more easily and deeply when I’m not white-knuckling the life out of a moment or opportunity. Furthermore, less rigidity in my stance and thinking results in me being able to feel the current and sense when a shift is coming. Sensing a shift—be it in a river’s environment, on a job or in a relationship—is crucial. You can’t move or change what you can’t see or feel.
My youngest is headed to kindergarten in a few months and I can feel change a’comin. My cheese, our cheese, is about to move again. I’m already grieving seasons past and slightly apprehensive about what lies ahead. But when I channel Elsa from Frozen and “Let it go” for a minute, hope begins to rise. Hope that what lies ahead is MORE. As a person of faith, I passionately believe that all the seasons, which make up my life story, exist and find meaning in a larger story. Despite what the news or social media reports and predicts, I do believe there is more ahead: more goodness, more freedom, more love, more life…and yes, more change. Hopefully more time on the water too, either getting my waders wet or keeping dry while casting from a bow. If it ends up being the latter…I’ll just have to practice blessing the partial :).
