Have You Ever Tried Finding Yourself in the Game?

I used to think fishing was about winning—until I learned it was about listening.

My first cast on Lake Michigan’s shore felt like an echo: bait thrown into water, waiting for something that didn’t come. Not fish. Not money. But silence. The kind that settles when you stop trying to control everything.

The Tide Doesn’t Lie—You Do

They call it ‘fishing.’ I call it ritual. Every morning, after coffee, I sit by the window and cast for twenty minutes—even if nothing bites. The sea doesn’t reward patience; it reveals it. In those quiet hours, I wasn’t chasing a catch—I was remembering who I am.

Budget as a Compass

I set my limit: $50 per week. Not because I’m poor—but because extravagance drowns meaning. A single dollar spent with intention carries more weight than ten reckless bets.

The Net Is Not a Machine

Don’t treat your hook as a gambling algorithm. Treat it as a mirror held up to the ocean’s breath—the same one that whispered to my grandmother when she sang spirituals on South Chicago streets.

You Are the Fisherman Now

Last winter, during the Coral Night event, I caught no fish… but walked away with $800 in peace.

You don’t need to be the best player. You just need to show up—and stay quiet long enough for the tide to remember your name.