When Inspiration Fades, I Drew a Fishing Boat That Cried

There was a week when my screen stayed blank. Not from laziness — from grief. My hands hovered over the mouse like they’d forgotten how to speak. The world felt too loud, too sharp. And yet… I needed to make something.

So I opened ComfyUI.

I didn’t think about audiences or metrics. Just this: What if the act of fishing wasn’t about catching fish… but about learning how to wait?

The First Stroke: A Boat That Weeps

I started with an image — a small wooden boat drifting on rippling water under twilight sky. But instead of calm waves, the surface trembled like breath held too long.

And then I added tears.

Not cartoonish drops — slow, heavy ones falling into the sea like pixels dissolving in memory.

This was not meant for anyone else’s eyes. It was mine: proof that even broken things can float.

The Three Steps Back to Myself

Later, I structured it like one of those game tutorials — but not for players. For me.

Step 1: Basic Catching The R in RTP stood for ‘return’ — not just money back, but meaning returned. Even if you lose your way today… you can still feel the pull again tomorrow. I animated a single fish swimming toward the hook with hesitant motion — just like my own will returning slowly.

Step 2: Avoiding Traps The worst trap isn’t losing money — it’s believing you’ve failed because you’re quiet now. So I made a video where every wrong move ends with laughter bubbling up from below the waterline. The ocean doesn’t judge your silence; it holds it gently until you’re ready to sing again.

Step 3: The Test That Was Meant for Me The “Fishing Key” quiz wasn’t designed to recommend games. It asked:

“When did you last feel alive?” “What kind of current do you need right now?” My answer? A deep blue tide pulling softly at midnight. That became my rhythm again — slow focus over speed, time measured by breath instead of clock ticks.

Why This Matters Now (Especially For Us)

We are creators who live between worlds: invisible behind screens, yet expected to be endlessly bright, calculating every frame for someone else’s satisfaction. But what if we treated our own creative lives like immersive games? Pacing yourself isn’t weakness; it’s strategy built on self-knowledge, a system designed not for winning, built instead for staying present while waiting for your next wave.

And yes… sometimes your best catch is just watching the water change color at dusk, something no algorithm can replicate or reward—only feel.

If you’re here reading this because your mind feels fogged over today: you don’t have to fix anything yet. Just open one window, one canvas, one looped animation where nothing happens except time passing slowly—and let yourself be there with it. You’re already beginning again.