You Ever Feel Like You’re Just Waiting for the Right Wave?

There’s a particular kind of stillness that settles in after midnight—when the city exhales and your thoughts grow louder than any noise outside. That was my world last winter: walls painted in soft beige, a mug of chamomile cooling on the windowsill, and me, staring at a screen where waves ripple across an endless blue.

I didn’t come to Small Boat Fishing for fame or fortune. I came because it felt like something real—like a ritual made of light and motion. No one else was watching. No one needed to understand.

The Quiet Rhythm of Trying

At first, I played blindly—tapping numbers like they were prayers. But slowly, I began to notice patterns: the way certain rhythms echoed coastal tides in New Zealand (where my friend Kairo hails from), how some rounds felt like breath held before release.

I started tracking not just wins—but moments when my heart lifted even without money changing hands. A streak of three correct guesses? That wasn’t luck—it was presence.

It reminded me of art school days: we weren’t paid to create masterpieces; we were paid to feel deeply.

Not Winning Is Still Part of Winning

One night, after four straight losses, I almost closed the app out of frustration. But then I paused—and remembered something simpler:

We’re not here to be perfect fishermen. We’re here to be human.

And so I stayed.

I set limits—not because I feared losing money (though that mattered too), but because I wanted balance. A daily cap felt like setting boundaries with myself: You can care deeply—but not obsessively.

Like Kairo said: “Steady hands beat wild ones.” And yes—I learned patience through pixels and waves.

The Game That Listened Back

What surprised me most wasn’t the occasional win (though those sparkled like sea glass). It was how this little digital space became a mirror. When I lost? My chest tightened—but instead of running away from it, I named it: This is grief. Or anxiety. Or loneliness. And somehow… naming it made it smaller.

The game didn’t fix anything—but it gave me room to sit with what was true without judgment. That’s rare in today’s world.

Why We Need These Tiny Rituals Now More Than Ever

We’re taught that success means visibility—to post more, sell faster, achieve louder. But what if healing starts quietly? The truth is: we don’t need constant victory to be worthy. The ocean doesn’t stop rolling because one boat sinks. The same goes for us. Letting go doesn’t mean giving up—it means trusting your own current, your own rhythm, your own wave pattern.

The next time you feel stuck between who you are and who you think you should be—try this: Pretend you’re on a small boat floating somewhere far away, someplace where no one knows your name, someplace where all that matters is whether you choose to keep rowing anyway. The fish may never come—but your soul might breathe again.