A Fishing Trip That Changed Everything

The "Not My Job" Moment

I never set out to write about love or relationships. Heck, if you’d told me ten years ago that I’d be the guy giving relationship advice for a living, I’d have laughed and gone back to covering coal miner strikes or Appalachian heritage festivals. But here I am, thanks to a canoe trip gone wrong and a near-accidental epiphany in the middle of the West Virginia wilderness.

It all started with the kind of blind optimism that only exists in small-town living: me, a rusty old canoe, and a misguided belief that I could catch dinner. My buddy Mike had sworn there was a quiet spot upriver “drowning in bass,” and I figured a lazy Sunday on the water might be the therapy I needed after a particularly horrendous breakup. My girlfriend of three years had called it quits just two months before, citing my “emotional unavailability” and “maddening way of making everything a joke.” Fair points, I suppose.

So, there I was, drifting down the Cheat River, miserable, mostly clueless about fishing, and absolutely done with thinking about relationships. But life’s funny that way—when you stop looking for answers, they usually hit you right in the face.

Literally, in my case.

The Capsize Revelation

About 20 minutes into my amateur-hour nature retreat, I hooked my line on an overhanging branch. I leaned over to untangle it (because Lord forbid I lose a $5 lure) and tipped the canoe in the process. One second, I was dry and brooding about my ex. The next, I was clawing my way out of waist-deep water, flinging curse words at an inanimate piece of aluminum.

If you’ve never been soaked head-to-toe in river water while carrying the existential weight of your romantic failures, I highly recommend it. There’s something about nature forcing you to hit pause on your internal pity party that rearranges your priorities real fast. As I dragged myself and my waterlogged ego back to shore, it hit me: I wasn’t just terrible at fishing; I’d been equally terrible at showing up emotionally in my relationships.

The “Oh” Moment

This wasn’t one of those tidy revelations you see on TV, where the lead character looks pensively into the distance as a triumphant soundtrack swells behind them. No, this was me sitting on a muddy riverbank, wringing out my flannel, muttering, “Oh. Crap.”

For the first time, I saw the connection between my tendency to compartmentalize emotions and my relationship struggles. My ex’s comment about emotional unavailability wasn’t just a jab; it was a mirror. I realized I’d been treating relationships the same way I treated that fishing trip: winging it, hoping for the best, and blaming bad luck when it didn’t work out.

And here’s where it gets ironic. That capsizing moment didn’t just help me see my shortcomings—it helped me realize what I actually wanted to do with my life. Stick with me; it gets better.

From Fishing Lures to Life Paths

After the trip, I couldn’t get the image of that soggy riverbank out of my head. It started to feel less like a moment of humiliation and more like a turning point. I reflected on stories I’d heard growing up in West Virginia—those epic love tales my grandparents used to tell, full of flawed, relatable people who figured things out the hard way.

I’d always loved telling stories but had never considered my own messy dating history as material. That all changed when I sat down at my desk one night, heading into one of those late-night writing trances that starts with coffee and usually ends with regret.

What poured out wasn’t polished or profound, but it was honest: a rambling essay about heartbreak, falling in a river, and the realization that understanding yourself is the first step to understanding anyone else. I sent it to a friend who worked at a regional magazine, joking that they’d probably use it as kindling. Instead, they published it. The response shocked me. People wrote in saying they’d laughed, cried, and, most importantly, felt seen. That was when I realized that connecting with people—through words, shared vulnerabilities, and a dose of humor—was my purpose.

What I Learned (and What You Can Take Away)

No, you don’t have to fall out of a canoe or have an existential riverbank meltdown to find your purpose. But there are some lessons I picked up from that ridiculous day that might just help you in your own journey, whether it’s love, self-discovery, or both:

  1. Stop Avoiding the Mess
    I’d spent years trying to dodge my emotional baggage, but here’s the truth: ignoring it doesn’t make it lighter. Whether it’s your relationship history or your deeper fears, leaning into the messiness is the only way to untangle it.

  2. You’re Learning Even When You’re Failing
    My breakup felt like a failure, but it forced me to reflect in ways I probably wouldn’t have otherwise. Failures aren’t the end—they're detours to exactly where you need to go.

  3. Don’t Wait for Perfect Circumstances
    If you’re waiting to try something new until "everything feels right," you’ll be waiting forever. I didn’t have a grand plan to write about love; I just started with what I knew and let it evolve from there.

  4. Find Humor in the Hard Stuff
    If you can’t laugh at yourself, you’re missing out on one of the most therapeutic tools out there. Humor doesn’t erase pain, but it makes carrying it feel a little lighter.

  5. Clarity Comes in the Chaos
    That capsized canoe wasn’t just a metaphor—it was an intervention. Sometimes, life’s most significant revelations show up when you’re at your soggiest, muddiest, least graceful self.

What's Your Riverbank Moment?

In the years since that fishing trip, I’ve joked that purpose is like love—it usually shows up when you’re not trying so hard to find it. These days, I channel my passion into helping others navigate their connections, which—ironically—feels more fulfilling than any relationship I've ever had. The best part? This path wasn’t mapped out, but it feels unmistakably mine.

So, whether you’re chasing clarity, romance, or your next adventure, I’ll leave you with this: Don’t underestimate the power of a wrong turn, a weird detour, or a literal dunk in the water. Sometimes, the keys to understanding yourself are buried in the moments you’d rather forget. Go ahead—get messy. Your purpose might just be waiting at the bottom of that river.