Fishing for an Idea

In this episode, Fishing for an Idea . . .

“He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone for eighty-four days now without taking a fish.”

No, no, this is not the Gulf it's the Au Sable River . . . .

Smell - the crisp scent of the northern pines.

Focus - this is your enlightened creative self-expression talking. Place your inspired future front and center in your life.

Listen - can you hear the soft gurgling sound of running water? Cast your fly-rod into that swirling pool. There’s an idea there.

Wake-up!

Your eyelids flicker then instantly your eyes pop open. The clock on the dresser says 4:00 a.m. In a semi-consciousness state, you stumble out of bed. You make your way, in the dark, to that little room where the world has absolved you of all obligations to communicate with another human being. Privacy.

Face-it, we all do it - scattered thoughts as we talk to ourselves in our minds, especially when we’re dreaming.

Well, now that you're up - have a cup of coffee. One sugar and a little milk please Junior. Who am I talking to? Shaking your head, you realize, no one in their right mind is up this early, go back to bed. Right Junior?

The cat is sitting next to the refrigerator watching your every move.

You’re awake!

Your brain has already kicked into high gear. Thoughts exploding as bright white flashes. Words. Ideas. Stories. Suggestions. Information overload. Maybe it’s panic.

Or is it just the way I fish? Call it a habit, call it quirky, call it idiotic - but call it.

Early morning, when the house is quiet, is my most productive time. Deep down, in some peculiar way, we all know what our most creative time is. That special time of day when your gifts, skills, temperament, and experiences collide to synthesize ideas that've been churning in your brain. Put it to paper. Create something from nothing.

Huh, that begs the question, What is writing?

It's how I capture my creative ideas!

If the definition is, one who is paid to produce works that derive income or royalties, my answer to that is a resounding No.

However, if it's someone who every morning parks their hind-side at a desk and taps away at a keyboard attempting to clarify their thinking, improve written communication skills, synthesize experiences and knowledge, I emphatically say, Yes. I’ll leave it up to you, the listener to make your own assessment.

Ultimately it all comes down to fishing for your ideal lifestyle.

Let’s assume for just 60 seconds, all the tumblers in the universe align. You can picture in your mind's eye the work in which you would best shine. Why, because it taps into the best of who you are. The place where your gifts, skills, temperament, and experiences collide. Good luck!

Like The Old Man and the Sea, it’s obvious I need to get back to my fishing expedition. My creative journey for a fulling life, not work but my unique adventure.

Hah, maybe, I just need to take a nap and dream.

This is Patrick Ball, thanks for listening. See you in the next episode.

Comments

The Compass of Cuba: Mom

🎄 Preview of this week's On the Fly blog: A Holiday Tribute to Mom. As the holidays hustle with pixels and beeps, the world scrolls along in a smartphone-y sleep. I log off for a moment—just one little minute— To breathe in the past and to sit myself in it. My mind doesn’t wander to faraway places, Or trips full of tickets and new airport faces. Instead, it drifts backward, as memories do, to Cuba, Illinois, where the best moments grew. To a home full of warmth, in the wintry Midwest, Where my mother—dear “Marcie”—put love to the test. With a smile that could melt the most frigid of dawns, and hugs that hung on you like shivering fawns. She came from La Rochelle in France, brave and bright, Across oceans and war shadows, into new light. A town full of strangers soon felt like her own, And her courage built up the foundation of home. “Oh yes, we know Marcie!” the locals would say— “It's Doc Ball’s French lady! She brightens the day!” She cleaned, and she cooked, and sh...

Believing Is Seeing

🎄 In this episode, Believing Is Seeing . . . It's December, we bustle, we wrap, and we dash. We sort life into boxes— myths here, to-dos in a stash. We whisper of Santa (adult code: “Not Real”), but hold on one minute—let’s rethink this whole deal. For the stories we cherish, the movies we stream, hold more truth in their sparkle than we grown-ups may deem. So hop in this sleigh and hold on real tight— We’re chasing down Santa by the glow of his light! Scott Calvin once landed in the North Pole’s cold air, with elves, cocoa, and snow everywhere. He squinted and frowned—“This just cannot be so!” (Like thinking tangled lights will detangle if we blow .) Then Judy the Elf gave a cocoa so steaming, and said something simple . . . yet surprisingly gleaming: Seeing’s not believing—no, that’s not the key. "Believing is seeing!" Just trust, and you’ll see!” Kids don’t need a map or a satellite screen to know Santa’s workshop is her...

Stamps and Snow

In this episode, Stamps and Snow . . . You don’t usually walk into the local Post Office expecting a time warp . . . but here we are. All we wanted were stamps for this year's Christmas cards— yes, the old-fashioned paper ones that require licking, sticking, and hoping the Postal Service is feeling ambitious this week. But holiday errands have a talent for slowing you down, almost like the universe whispering, “Relax. You’re not getting out of this line any faster anyway.” So we waited. And while we waited, we talked (Are you surprised?). Because the Post Office is one of the few places where people still look up from their phones long enough to talk . . . Maybe it's because they're holding packages. It’s the modern town square: part civic duty, part free entertainment, part sociology experiment. The discussion began with holiday specials streaming on Netflix, Paramount+, and other services during this time of year. One gentleman who has lived in Vista since 1958 told us,...

Night Before Christmas

I n this episode, Night Before Christmas . . . (In the spirit of Edgar Albert Guest) I’ve wrestled with the tangled lights the way I always do— With just enough patience left to see the project through. I climb the ladder carefully; the years have taught me how. To take my time with every step and keep a steady brow. We hang the faded ornaments I’ve known since I was small, the chipped, the cracked, the tilted ones—I love them best of all. Santa’s lost a bit of paint, the stars’ leaning right, but oh, it casts a holy glow across the room tonight. The kitchen hums with activity, with laughter, and with cheer, as voices drift like echoes from a long-forgotten year. The floor is strewn with paper scraps, the clock is ticking slow, As Christmas finds its own sweet pace and sets our house aglow. The hallway grows a little still; the lights are dimmed, and low, Small shoes are lined in messy pairs to wait for morning’s snow. The fire's warm, the room is full, the world is deep and wide,...

On The Fly

Search This Blog