What was once a form of childhood punishment, albeit ineffective for kids who’s goal was to conquer the playground, being forced to sit still in “time out” never seemed to produce the same results as a good whack on the fanny. However, as an adult, staring around the cubicle of life, “time out” has become a vital lifestyle of healthy selfishness.

Time lounging on a beach, a pier, or boat, with rod and reel in hand, and fish stink on your clothes, is self prescribed medicine no pharmacist could offer to calm the mind and soothe the heart. Often, it’s just what the doctor ordered. A simple chair propped along the sandy shoreline, if only for a morning, is the right dose for me. Too much “time on” creates a life lived in the red.

Though my burdens may sometimes feel like a ton of lead weights upon my shoulders, at this moment, I’m choosing to live life as if my burdens rest like a ton of feathers. The salty medicine I swallow, while slouching in my portable chair, is chased with the intermittent champagne that bubbles at my feet. It’s as good as a two fish combo only reviled by the sweet tea I drink.

I believe there’s little which bolsters a fisherman’s spirit more than a fishing rod in hand and fresh fish in the bucket. As the moon bids adieu and tips its cap to the rising sun, we’re summonsed to the beach and compelled to wet a line, or two. It’s the only pastime where leaving the field, course, or court with zero points is not wished upon, but wholly acceptable.

So here I sit. I’ve been known to do so for hours, watching nothing more than my rod tip flutter with the tide. If I wanted to catch fish, I would try. On this day, I decided to let the fish swim unencumbered by my hook, line, and sinker. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be more of a surf fishing threat, but for now, I’ll take two of these and try again in the morning.