Take the Fishing Break

There are seasons of life when everything is good and everything is still loud. I think we sometimes have trouble admitting those two things can exist at the same time. We assume needing a break must mean we are unhappy, overwhelmed, or dissatisfied with the life we have built, when sometimes it simply means our minds have been running for a little too long without stopping.

I love the life I have built. I love being a wife and a mother, the routines of our home, the work I do, and the ordinary responsibilities that fill my days. I actually find a lot of comfort in those routines. But I have also learned to recognize the little signs that tell me my mind is getting full. I may notice that I am becoming less patient or that a perfectly normal question suddenly feels harder to answer because I am already thinking about three other things. There usually isn't anything wrong, and no one has done anything wrong. I have simply reached the point where a few quiet minutes would probably do me some good.

My grandmother has a name for those moments: a fishing break.

She has always been good at recognizing when she needs one. She can be right in the middle of doing something and decide that whatever she is working on can sit there for a little while. She rests, gives herself some time, and eventually comes back to finish what she was doing. There is no guilt attached to it and certainly no elaborate explanation. The world doesn't stop because she stopped, and the unfinished chore isn't going anywhere. She simply takes her fishing break and comes back to it later.

The older I get, the more wisdom I see in that.

My version might be twenty minutes with a book, sitting somewhere quiet, or even scrolling through something completely inconsequential. Sometimes I don't do anything particularly useful, which may actually be the most useful part. So much of our time is attached to an outcome that it feels almost strange to spend a few minutes without trying to accomplish something. A fishing break doesn't need to be productive enough to earn its place on the schedule.

For me, it isn't about escaping my life. It is more like routine maintenance for a life I very much enjoy. We understand the importance of maintenance when it comes to almost everything else we value. We charge batteries before they are completely dead, maintain the things we want to last, and stop for fuel before the tank is empty. There is no prize for waiting until something stops working before giving it attention, and I don't think we should expect that of ourselves either.

My husband has become good at recognizing these moments too. He will entertain our daughter while I disappear for a little while, and for those few minutes nothing is expected of me. Then I come back. The house is still the same, the responsibilities are still there, and usually whatever I was doing before is waiting exactly where I left it. The difference is that I return with a little more patience and a little more room in my head.

As our daughter gets older, I also think there is something worthwhile in her seeing that. I want her to grow up knowing that being capable doesn't mean constantly pushing yourself until you have nothing left to give. Sometimes being capable means knowing yourself well enough to recognize when you need twenty minutes. A chore can remain unfinished. The laundry will survive. Whatever you were working on can wait. Taking a short break before frustration spills over into the way you speak to someone you love is far more productive than proudly declaring that you never stop.

Maybe that is why I have grown so fond of my grandmother's phrase. "Fishing break" doesn't make rest sound like something that needs to be earned or justified. It isn't a dramatic declaration of burnout, and it doesn't turn an ordinary human need into another thing we have to optimize. It is simply permission to recognize when you've had enough for the moment, step away for a little while, and come back when you're ready.

There will always be another load of laundry, another email, another question, another lunch to pack, another task waiting to be checked off. Those things are part of a full life, and I am grateful for mine.

Sometimes I just take a fishing break in the middle of it.

Then I come back and keep living it.