So, let me set the scene. A few months ago, I had big dreams. I was going to be the next startup genius, the CEO of something revolutionary. Investors? Lined up. Success? Practically guaranteed.
Fast forward to today: my bank account is emptier than my fridge, my "brilliant" business idea is now just a tragic memory, and tomorrow, I have to crawl back to my old office job with my tail between my legs.
But before that humiliation begins, I’m doing what every failed entrepreneur does best—I’m going fishing. Armed with my old fly fishing gear, a bruised ego, and a desperate need to reflect on my life choices, I head to the nearest lake, hoping a few fish will restore my dignity.
Step 1: Gathering My (Very Outdated) Fishing Equipment ��
You know you’ve hit rock bottom when even your fishing gear judges you. My once-trusty old ugly stik fishing rod looked at me like, “Oh, so NOW you remember me?”
I rummaged through my collection and found:
✅ Old fly fishing tackle that smelled suspiciously like regret.
✅ An over the shoulder tackle box that still had crumbs from the last time I went fishing… three years ago.
✅ A one piece Ugly Stik that had seen better days—much like my career.
✅ A pelican fishing tackle box full of rusty hooks and broken dreams.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I was going fishing or preparing for a funeral—probably both.
Step 2: The Existential Crisis on the Boat ��
As I floated on the water, gripping my Penn Slammer 3 3500 rod pairing, I had time to reflect.
Where did I go wrong? Was it the unnecessary office foosball table? The motivational speeches I forced my team to listen to? The fact that I spent more time designing a logo than actually making money?
My orvis encounter rod and reel combo sat in my hands, but I was too busy daydreaming about my future as a millionaire… or, more accurately, as a guy who would be sitting at his old office desk tomorrow, avoiding eye contact with his former employees.
I sighed and reached for my orvis dry bag, only to realize I forgot to pack snacks. Just like I forgot to make a backup plan for my failing business. Classic me.
Step 3: The Fish Show No Mercy ��
Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, I cast my line, waited… and waited… and absolutely nothing happened.
The fish, much like my investors, were completely ignoring me.
I switched to my peacock bass fly fishing gear, convinced that maybe, just maybe, I could salvage something today. Spoiler alert: the fish were still not interested.
Not even my Patagonia fly fishing waders could save me from the deep, suffocating sea of failure.
I looked down at my penn offshore rod and reel combo and sighed. It had been a long day of thinking, regretting, and not catching anything.
Step 4: Accepting My Fate (And My 9-5 Job) ⏳
As the sun began to set, I finally accepted the truth:
✅ My business had failed.
✅ My fishing skills were just as bad as my business decisions.
✅ I had no choice but to return to my office job tomorrow and pretend like the last six months never happened.
I packed up my old ice fishing gear, wiped the tears from my orvis women’s fly fishing gear, and started rowing back.
Tomorrow, I would sit at my desk, nod along to emails, and pretend I wasn’t just an unemployed guy with a Pelagic offshore gear addiction.
But hey—at least I got one last day of freedom. And maybe, just maybe, one day I’ll actually catch a fish.