Sometimes routine becomes a kind of invisible cage. There are no bars, but you can feel it. In our case, the cage was made of blackouts, recurring problems, and conversations that kept going in circles. That afternoon, the three of us were talking about the same things as always… until someone said: —How about we go fishing?

It wasn’t a grand plan. We grabbed our rods, a few supplies, and headed to the seawall — that place where the city stops and the ocean takes over. We weren’t looking for big catches or records; we were looking for something else: entertainment, and a way to disconnect from a reality that sometimes feels too heavy.

The place welcomed us with salty breeze and a sky already hinting at the show to come. Between casting and reeling in, our conversations flowed more lightly. We talked about simple things, laughed at silly ones, and sometimes just stayed silent… watching the sun start to kiss the horizon.

We didn’t catch a single fish. Not one. But we realized fishing is much more than fish. It’s time, it’s company, it’s that pause your soul is thankful for.

As a photographer, I always carry my “other rod”: my camera. That day I cast my line toward the sunset, and what I caught was a moment that needs no fridge to be preserved. The sun framed by the clouds, the golden light filtering through the fishing rods, and the ocean reflecting a sky that looked like it had been painted by hand.

We went home with no trophies to show… except for the images and the certainty that some “catches” can’t be measured in weight, but in peace. And when you find that, it’s worth far more.