The other day I watched a film called Salmon Fishing in the Yemen. I had heard about the film and every time i saw the dvd I looked at it and then talked myself out of buying it because my head said, #how could you possibly be interested in a film about salmon fishing?’ Each time I passed the film in the supermarket I dithered, one voice saying, ‘don’t be ridiculous’ and the other saying, go one, it looks rather appealling, get it.’ So finally I did.

I watched the film on my day off work, in the afternoon and I found myself getting drawn in. Could this crazy story really be capturing my interest? As the film went on I started to wonder, if it would be possible, could there be salmon fishing in the Yemen. I got caught up with the characters and their growing enthusiasm for the idea. And then I found myself marveling when it did work, and crying when disaster struck and then immensely relieved when it all worked out, just as the characters in the story felt as they inhabited their journey so did I.
At about the same time I was also reading a book called The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry and indeed the pilgrimage was very unlikely. But as I read the book on my bus journey to and from work again I found myself getting carried away with the story. I would laugh and sometimes feel my cheeks becoming moist from slow, salty tears making their way down them. When I would arrive at my stop, I would reluctantly close my book with a bus ticket as my marker. And that would be it. The story was finished until my return journey home, when I could lose myself in it again. And when the book comes to an end I feel a little sense of lose.
This reminded me of our life stories and why we hold ourselves back from losing ourselves in them as and when they come along. If we go along with the idea that life is this moment and it is only this moment that we can truly know, why hold back? Why not get lost in  the moment. It is only a moment after all. We carry with us so many old stories even long after we have closed the book. We try to take them with us when they can’t be taken. They can be retold and we can try to relive them but really that is impossible. You cannot recreate a story you have already lived.  Similarly there is no point in trying to imagine what the future stories might be, you can never really know what the stories in the future will look and feel like. You can only know this moment. Revel in it, it might be joyful, or sad, full of anger, fun, frivolity. It’s all you know. It is magical. Who knows, you might discover a great affinity with salmon and why not? It’s not as silly as it sounds.