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No one promised him a good catch — he went out to sea anyway

September 7, 2026

No one promised him a good catch — he went out to sea anyway

I shot this at sunset near Koh Phangan — the sky burning orange all the way to the horizon, and on the calm water, a single small fishing boat, heading out into the open sea even though the day was almost over. I stood there watching it for a long time, thinking: no one guaranteed this man a good catch tonight. He might come back nearly empty-handed. There might be a storm. He went out not because he's certain of the outcome — that kind of certainty simply doesn't exist in his line of work. He went out because someone at home is waiting, and tomorrow's money only comes from what gets done today, not from what was decided to be done someday.

There's more real faith in that, I think, than in loud declarations that everything will definitely work out. A fisherman's faith isn't certainty about the catch. It's the willingness to go out to sea again, even after a day the net came back empty.

People often come to me for a reading in a very similar state, just on land. Someone applying for a new job for the fortieth time with no guarantee. A mother who keeps trying to talk to her grown child, even though the last five attempts ended in silence. Someone going back to the doctor again, even though the previous tests cleared nothing up. None of them can be certain of the outcome. But they go out to sea one more time — because not going out today guarantees nothing tomorrow, and going out at least leaves a chance.

This isn't only about money and work. The same is true of love, which guarantees nothing in return, of trying to start a conversation that might not land, of a decision with simply no predictable outcome.

I don't promise outcomes — that would be dishonest, and I'm not in the business of predictions at all. Sometimes the only truly honest thing I can do is help someone see their own boat, and the sea it's still worth going out into.

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The sun fully set about twenty minutes later that evening. By then the boat was barely visible — just a small point, still moving in its own direction.

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