My grandfather taught me all about fishing. Papa Harold would get up early in the morning, pick up the worms at the bait shop, and sit on his folding chair soaking up the sun until he had had enough (or dinner time, whichever came first).

When I was 10, I vividly remember going out to the Skokie Lagoons with Papa and my brother. I remember it because we didn’t even catch a single fish. Neither of us wanted to put the worm on the hook, but Papa took care of that, and we would cast the line into the water.

This time, he surprised us with two fishing poles each. With more than one pole, it was so tempting to keep checking each one to see if I had caught something.

My approach was to cast the line into the water, wait like 30 seconds, and slowly start to reel it in. Constantly vigilant of movement. Constant touching the rod, constant reeling it in and constant checking.

And then disappointed every time I would bring the line back in, hoping for a trout the size of my forearm and a proud Papa… and then seeing just the worm. Or worse, nothing.

That’s not a great way to catch fish, and I rarely did.

And all the while, I really missed out on the joy of fishing. It wasn’t always about what we caught. Looking back now that Papa Harold has been gone for 4 years already, I missed the point of fishing– being out on the water, spending time with Papa and my brother. and just enjoying what I was doing.

The next summer, I went to Maine for the first time. There, I ate my first Lobster. Setting up kitchen races in the kitchen with the live ones and then learning how to boil them.

I also learned how Lobster fisherman catch them. The traps are huge metal boxes that are weighed down by bricks. They bait the traps with mesh bags of dried fish, and there’s a one-way contraption that prevents the lobsters from escaping once they’re in. The traps sink to the ocean floor, about 20–100 feet, where they are just leave them for several hours or even days.

In the right season, it’s hard NOT to catch a lobster like that. And as long as it’s regulation size (and you have a permit) you can keep it (and eat it if you want).

Last week, I posted an image on Instagram after a few weeks of not posting. I had a strange feeling that reminded me so much of being a kid. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but then, over time, realized that the feeling was the same as going fishing with Papa.

I cast a line out. And I was constantly checking it. Did I get a bite? Who? How big?

When you cast a line out, are you constantly checking to see what’s biting? Are you afraid you’ll miss every little fish that comes to bite, meanwhile missing out on the joy of being out on the water with people you love?

Or are you leaving your trap on the ocean floor, baited and weighted, patiently living your life in the confidence that there will be a reward waiting for you?

What are you hoping to catch?

Caveday is a company aimed at improving your relationship to work. We write regular posts on Medium and send out monthly newsletters with productivity tips, life hacks, and recommendations. Sign up for the mailing list here.

Jake Kahana is a cofounder of Caveday. Sign up for his personal emails, called “The Email Refrigerator” here.