Ice Fishing as Spiritual Practice

Being Alone and Being Lonely are not the same

There is an apocryphal story told about the Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung. I heard it from a minister who heard it at a conference from a nun—this was 40 years ago. Who knows if it’s true, but it conveys a truth like a good myth. It goes like this.

A middle-aged man went to see the good doctor due to an ongoing malaise—one of those hard-to-identify issues where something feels off. Perhaps his physician, wife, or co-worker suggested it was time to seek help. The man sits with Dr. Jung and describes his symptoms: melancholy, annoyance with his children, belittling remarks toward co-workers, and poor sleep. After a while, Jung prescribes, “I want you to go home and set aside one hour each week to be by yourself.” That’s it. The man follows Jung’s advice and plans with his family and colleagues to ensure he is not disturbed during this hour. The first week passes, and the man feels great after his hour. The following week, he becomes restless after 30 minutes and picks up a novel. Then, a week later, he puts Beethoven on the phonograph. By the fourth week, he could not stand it after just 10 minutes. He returns to Dr. Jung’s office and shares all this activity. Jung responds, “I didn’t tell you to spend time with a novel or Beethoven. I said to spend an hour with yourself.” Exasperated, the man replies, “A whole hour with just myself? Why, I’d go nuts.” Jung responds, “You mean to tell me you can’t spend one hour with the same person you inflict on everyone else for the rest of the week?”

After wandering among the ice fishermen at Barbin Pond last week, I thought of that story. We’ve had a cold January this year. That deep freeze has transformed the ponds into opportunities for ice skating and the unique practice of ice fishing. This ritual, more common in the upper Midwest, involves men—though not exclusively—staking out a small plot of ice, boring a hole through it, dropping a line, and then waiting. In Minnesota, the capital of ice fishing, it's not unusual for elaborate ice houses to be constructed, some equipped with modern conveniences. But on this day, the men I spoke to basic chairs and the essential beverages. Drop a line and wait. One gentleman answered my inquiry about whether he had any luck by saying, “Yes, indeed, just being here makes me a very lucky man.” He later told me he felt somewhat blessed. I often find that people use the words lucky and blessed as different terms to describe a sense that, at least in that moment, life is good.

Ice fishing might not be the first thing that comes to mind when considering ways to connect with the sacred, but outdoors, on a bright, sunny, crisp day, denying the feeling of being lucky is tough. Sitting on a five-inch-thick slab of ice and staring down a round hole for hours may not be precisely what Dr. Jung prescribed, but I suspect it could still be effective in our easily distracted culture. Ice fishing might be seen as a meditation or a way to spend time with your thoughts and soul. Perhaps in the summer, sitting by a campfire could evoke something similar.

Often, when I share the story about the man and his visit to Dr. Jung, I receive reactions centered on how bored people might feel. One person told me, “Oh God, that sounds awful. I can’t stand being by myself.” For years, I viewed that response through a rather judgmental lens. I believed the person was somehow inferior and elevated myself to an abstract sense of superiority. Recently, I found myself alone—no phone, no music, no podcast, no book, just me. Even though I was in a beautiful location, I noticed how agitated I became after about 20 minutes. Who knows how long it had been since I intentionally left my watch in the car? I tried to fight through it, pushing myself toward a goal I had no way to measure. Finally, another hiker startled me as he came around the bend. Unlike my usual introverted self, I decided to strike up a conversation. Being alone and doing nothing is hard; facing your own thoughts is tough.

In the first and second centuries, a few men and women left the culture and walked into the desert, forming what became a precursor to the monastery. These desert fathers and mothers had a saying, “Your cell will teach you everything.” Spend enough time alone, and you’ll learn much about yourself, your demons, and your God.

In a piece titled The Anti-Social Century, Derek Thompson of the Atlantic details our increasing loneliness, a new pandemic. Citing multiple statistics, interviews, and observations, Thompson reinforces what our most recent Surgeon General identified as an epidemic of loneliness and social isolation. “Far too many Americans lack social connection in one or more ways, compromising these benefits and leading to poor health and other negative outcomes.”

On one hand, being alone can teach us profound lessons; on the other, loneliness can lead to poor health. It’s important to distinguish between being alone and being lonely. I enjoy being alone when focused on writing, photography, planning, listening to music, or reading books. Yet, as mentioned earlier, I can feel quite lonely if I’m left alone.

Human beings crave attention. Any parent knows this from the moment their first child is born. A wail from your son or daughter suggests you need to pay attention. Over time, we all continue variations on that infantile act of wailing, eventually developing more sophisticated tools for getting attention. Hopefully, we minimize the wailing.

Our current challenge is navigating a digital world where attention is commodified. Even more importantly, the tools of that commodification—Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and others—are designed to tap into our deepest human needs, namely attention (how many likes did your latest post get?). On a fundamental level, we measure our status as humans—or what many religious traditions may refer to as our Child of God status—based on how many “friends” appreciate us. That’s a rather sad place to have arrived.

On a soul level, our deepest value is more significant than click ratings. There’s an opportunity to reinterpret Martin Luther’s message: You are righteous not by your social media status but by the perspective that God, the divine, or the sacred (however you choose to define it) has towards you. That attitude of warm embrace is natural and exists beyond us.

But how do we do that?

During a recent retreat I led, I had the participants engage in a simple exercise. While listening to “All My Favorite People” by Over the Rhine as a mantra, I asked everyone to write a thank-you note to one of their favorite people. Given that the song’s lyrics feature the refrain, “All my favorite people are broken, believe me, my heart should know,” the tone and writing choice created a significant moment for the group. As we concluded our day together, one participant shared that the exercise was the most moving part of the weekend and that it was a practice she intended to continue.

We need to be alone, and we need other people. Learning to do both well is key to a spiritually mature life. The ice fisherman of Barbin Pond might be on to something.

More to Come,

P.S. In the coming weeks, I’ll be launching a second substack newsletter focused on the art of photography. There will be a link to test out a free subscription, with no obligation to stay. Look for that next week. As a companion to these Notebooks, it will be called Photobooks. Yes, these Notebooks will continue on a twice-a-month schedule. The Photobooks newsletter will be in addition.

James Hazelwood is an author and photographer of several books, most recently Dreaming as Spiritual Practice. His website is www.jameshazelwood.net