I went ice fishing with my friend and her dad once. I was a teenager and so cold I spent hours pacing the frozen lake in a weak patch of sunlight. That wasn’t even my first time. I’d gone ice fishing with family members in the past, so I knew what I was getting myself into.
My friend and I stayed up into the early morning hours cleaning and gutting fish. She’d told me her father was a master fisherman. I couldn’t disagree. Scales, heads, and guts were everywhere.
Looking back, I can’t tell if I was massively crossing my own boundaries or if I actually believed I would have a good time. I loved that family, and there’s a lot I would’ve done to feel accepted, and like I belonged with them. We were also in the middle of Wisconsin. It’s plausible that I was just that bored.