There's a fisherman who goes out to sea every morning, regardless of the weather.
He casts his rod and sits by himself, waiting for service.
The tides tug and sway his little canoe designed specifically not just for one, but for himself.
He's acquainted himself with the rhythm of the water. He can tell the dry days apart from the wet ones.
Sometimes he catches salmon.
Other times he catches carp.
Always waiting patiently, always reeling the line.
He sets out every morning to play this game. Again, and again.
He's gotten creative with his tactics. He's figured out how to increase his time on the water by bringing a portable gas-stove on deck to enjoy his meals in distinction. He's worked out that the route north and south of the shoreline is about the same time as it takes for the sun to set.
The fisherman hasn't realized that he's gotten bored.
One morning he heads out and sits for a while. Nothing bites.
He hears nothing except the water and seagulls droning past.
If he listens any closer, he'll remember that he never set out to catch salmon or carp in the first place.