Growing up on a goldfish farm is something I treasured. The place was magical. Fed by a network of creeks and streams, the farm sat in a natural wetland surrounded by a forest. In the morning, the mist would rise from the Fish ponds, creating an idle haze over the many acres. But underneath this beauty was a lot of hard work. The days were long, and the tasks were endless. In the current COVID crisis, I’ve been thinking a lot about the place.

My great grandfather started Hunting Creek Fisheries in the late 1920s. Allegedly President Roosevelt purchased goldfish from him with Winston Churchill in tow. Storied stuff. Camp David, then called Shangri-La, is a mere four miles away. My grandfather assumed leadership. He was passionate about aquaculture, modernized the business, and grew it over time. He passed it onto my father and aunt. My cousin oversees the business today.

Back in the early 1980s, the place was booming. I remember my dad working countless hours on the farm. For a time, we lived on the property, but he was a ghost. He poured himself into his job. He was a young parent and I suspect he partly hid in the work, but he also cared about the family business. Because of his work ethic, he had to miss many occasions that were important to me. I coined a phrase to try to change his mind: “Of course you have to go to work. The fish don’t know it’s my birthday.” I wanted him to feel guilty.

I would insert the appropriate holiday, occasion, or need: “The fish don’t know it’s Christmas.” “The fish don’t know it’s graduation.” “The fish don’t know I need a ride.” On and on. The fish didn’t know a lot. Over time, we have reconciled his absence. And, as it turns out, fish have memory. The three-second myth is just that, but, I would argue, the fish don’t know it’s science.

I did not follow in my family’s footsteps. The fish were not for me. Instead, I had a successful career in the performing arts – behind the scenes, not in front. In the spring of 2019, I walked away from it to become a full-time dad. Grateful for the opportunity, I planned to stay at home for six to eight months, and then start looking. In January, I began teaching. The workload was going to increase in the fall. I was easing back into the fray. A search firm reached out to me for a high profile job, requiring a significant move. Exciting. I still had it! My husband and I began investigating a potential relocation. Then, COVID struck, and it all went away. So, I continued to assume daily child-care duties, drink too much wine, and wallow in what could have been. That is when I had an epiphany.

The fish don’t know.

I began to wonder if a phrase created to sting, could instead become an affirmation. And, by reimagining it, could I carve out a process to help me get unstuck. COVID has affected so many people, upending their lives in ways more dramatic than mine. I’m hoping the fish can help us all move forward at a time when everything feels as if it’s in stasis. Here’s the deal: The fish don’t know we’ve hit pause. And, that’s good.

The fish don’t know you feel like a fraud.

Imposter syndrome haunts many of us. Having stepped away from a career and now considering a re-entry is beyond daunting. It does not help that the job market is at an all-time low. For many who have lost their job, I’m certain the feelings are similar if not angrier. Once, I picked myself up from the initial blow of work oblivion, I found myself stuck in a cycle of toxic self-doubt. Why would anyone hire me now? What do I have to offer? Who would give me the time of day? I’m irrelevant. I was a SPOD (Sucking Pit of Despair). Then I realized, I’m the only one doing this to myself. This is is an opportunity to think and promote myself in a different way. I don’t need to focus on what the career trajectory should be. I don’t even want to do what I was doing before. I need to focus on how I can add value because adding value negates being unqualified. Let’s embrace this philosophy, rather than hide from it. There is an opportunity for us to do the work we’ve always wanted to do. Our value proposition can be our guide.

The fish don’t know where you worked.

The idea of place and placemaking is a darling concept for philanthropists. The pandemic reiterated not only how addicted we are to places, but also how those places can vanish in a flash. Aside from our homes, attachment to a place now seems odd. Often, we connect work with a place. When we talk about our work, we talk about where we worked. We assume others know what we’re talking about. Suddenly, places feel pompous. But, if we distill our work down to its core, rather than attributing it to a place, it becomes more meaningful. For me, I gave tools to artists. Those tools allowed them to create something, and feel supported while doing it. That is my truth. Some of the fancy places I worked don’t even exist anymore. Let’s detach ourselves from these places, and focus on what we’ve learned. This is not only a fair and equitable approach to our collective experience but helps to inform our value proposition. Move the knowledge to the top of the resume. Let’s promote our skills, not the places where we worked. Places are more fleeting than we thought.

The fish don’t know you have an MBA.

This is a good thing because MBAs are bad now. Regardless, I did it. Yes, I can sound like I know what I’m talking about in a room full of finance people. But, yuck! Going back to school allowed me to present a constant stream of diverse content. I generated gobs of it and received uncensored feedback from experts and peers. I met demanding deadlines with teams. I remembered how to be an active listener. And, I made sure whatever story I was telling, be it numbers or narrative, was cohesive. This was an exercise in refinement. But, you don’t need an MBA to do this. We’ve all had to overcome an obstacle or work with a group of people to finish a task. Experiencing criticism and working against deadlines was par for the course pre-pandemic. While neither are often positive, we can learn from those experiences because they prove we are adaptable. Adaptability is more important than a piece of paper. For me, I adapted to the demands of graduate school, but before attending, I adapted to new cities, new environments, and new demands. I have never said the word contango since graduating. Even thinking about times when I’ve had to adapt to something new, has been a helpful guidepost in navigating this journey.

The fish don’t know it’s your birthday.

The art of caretaking needs to be more celebrated than it is. Many of us have cared for or nurtured someone or something in our lives. I like to think I was nurturing to friends, plants, and the occasional goldfish. No amount of nurturing prepared me for the epic change that took place when a child entered my life. Priorities shifted immediately. I was creating structures and setting boundaries for another human. Work took a back seat because I need(ed) to be present. I didn’t want to miss anything. Now, fifteen months in, I realize that sometimes I have to let the crying continue as hard as it may be. And, I acknowledge that walking away can sometimes be healthy. A little bit of danger and a little bit of space is sometimes necessary for natural growth to happen. When my dad left to go to work, he still loved me, but also, he knew I would be ok. Leaving can be a gift. He gave me the space to understand I was everything I needed to celebrate or solve a problem. Let’s use this time of introspection to understand how to do both for ourselves. We are often all we need.

So, what else do the fish not know? Think about it. If you’re stuck, throw your frustrations into the pond and let the fish help you push through it. I’m confident they will provide a new perspective. The landscape ahead will be different. But, because the fish don’t know, we have more freedom to see a path forward. Reinvesting in ourselves and what we have to offer is time well spent. The fish can help us think less about what we should be doing, and spend more time promoting the value we can bring to ourselves and others.

Photo Credits

Goldfish pond Image by jia xu from Pixabay

Goldfish – by pouria oskuie on unsplash

Guest Author Bio
Ian Tresselt

Ian is a freelance copywriter, collaborator, and recovering nonprofit executive.  He lives in Maryland with his husband and daughter.  Ian is passionate about design and likes to collect mid-century seascape paintings.