Hey, there...

On December 22, 2018, after 3+ years of chemo, a clinical trial, and a stem cell transplant, my dad died of leukemia.

(Don't worry. This story only starts sad.)

For as long as I can remember, Dad kept tropical fish. That meant when he died my mom became a defacto fishkeeper.

She was less than thrilled, but she tried—as valiantly as she could through her crushing grief—to keep those little guys going.

Of course, trying and succeeding are two different things. And by the time she decided to empty and sell her house last year, only one fish remained.

Putting Mom's house on the market meant trashing the now-murky-with-algae, 75-gallon fish tank. The handyman helping her asked, "So, what should I do with the fish in there?"

"Flush him, I guess," Mom said.

"LIKE HELL!" I yelled. "He's a living thing! You can't just... flush him!"

Which is how I became a fishkeeper.
He's a tetra.
His name is Hemingway.

I bought Hemingway a 5-gallon tank, a couple of plastic plants, and begged him not to die.

Only then did I do a little research.

Only then did I find out tetras are schooling fish, which means Hemingway needed friends.

Only then did I go to PetSmart and get schooled (ha) by a quite judgmental fish nerd about how my tank was too small for more than one tetra.

"You're doing it wrong," she chided. "You'll have to let that fish spend the rest of his life lonely and bored or you'll have to buy a bigger tank."

Which is how I came to install a 39-gallon tank in my office.

So now I look after five tetra, a bristlenose pleco, a couple of cory cats, a dumbo guppy, an albino shark, and a powder blue gourami. They're all named after authors.

And I quite like them.

Here's the pep talk, friends:

In business (and life) stuff goes off the rails. Sometimes, it's stuff out of our control. Other times, it's stuff that maybe shoulda-coulda been in our control, but we missed the memo. We make mistakes—of commission and omission. We make decisions that make no sense in the moment.

All of that stuff? It's redeemable.

So if you're in the "you're doing it wrong" stage of business (or life), hang on. Keep going. I'd be willing to bet that sooner than you think, you'll be at "I quite like them."

Your biggest fan,
Kell

P.S. My folks were married for 51+ years, and they met through Dear Abby. My youngest daughter wrote them a song for their 50th wedding anniversary, and Dear Abby published it on her Facebook page. If you want to see my Dad cry (and hear my kids sing), watch this.

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