A story about three carnival goldfish becomes a reflection on parenting, personal growth, grief, resilience, therapy, and why healing ourselves prepares us for whatever comes next.
Dear fellow travelers,
As I write this, the first month of summer 2026 is drawing to a close. I thought June was going to be about productivity and organization. Instead, it turned out to be about life lessons and self-reflection on what matters the most and where I most want to invest my time, attention, and energy.
As I drove home to Austin after visiting my brother in the hospital, I found myself reflecting on the life lessons that arrived in unexpected ways—lessons that were simply about showing up, doing my best, and finding the next right step.
Somewhere between Hillsboro and Waco on a crowded I-35, my thoughts drifted back to one of my very favorite essays. It started out as a reflection on a parenting “yes” and the “digging deep” that followed when it turned out to be a lot more complicated than it first appeared. Four years later, it shifted to become a reflection on why we keep working on ourselves, even when the progress is slow and hard to see. Today, three years from the latest revisit and seven years from that fateful carnival, it’s about something else.
Enjoy, fellow travelers.
2019
Personal Growth Begins with Showing Up
“So, Mom, if we won a fish at the booth, would you let us take it home?”
I took a deep breath and braced myself for what I knew was coming.
“Yes.”
Angel held up his ticket and grinned at me. As he ran off, I heard him call to his brother, “She said we could take them home if we won them!”
We left their school’s carnival with two goldfish and picked up a third in the parking lot from a friend (and her very grateful mother). We went to our neighborhood pet store and bought $112 worth of fish supplies for the three “free” fish. We went home and set up the tank.
Shark, Gray, and Stripe happily swam around in their new home. We had a long chat about the impact of relocation trauma on fish life expectancy and the likelihood that they wouldn’t survive. We agreed we were going to take care of them to the best of our ability while they lived with us. A few hours later, I pried Giovanni away from watching them to go to bed.
Gray and Stripe died overnight.
We went back to the pet store the following morning with the intention of buying replacement fish. By the time we arrived home, we had more fish supplies ($93.66) and new knowledge about fish care following an informative lecture by Jessica, the employee who helped us. We felt good about our plan to try to improve our tank’s water quality and then purchase more fish after two weeks of treatment.
We now knew how to give Shark a better quality of life and were ready to put our new plan into action.
We walked in the house and found him dead in the tank.
Angel was devastated. Shark had been his fish.
I validated his sadness and hugged him.
Loss is hard, even when it’s a fish that you possessed less than 24 hours.
I began a new routine the following day. Every morning for two weeks, I poured a capful of two different water treatment chemicals into our fish tank that had no fish. Then I turned on the light for the fish tank that had no fish to balance the nitrogen level.
Do I regret that I said yes to the fish? Absolutely not.
There were some good life lessons in this experience. For the boys and for me.
We learned that sometimes, despite our best efforts and intentions, things don’t work out as we had hoped and big feelings arise as we make space for the disappointment. If we don’t make space for the feelings, we are vulnerable to impulsive reacting (buying replacement fish) that won’t address the real issue (unhealthy water).
I learned that treating the water was much harder than replacing the fish. It was quiet work that elicited a deep sigh when I thought about the fish who were not swimming in the tank. It required me (us) to be brave and resilient and was a lot less fun than buying shiny, colorful replacement fish that could have distracted us from disappointment and frustration.
Why treat the water?
We treat the water because we have hope and faith that our future will yield a different outcome because of the choices we make today.
2023
Personal Growth Begins Within
A dear friend texted me an hour or so after the newsletter was published.
“We treat the water because we have hope and faith that our future will yield a different outcome because of the choices we make today.”
“This. OMG THIS!! So, so good!”
That same line called to me later that day, following a session with a tearful client who asked me, “Why should I bother working on myself in therapy when my relationships never work out?” The line and the story didn’t occur to me until hours after our therapy session ended.
Here is the response I would have given her then:
Why should you bother working on yourself? Because, beautiful one, you are the water. Your relationships are the fish. Some fish will last a very brief period of time and others will remain for a very long time.
Regardless of their longevity or hardiness potential, no fish can survive unless the water is healthy. The water is not dependent on the fish, but the fish depends on the water for survival. The fish will change the water, absolutely, but the water tending is not the responsibility of the fish.
It is our responsibility. We cannot enjoy the fish if we are unwilling to care for the water that sustains them.
That is why we treat the water.
2026
Personal Growth Is Tending the Water
And here is the response I would give her now, four years and some hard-earned wisdom later:
Why should you bother working on yourself? Because, beautiful one, you are the water that is contained in the body, mind, and heart that you use to navigate your life.
Your relationships, your goals, your talents, your struggles, the painful memories of what didn’t work out, your gratitudes… those are the fish that swim in your water.
Some fish will last a very brief period of time; others will remain for a very long time.
Some will display beauty and keep you captivated as they swim around in your water; others won’t, and you will find a way to make space for them anyway.
We kept that fish tank going for about five years after Shark, Gray, and Stripe died. We had some beautiful fish. The longest-lasting resident? A dojo loach named Hooch who seemed to live life on his own terms. He was a lot of fun for the years he lived in our water.
What I know for sure is this.
Regardless of their longevity or hardiness potential, no fish can survive unless the water is healthy. Yes, the fish will bring their own genes and experiences to the water, and that will certainly contribute to survival. But that water must be a good habitat for the fish to thrive and flourish.
The water is not dependent on the fish, fellow travelers. It existed before the fish entered the space and often will remain as the fish cycle in and out.
But the fish need the water to be healthy for survival.
We cannot enjoy the fish if we are unwilling to care for the water that sustains them.
That is why we treat the water.
Sometimes tending and treating our water is joyful.
Other times it isn’t.
It may feel lonely. Isolating. Even like grief when we miss the colorful, shiny fish that filled our water with joy.
It may even feel like nothing is happening when the water is actually healing itself in ways we cannot see and preparing for new fish to move into the tank.
Keep treating the water, fellow travelers.
Ubuntu.
Jennifer
Continue the Journey
If you enjoyed this reflection and are interested in exploring similar themes of personal growth, resilience, healing, and hope, I invite you to browse other essays in the Still River Reflections collection.
How to Stay Hopeful in Difficult Times
Author’s Note: This reflection began as a blog written for the Rawson Saunders School newsletter in 2019. That original version remains the intellectual property of the school. It was substantially reimagined and expanded for Still River Counseling, PLLC in 2023 and again in 2026, reflecting the ways our understanding of life’s lessons continues to grow over time.
