5 fishing licenses and some thoughts on success // personal

success has many different faces. it can look like an award or a promotion, it can look like stacks of little green paper, or it can look like complete and utter exhaustion.

it's cliche, i know, but here are merriam-webster's various definitions for 'success':

  1. favorable or desired outcome; also: the attainment of wealth, favor, or eminence
  2. the correct or desired result of an attempt

therefore, if you've tried something, anything, and you've ended up where you'd hoped you would, you've succeeded. 

did you attempt to make hot, delicious, fresh coffee this morning, and did?! congratulations! you've succeeded. did you tell someone, genuinely, "thank you", with the hope that it would make them feel appreciated and valued? hooray! it worked! you succeeded. or, a year ago, did you hope that some day down the road you'd be in a better place, that you'd somehow, by some miracle of your own doing, be able to make it through whatever shit storm was clouding up your world at the time? hey, guess what? it's a year from then. and you're still you, and you're successful.

sometimes it really is about the tiny little victories.

this year has been a whirlwind for me. i didn't have a concrete plan when i came back home to moab in the spring, but i knew i wanted flexibility in my schedule, that i wanted to spend more time on photography, and that i absolutely wanted to get outside more, specifically to ride and run new trails and fish and float new rivers and streams. this morning i'm thinking about a fishing trip to a new place, with the best person, and about buying my fifth fishing license for the year. without a doubt there is always something to be working towards, ways in which you can make yourself better and do more for those around you, but this morning, with this cup of coffee, i feel pretty damn successful.

cheers to your monday. :)

and as a sort of unrelated follow-up, here are some photos from a recent trip down hells canyon on the snake river. there aren't really words big enough to describe these people or that place.