Be the Goldfish
Not the “I Just Work Here” Person
I have a coworker who, every time I give her the look, flaps her hands beside her face like fins and makes little fishy lips.
If you’re a nurse, you know the look. It’s the one that says, what on earth is happening right now? The one you share across the ER when all the rooms are full, the call lights won’t stop dinging, and the IV pump won’t stop beeping.
It’s the universal “how is this my life?” look.
A few months ago, after the third time she did her little goldfish routine in one shift, I finally asked her, “Okay, what exactly are you doing?”
She smiled, still making her fins, and said, “Goldfish.”
“Goldfish?” I asked.
“Yeah. Goldfish only have a three-second memory.”
Now, that’s not exactly true (apparently, goldfish are a lot smarter than they get credit for). But the message stuck — because what she really meant was: let it go.
Don’t hang onto the nonsense. Don’t replay the chaos. Don’t let one rough moment ruin the whole shift. Just reset, breathe, and keep swimming.
And honestly, “Be the goldfish” sounds a whole lot better than “I just work here.”
One says, I choose peace.
The other says, I’ve checked out.
A Lesson in Grace (Right There in the ER)
Here’s the thing — this coworker isn’t just funny. She’s one of those rare people who can hold steady when everything around her feels like it’s spinning.
I’ve worked alongside her for about a year now, and she continues to be one of the best nurses (and humans) I know. She has this unshakable calm about her — not because she doesn’t care, but because she refuses to let chaos have the final word.
She’s taught me more about grace under pressure than any training or textbook ever could.
When things go sideways — and they always do — she somehow stays centered. There’s no panic in her eyes, no frustration in her tone. Just a deep breath, a clear plan, and a quiet kind of confidence that says, we’ll handle it.
It’s the kind of presence that steadies everyone else in the room.
And now, every time a shift gets a little nutty, we make eye contact and just say, “goldfish.” It’s that reminder that peace is a choice you practice, not something you stumble into.
Why It Matters
There’s a saying I’ve heard often in nursing: you can’t pour from an empty cup. But I think sometimes we try to pour from one that’s cracked and half full, anyway.
We carry every bit of tension from one room to the next. Every delay, every demand, every hard conversation, every moment that didn’t go as planned or expected.
But the truth is, you can’t give your best care — or your best self — if you’re still replaying the last thing that went wrong.
That’s where the goldfish mindset comes in.
It’s not about caring less. It’s about caring better.
It’s remembering that every new moment deserves a fresh start — and that the only way to make it through the hard ones is to keep resetting as you go.
Beyond the ER Walls
The funny thing is, this little “goldfish” idea works far beyond the hospital, too.
Because life has its own version of the ER — the rush, the interruptions, the moments that make you want to throw your hands up and mutter, “I just work here.”
Even with grown kids and a quieter home life, I still find myself needing that reminder — to not hold on so tightly to what’s already happened, to let small things pass through instead of stick.
The goldfish mindset is a kind of mercy. It gives you permission to stop carrying every irritation, every guilt, every small stumble that doesn’t deserve space in your day.
It’s a habit of release — not because everything’s fine, but because you deserve to be fine.
Choosing Calm Over Control
One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned in nursing (and in life) is that control is mostly an illusion.
You can plan, prepare, and show up with the best intentions, and something will still fall apart. Someone will still say something sideways. The computer will crash, the patient will crash, or you’ll just hit that point where you crash because it all feels like too much.
But being the goldfish means choosing calm anyway.
It means saying, this moment doesn’t get to define me.
It means taking a breath and beginning again — not because everything’s fixed, but because you’re choosing peace over perfection.
That choice is what keeps us human.
A Short Memory and a Steady Heart
I’ve come to admire how my friend doesn’t just say “be the goldfish” — she lives it.
She doesn’t get swept up in drama or gossip or chaos. She deals with what’s in front of her, does it with kindness and competence, and then she lets it go.
It’s not indifference; it’s wisdom.
She knows the difference between what needs her attention and what doesn’t deserve it.
And that, I think, is what so many of us are trying to learn — not just at work, but everywhere. To stop giving so much of ourselves to things that won’t matter by next week. To conserve our energy for what actually does.
What the Goldfish Teaches Me
Every shift, I’m reminded: peace isn’t passive. It’s something you build in small choices — over and over.
It’s in the decision to pause before reacting.
To take a breath instead of an attitude.
To start over when you could spiral.
And it’s in that moment of shared laughter — two nurses in the middle of the madness, flapping their “fins” and finding a little levity when everything feels heavy.
That’s the kind of energy I want to carry forward — not just at work, but in life.
Because there’s always going to be something trying to steal your peace. But there’s also always the choice to let it go.
Keep Swimming
So when the shift hits that point where nothing makes sense and everything’s on fire, I think of her — steady, smiling, fish fins flapping — and I can’t help but laugh.
It’s my cue to breathe.
To shake off the nonsense.
To reset and keep going.
Because the work doesn’t stop, but neither does grace.
And sometimes the smartest, kindest thing you can do — for your patients, your coworkers, and yourself — is forget what just happened and move forward like it never did.
Be the goldfish.
Keep swimming.
