Many moons ago, before the financial collapse of 2008, the expenses associated with being the parent of four kids, and Bidenflation, I was feeling a bit cheeky. We were doing some renovations on our first home to add a few square feet to accommodate our growing brood, and I thought to myself: If ever you’re going to do this, now is your chance.
So I had a 100-gallon saltwater fish tank installed in our dining room. I gave up half my closet space in the adjoining bedroom to make room for access and equipment.
And it was spectacular.
If you’re familiar with saltwater versus freshwater tanks, you already know that saltwater aquariums are far prettier, far more expensive, and far more delicate. The results, however, were worth the extra effort. I had a poisonous lionfish, an eel, a clownfish, and more. I had messed around with smaller tanks previously and knew that one small mistake (hint: watch out for those sponges that have detergent pre-added) can wipe out your entire menagerie, so I had a professional take care of it. Yes, it was extravagant, but I'm not one for expensive cars or fancy clothes (though I don't judge people who are), so I thought, what the heck, you only live once.
My friends called it my “James Bond moment.” I wish I had a photo handy, but it was the pre-digital photography days, and it would take me a week of going through shoeboxes to find one.
It was only a few years later that we realized we had outgrown the small house, and it was time to move on. But I have never forgotten my Hollywood villain moment.
A few years ago, I had a brilliant idea. The former owner of our latest house had built a bar—my wife initially wanted to rip it out day one, but eventually came to like it—and he had made a built-in frame for a piece of art he wanted to showcase. He took the art with him, so we were left with a large empty square staring back at us. The perfect place for a fish tank—but I didn’t have a few extra thousand sitting around for such a big task. What if we put a cheap TV there and streamed an aquarium?
Not to be too self-congratulatory, but it was pure, unadulterated genius. Many times, guests have been fooled into thinking it’s a real (million-dollar) fish tank.
We also like to put on a YouTube fireplace when it’s cold, and I swear to you, it makes you feel warmer (even if it’s all in your head).
It’s not something you leave running 24-7, though; usually we turn it on for special events and when people are visiting. In sum, a success—but I still missed my little live fishies. The solution? I bought a little 10-gallon tank and set it up, but compared to the saltwater magnificence of my earlier efforts, it was dull as dishwater. Then I discovered these little swimmers known as GloFish, which are brightly colored little freshwater guys that, under an LED light, do in fact appear to glow. I was getting closer to fulfilling my desires.
But not close enough—so I couple of months ago, I bought a 20-gallon tank on sale and added a plethora of GloFish, and it was beautiful. I had won—for a fraction of the cost (and work) of a saltwater tank. Victory was mine.
Until we went away for a weekend and I forgot to tell my mother-in-law to turn off the light every night (it should have been on a timer, but I hadn’t gotten around to that yet). “It looks a little green,” she remarked upon our return. My face fell in horror. A little green? In just a few days, my pristine body of water had turned into a murky, pea-soup disaster.
Since that time, I’ve spent far too much time googling what could cause such a thing and what to do about it. I’ve bought algae-killer, water clarifier—you name it. At one point, endless failure was starting to get to me, so I did the only thing I thought might solve the problem: the nuclear option. I emptied virtually the entire 20-gallon tank – which is a lot more water than it might sound like—and rebuilt everything from scratch. This is not recommended (understatement), as the shock and altered chemistry can cause all the fish to die. Luckily for me, most survived the ordeal and voila! There was my beauteous, bright tank—reanimated.
For less than a week.
Soon, the green crept back. As of today, you can barely see the fish. The algae is winning. My latest conclusion, backed up by the fine information online, suggests that the room simply gets too much sunlight for an aquarium. Although the rays never hit it directly, the room is bright and fills with sunshine each day (which, of course, we like). Meanwhile, there’s only one room in the house that doesn’t get lots of light—the aforementioned bar—but there’s no outlet available.
Tomorrow, an electrician comes, and we’re hoping he can install one, and I can move the tank.
What have I learned from all this? A simple lesson: life isn't easy. If you want something, chances are, you’ll have to work for it, and you very well may take many L’s along the way. I learned this playing golf: at first, you improve rapidly, and you think, "I got this," but then you face the reality: to improve your play by just a few strokes, you have to work your a** off and study the game and perfect your technique. Want to play the guitar? A few minutes a day isn’t going to cut it, friend—you might be able to put a few chords together after a bit, but to get good, you’ll have to devote hours and practice virtually every single day.
The same can be said of most things. You’re often faced with a choice: is playing guitar, or learning to cook, or developing a better short game important to me? If it is, then I’m going to have to work for it. This is a lesson that thankfully my kids have learned through sports and singing, and other endeavors. There are times you will decide, you know what, it would be cool to magically become a master auto mechanic, but am I willing to devote copious amounts of time and energy to become one? Maybe not. And that is OK.
In the case of my green fishtank, the truth is, my life would be fine without one. But I have learned something else about myself: I can be a stubborn SOB. Frankly, I’m pissed. How dare the forces of nature laugh in my face like that, especially when I tried hard to make it work?!
The lesson, the one I would impart to my kids: then try harder. So that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Wish me luck, readers, and I hope to be sharing photos of my brilliant new effort in the near future.
I intend to win.
