The Moment: what happened
Snake River, Wyoming. Wade—sun-cured skin, permanent squint, twenty-five years on that river—was teaching me to guide fly fishing trips. That meant rowing a drift boat. All morning, forearms burning, shoulders screaming. Muscling the boat through every move. Work harder. Push through.
"Stop fighting the current," Wade kept saying. "Work with it."
Next day he sent me out with Earl—forty years on the water, looked every bit of it. He barely touched the oars. Micro-adjustments. The boat floated exactly where it needed to be. By noon I was exhausted. Earl looked like he'd been napping.
"Most guys over-row," he said. "Cooked by lunch with five hours left. Small moves, big results. Dance with the river—don't fight it."
The Moral: why it matters
Same thing in the surf. You can eat six waves on the head paddling out—or wait for a lull and glide through. The ocean doesn't care how hard you try. It's bigger than you.
You know the pattern. Forcing the conversation at midnight because you need resolution tonight. Sending email number seven to the prospect whose silence is already an answer. Defending your strategy when the room's already told you. Running through the injury because stopping feels like quitting.
Effort feels virtuous. But grinding against something stronger than you isn't persistence—it's just expensive. The current's going somewhere. Use it.
The Move: what to do about it
I still catch myself white-knuckling through things that aren't working. But I notice faster now. Ask: Is this a timing problem or an effort problem?
Gut Check: What are you fighting that could work for you?
—John Grover