When I was 12, I caught the biggest fish of my life. I’m not talking “big for a kid” big—this thing was a monster by anyone’s standards. It was a pickerel about 20 inches long that I caught in a small pond by my house. I was so proud, grinning from ear to ear, imagining the stories I’d tell, the photos we’d take, and the admiration I’d get from my dad.

But there was one problem: my mom. She flat-out refused to let that fish anywhere near her kitchen until my dad got home. So, my prize was banished to the carport, where I carefully laid it out and kept watch, anticipating about the moment I’d share it with my dad.

Hours later, I heard his car pull into the driveway. I ran outside, heart pounding, ready to show him my triumph. And that’s when I saw it. The fish was gone—all except for the head. A stray cat had decided it was dinner.

I was devastated. All that work, all that pride, reduced to a dismembered trophy. But my dad, always calm and wise, looked at me and said, “Wow, that was a monster fish, look at the size of the head!” Did he mean it? Could he really tell how big the fish was? I hoped so, but was always a bit uncertain.

However, that moment taught me something I didn’t realize until much later: the real measure of success isn’t always about having the whole fish. It’s about the story you create, the effort you put in, and the pride you carry with you.

In sales and leadership, there will always be cats—unexpected challenges that eat away at what you’ve worked so hard to achieve. But true leaders don’t let setbacks define them. They focus on what’s left, not what’s lost, and they find a way to make it count.

The head of that fish taught me resilience, perspective, and the importance of owning my success—even when the whole picture isn’t there. And honestly? I’ve caught a lot of big fish since then, but none taught me a lesson as valuable as that one.