This week, I had planned to return from a Wyoming flyfishing adventure.

“Epic” would have been how to describe the trip prior to it slipping through my fingertips. I was supposed to have completed a Cutt Slam, caught four types of trout in several rivers, saw Yellowstone for the first time and spent time with my older brother, boyfriend and the founder of a flyfishing foundation taking in the sights! I also planned to drive through the Tetons, experience Jackson and slip into Idaho for the first time.

The adventure is right up my alley, yet I was anxious. Aside from historically having a distaste for long-term camping (and by “long-term,” I mean anything more than a day), I was worried about being the captain of it all. I was responsible for putting this trip together – what if someone didn’t have fun? What if no fish were caught or three days of flyfishing together was “too much”? Perhaps now is a good time to admit my flyfishing experience is extremely limited.

So, I suppose I felt a pang of relief when speaking with the guide who was sharing concerns about where we would fish and describing the changing conditions as the area has undergone some horrific flooding in the past few months. I offered up: If we postpone, we aren’t out anything. Nobody had booked anything, and if he felt it was better to push the trip to next summer, we were open to it. He sounded relieved and encouraged us to make that change.

Bummer.

But suddenly I had seven commitment-free days.

Within minutes I had dreams of replacing the trip with something else epic. What a perfect time pack my dog into the Subaru and spontaneously drive to the Rockies, a place I’ve visited only twice and but feel a constant calling to return.

Then I started thinking of more simple plans. I shaved down my PTO slightly and decided to enjoy three days off work leading into a weekend and planned a few projects at home. I took time to write, read, create and relax. Much needed!

Once the weekend came, I left my home to spend time at a cabin with my sister, her husband, and her kids. Watching those kids dedicate their days to catching frogs was priceless. A morning yoga session with my 4-year-old niece provided Zen in a whole new way. Our river swims were beyond refreshing in the heat we’ve had as of late, and I had the honor of guiding the kids’ first firefly chase far too late into the night – a joyful feat I don’t think any of us will forget. A few of the adults also gave into our curiosity at the late night bonfire when we heard what sounded like a distressed rabbit. We took a brave venture – guided by iPhone light – down a long path to track down the animal. We never actually saw it, but decided it was a racoon causing a ruckus in the treetops. Reason for distress: undetermined.

The concept was simple, but the memories are lasting.

I’ve given thought to plans, flows, and pivots over the last several days – why we make plans, what we hope to get out of them, how we feel when things don’t go as planned and whether we’re able to pivot to still enjoy something unexpected. I began wondering whether the simplicity of how a person spends time is an indication of happiness. If you’re happy at home, not doing much, you’re either a happy person or easily satisfied. Either way, isn’t that a good thing?

Don’t get me wrong: big vacations with riveting adventures are (usually) fun. But backyard fun sure holds its own we needn’t forget. I have no photos of amazing trout with a Wyoming backdrop, but I did find unexpected joy in the journey last week.

And now I have the Cutt Slam Adventure to look forward to next summer, extra time to use Minnesota rivers to make a habit out of staying untangled. So, until next year, you might catch me in a local river figuring out how I’m ever going to get that fly rod and line to work.

In the meantime, when things don’t go as planned — focus on finding joy in the pivot.

Shootin’ the Wit is a sporadic blog about everyday life that should never, ever be taken too seriously.