The Fishing Invitation

I was out to lunch with a friend last week when my phone buzzed in my pocket. To ensure that it wasn’t a work-related message that required attention, I pulled my phone out and glanced at the screen. On it, I saw the beginning of a transcribed voice message:

Jesse. This is probably a long shot. But would you be able to go permit fishing…

I chuckled.

“Listen to this,” I said and read the cutoff invitation to my friend.

It’s said that every received text message, email, and digital notification is a little shot of dopamine and this is why we are so interested in them and seek them out: it biologically feels good every time it happens. It’s addictive and I’m as guilty and susceptible as anyone to these effects. But placing my phone back in my pocket and saving my half-read fishing invitation for later was like a time-release drip of the drug — even better than the come-and-gone text message. I felt the possibility of a fishing adventure in my pocket, just waiting for me to give it my full attention and then entertain it with a daydream of what could be, the permit I might catch, and the permit shot I would likely blow.

In reality, I didn’t need to read the rest of the message to know that, most likely, I couldn’t go on the trip. Still, I relished the flattery of the invitation and the possibilities it held. Because, until I actually turned the offer down, it was still conceivable. And, who knew, maybe it was an all-expenses-paid trip, over a year away!

For these reasons and more, the fishing invitation is a very special kind of communication and certain dopamine hit. It’s the offer of our favorite meal, washed down with our favorite beer; an itch that always needs scratching but isn’t always within reach. It is exactly what we want to hear, each and every time we hear it. So we savor it. Why turn it down before we have to?

While I commend the ability of those who answer such queries immediately and I admire their discipline, that’s typically not my style. As most of my friends will attest, I am much, much better at considering ideas and options than deciding on them. My method for responding to fishing invitations involves a dynamic, opaque decision tree that takes into account considerations such as — but not limited to — past, present, and future plans, monies, preferences, and anticipated results and reactions. In order to respond to the fishing invitation, unless we already have other fishing plans, we must consider it to the fullest degree. And, for good measure, we should consider our considerations to ensure they are exhaustive and logical. But that’s just me. Everyone has their own approach.

That all said, there is undeniable value in decisiveness; it’s a quality that I recognize as a shortcoming in myself and one that I aspire to improve upon. Pertaining to the fishing invitation, timely decision-making is also an exercise in good manners because, whether we know it or acknowledge it or not, the offer also comes with the assumption that your seat can and will be filled, should you decline. In other words, while I am deliberating over the invitation, the seat remains unfilled and the friend who has extended the offer remains in waiting, hopefully patiently.

My oldest fishing buddy outside of my father has exceptional consideration skills and he is wont to use the word ‘potentially’ in response to angling suggestions, ideas, and invitations. For some reason this particular word and non-answer pushes one of my buttons and he and I have joked about this at length before. In my way of thinking, the ‘potential’ is inherent and doesn’t need to be rehashed or restated; the invitation wouldn’t even exist were it not within the realm of possibility or potentiality. But, by now I understand that this response resides within my friend’s unique approach to the fishing invitation, so I try to let it be and let him use the word as he wishes, bless his heart.

Returning to the office after lunch, I listened to the complete voice message, received a few more details and the request to call my friend back. From what I could tell, it was nearly certain that I would indeed have to decline the invitation but regardless, I still wanted to hear more about it — a few pieces of information were missing from the message — so I sent them a text saying that I’d call them after work. Again, the invitation must be considered completely.

Was this rude? Dishonest? Was it any more dishonest than guesstimating the size of a fish and telling the tale? I’ll let you, fair reader, decide on both accounts.

I caught up with the friend a few days later, got the full story, and officially declined. For me, the trip was indeed as he’d described it — a long shot — so he wasn’t surprised nor offended that I couldn’t make it work. But that didn’t stop us from discussing the trip at length, touching on the intended catches, anticipated conditions, potential challenges, what he was most excited about, and more. If I wasn’t going to go on the trip, I could still at least share the excitement of planning it, and look forward to hearing the stories afterward, which is still a pretty good deal for me.

However, along with that invitation and my decline comes the sobering acceptance that I am definitively not going on the trip. And how I feel about that will surely depend on the stories that I hear after it all goes down. Because, long shot or not, that could’ve been me!

Something (else) to consider the next time we receive the fishing invitation.

That could’ve been me!