Sole Searching

Dear MK,
My husband and I go on an annual fishing trip every spring. This year, I told him I don’t want to go. He says I am being selfish. So I ask you, am I being selfish when I have gone on this trip for the last 26 years? He says (but not true) this is the only thing he ever asks for and I should go. Even though you are probably laughing if you think I am being selfish write and tell me.
Karen T, SANTA BARBARA


Dear Karen,
There is an ancient and highly arcane set of rules for advice columnist that says, under penalty of public stoning, we may not interfere between husbands and wives. Directly that is. This code is sacrosanct unless bribes are delivered in the form of custard donuts under cloak of darkness. So, being that not even the sugar twisted kind arrived with your mail, I am honor-bound to stay well within the bounds of non-interference - within reason. As usual my method is to shed a light on the not-so-obvious and let you be the judge of your own conscience.
The word selfish comes to us from an antiquated fable passed down from God knows when. When once upon a time there was a village of fisherman (isn’t that a coincidence!) that not only watched each other’s fish, they watched each other’s backs. Each fisherman set out in the early hours of dawn, alone, and fished the endless sea until nightfall when he returned home. Then each hunter of the deep would cast all of his catch into a great big basket and the entire village would choose from the abundant plenty or the pitiful lack, depending on the day. No matter what, everyone always had something to eat.

One day, as Herman (one of the fisherman) sat in his boat, pulling in a great catch he decided he wouldn’t go back to the village that night. Instead he would take his haul to another village up the coast and sell it. Herman sold all but a single fish and then later that night, after lying that he became lost in the fog, threw the one fish into the basket. It was the only fish that night.

For the first time ever, the village went to bed hungry and Herman went to bed rich and feeling bad about himself. Early the next morning while the fishermen were out at sea, a traveler entered the village. He was still raving about the amazing feast that was had just a few miles up the coast - just last night. One of the wise women of the village gently asked the traveler a few but crucial questions.
That evening, as the boats came in from the sea, whispers were heard. Children told children. Wives told husbands and the story was told. He sells fish. Nothing more needed to be said. Nothing more ever was.

Darling Karen, Boys and Girls, besides learning the origin of the word selfish, the moral is loud and clear. Without a conversation changing a long awaited and anticipated adventure could feel like a sell fish, or as it has come down to us through the ages, a selfish gesture. There is a great, albeit unspoken delight and security in what are our family rituals. That being said, the individual has rights beyond the family expectations. As long as the change in plans is discussed and your desire to skip the tedious trawling is more than reasonable. 26 years of bait and tackle may just have earned you a rest up the lazy river. When sole (sorry, couldn’t resist) searching if the motive to not go is really simple, than all is well and maybe next year. On the other hand, if not wanting to go is really payback for Hubbie’s lack of interest in your interests….well that is altogether another column for another day.
Have a naughty day!