Pleasure, Happiness, and a Seized Spark Plug

What do neuroscience, Buddhism, Taoism, and Stoicism have in common? Turns out, quite a bit. They’ve all reached the same quiet truth: pleasure is not happiness.

Fly fishing brings me tremendous joy, but yesterday I discovered a curious thing—I was just as happy extracting a seized spark plug from my crusty old Honda BF90 as I’ve ever been landing a monster striper on a fly. Not because I like spark plugs (I don’t), but because of what the experience taught me about happiness, resilience, and the process.

In Buddhism, suffering is rooted in craving—the constant chase of the next pleasurable high. Neuroscience agrees. Dopamine, the “molecule of more,” fires up our brains not just during moments of reward, but in anticipation of it. That rush you feel watching a take or sticking a fish? That’s dopamine. And like a teenager hooked on TikTok reels, our brains are trained to want more.

But here’s the trap: dopamine isn’t about pleasure—it’s about the pursuit of it. It doesn’t bring peace. It just drives the itch.

So how do we, as fly fishing addicts, learn to find happiness beyond the dopamine hit of a bent rod?

Do you feel bummed when someone else posts a photo of a double-digit brown in Patagonia? Do you feel inadequate watching reel after reel of exotic destinations while your skiff collects dust? Yeah. You’re not alone. But that cycle isn’t sustainable.

We need to retrain our minds—to crave peace, not just pleasure. To find joy in the process, not just the payoff. And for me, that process is everything.

I often joke that if I’m not fishing, I’m preparing to fish. But it’s true. Fly tying, gear tweaking, boat mods, drone footage, blog writing—it’s all part of the same dance. Even my dental practice is part of that rhythm—it funds the gear, the trips, the repairs. Fishing is a lifestyle that shows up in the books I read, the people I admire, the art in my garage, the stories I write so I don’t forget.

And speaking of stories—let me tell you about that spark plug.

My boat had been running rough for weeks. I do regular maintenance—oil, filters, plugs—but one spark plug had gone untouched for seven years. During my last major service with Custom Weld Voyager Marine (shoutout to Mr. Lee), an impeller hose leaked and water seeped into the lowest plug socket. It corroded and seized in place. Since the engine still purred, I left it alone—worried I’d snap the plug and ruin the aluminum block. But four weeks ago, things changed. The motor stuttered. That old plug needed to go.

I researched like mad. Watched YouTube. Consulted forums. Even called Honda. Their sage advice? “You should’ve used anti-seize grease.” That’s like asking a dentist how to fix a toothache and being told, “You should’ve flossed.” Not helpful, Honda.

So I took matters into my own hands.

No local mechanic could see me for months. In South San Jose, Honda Marine support is practically mythical. Lesson learned: buy a motor you can service easily and locally. Honda might be reliable—but so is a Tesla… if you live next to a Supercharger.

I soaked the plug for weeks. Gentle persuasion, heat, cold, patience. People told me to keep the cycle going—don’t quit. And finally, with one last effort and a pneumatic impact wrench on full blast, it came free.

And I swear to you—I haven’t felt that level of joy in a long, long time.

That wasn’t dopamine. That was something deeper. Satisfaction. Mastery. A small triumph hard-earned. It wasn’t about the spark plug. It was about pushing through frustration, learning something new, solving my own problem.

Pleasure fades. But fulfillment—that sticks.

So next time you’re chasing the dragon of a perfect fish photo or obsessing over fly patterns and Insta-likes, ask yourself: what part of this actually makes me happy?

Maybe it’s the knot you tie perfectly in the dark. Or the way your skiff hums across glass water. Or the simple joy of fixing something that was broken.

Yesterday, for me, it was a seized plug.

Go figure.