The dance of the rose-tinted jellyfish

I took my two young children paddleboarding in the estuary near our house yesterday. The UK is in the middle of a heatwave and the conditions were perfect. The balmy summer air was heavy and comforting. The high spring tide filled the sandy plain with brine, and the small inland sea was devoid of waves or disturbance. The paddleboard glided across the still surface of the water like a duster over polished glass. The water itself was clear, apart from the palpations of a mass of compass jellyfish dancing around us in their annual bloom.

When we reached the other side of the water, we watched a buzzard flying over a forest-covered hill that rose above us. The wild bird’s call was haunting – almost sorrowful – as if tailored for this landscape and this moment.

I glanced down at the kids and said, “you know, you should try and remember this moment in your mind’s eye – it’s special.” My daughter coolly shrugged, while my son chuckled as he poked a nearby jellyfish in its head with his finger.

I tried to think of something profound to explain my trail of thought but the best I could do was remember the words of the American Office character – and general doofus – Andy Bernard who said he “wished there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.”

Quietly standing on the paddle board, I thought to myself, this may be one of those memories that stays with me; I hoped the kids would remember it as well. They might not see it for what it is right now, but in time they might come to appreciate it. A peculiarity of life is that the greatest memories are often not fully valued until some time afterwards.

This phenomenon of seeing your memories through rose-tinted glasses has been attributed to the fading affect bias, which proposes that, over time, the mind favours a positive outlook on memories over negative ones. I’ve often thought this to be a great feature of the human brain. As memories age, bitterness, anger, and sadness fade, while joy and nostalgia grow and thrive.

Looking back at my life, my fondest memories are simple moments that seemed unremarkable at the time but on reflection – years later – they can only be described as perfect: Sitting on top of a stack of hay bales on a warm summer evening with my now late father, sharing a cold bottle of cider; watching dawn unfold from the steps of a slow train ambling its way through the Indian countryside while smoking a cigarette; exiting a Spanish restaurant into a snowstorm after a first date with a lady who would one day become my wife.

Will the kids remember this scene? Who is to say. But I’m sure I won’t forget it. The older I get, the more I try to experience and appreciate moments like these as they happen – fresh from the vine and long before they are processed and stored in the vintage cellar of my mind.

Valuing each instant as it happens is the best we can do with life. It’s not always easy, but with a mindful awareness that change is inevitable, we can hold each special moment a little tighter in our grip before it’s gone forever.