Gluttons for punishment

#55—Why we remember the good things about family holidays, despite the trifles.

Welcome to Mind Flexing, your fortnightly thought expedition to everywhere and anywhere. Strap on your boots (or put your feet up), take a deep breath, and let’s get flexing.

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Twice we have taken our four- and two-year-olds camping and twice we have unequivocally declared, ‘Never again’. The drama! Bedtime meltdowns shared with the entire campground (my apologies), tantrums over not being allowed to slide down the 500m cliff (non-negotiable), run off and lost in the bush (again), refusals to get in the car when it’s time to leave (cue the tedious pantomime). We, the adults, could be immersed in the most beautiful of surrounds, in stereotypically astounding moments, and have missed it all save for a side glance and a mental note—‘Ah, a sunset’—as I, seeing my toddler has fallen backward and is sliding down a giant granite bolder headfirst, grab her by the ankle. Life saved, she’s straight back at her acrobatics. In an alternate universe, I would have been watching the sunset, but hey, it will set again.

Tent In The Landscape, by Alia Parker

Never again! Never, we say, for a few weeks at least… because in just over a month we’re leaving on a near two-week camping trip through the southern parts of Australia in the middle of winter (because what’s a little freezing cold ever done to dull a mood? Hah!) We’ve planned a wonderful 2,000km circuit of nature, starting on the Murray River then travelling north to the sandy time capsule of Mungo National Park, then south past a pink salt lake and rolling desert dunes, dinosaur fossils in underground caves, and down to the ancient and elaborate fish traps of Budj Bim on Gunditjmara Country.

The thing is, the kids love it, and somehow, when it’s all over—the four of us alive—and we reflect on such memories, somehow, we (the adults) love it too.

Part of it is accepting that we can’t immerse ourselves in these outdoor moments as deeply as we once did. With the kids so young and wildly adventurous, our attention cannot waver from them for more than seconds at a time. But there’s more to it than a mere acceptance of this sacrifice. There’s something in the way we remember these moments that throws a rose-coloured tint over the entire memory, including the stressful bits. Somehow our minds have played tricks on us, transforming these stresses into things we can laugh about. Our blood pressure may have skyrocketed, but wasn’t it a marvellous trip.

The Peak-End Rule is what they call it in psychology. Our brains condense a memory into being positive or negative based on how we felt at the peak of that experience—its most intense moment of joy or otherwise—and also, how we felt at the end. If there were elating moments of joy, those feelings are valued above all else and will set the tone for that entire memory, overriding the crappy parts as mere trifles. And perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, they are just that—trifles.

Because there were moments of joy. The fleeting sunset locked in my mind like an unmoving photo. The feeling of the electrically charged atmosphere coursing through my body, the grounding of the earth. The shape of the rocks, carved by water and time. The sky and how it has no end. And ultimately, the wonder of two tiny and curious creatures who have no sense of fear, who marvel at everything they see, and are having the time of their lives. They see the joy in the world, and it reminds me to look for it.

Never again, we say, until next time.

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Etymology Monday

For those who missed it, this week’s word has ancient Aztec origins…

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