The Nature of Memory and Luck

The brain can often be a deceptive entity.

Photo by Harris Vo on Unsplash

Is it merely chance when an eyewitness accurately recalls events?

I was present; I am certain of that.

The narrative loops endlessly in my mind.

While I cherish this tale, its significance is relatively trivial.

No one's liberty hinges on my precise recollection, yet I yearn to recapture the essence of that boy wandering along the docks on that day.

Some poetry is crafted with words, while others resonate through actions, props, movements, and sounds.

Our day at the docks was typical for summer. We brought our fishing rods and boarded the ferry, which took us to the island where we fished off the jetty.

What was the catch of the day? Pure luck.

One memorable day, we were all reeling in the largest squid we had ever encountered. Calamari, a delicacy! Along with leatherjackets, morwong, flathead, pike, and whiting.

On other days? If you hooked an arrow squid, cod, or wrasse, consider yourself fortunate; otherwise, it was a dry outing.

For the mind's gears, one misplaced piece can entirely alter the outcome. Gold or Fool's Gold? Where does your fortune lie now?

Blissful ignorance often brings luck and happiness. It allows us to weave tales of fortune.

Two other boys—young men, really—strutted down the pier, tall and confident, a bucket brimming with fish in hand, their expressions a mix of luck and misfortune.

“We've been fishing over there on the rocks. Caught over twenty bream in just a couple of hours! What about you? Not much?”

Bream, a sought-after catch in the channel. I glanced into their bucket.

“They're not bream; those are wrasse. Most seem undersized.”

We all exchanged wary glances for any approaching Sea Fisheries Officers, who soon vanished from sight.

Another memory emerges from a different time. That boy at the docks? The scene plays out like a dream, hazy and warm on a late summer afternoon.

A boy approaches, cradling a dozen good-sized whiting—an impressive haul.

A modern-day Huckleberry Finn, sporting short hair, shorts, and perhaps a singlet, barefoot as is common in a quaint seaside village.

“That’s an impressive catch!”

“Yeah, I was walking back earlier when I noticed a stick along the path. For some reason, I picked it up.

As I continued, I stumbled upon a mess of fishing line and hooks in the bushes. I thought to tie them to my stick!

When I reached the boathouse, I found a little bag of bait just lying there!

Once I got to the jetty, the old men shouted, ‘The whiting are running!’ They just stood there watching me haul them in one after another.

They couldn't catch a thing.

Mum’s going to be thrilled!”

As he walked away, the truth seemed caught in a delicate balance of luck, wisdom, and a touch of magic.

We often wish to categorize it into one of those realms, but perhaps it transcends all.

Like a musician at the piano, or those boys with their bucket of bream, we navigate through life, playing our own melody.

While it can often feel dissonant, there are days when everything aligns in perfect harmony.

Did I tweak some of the notes to create a melody I preferred?

Perhaps a little; my memory may not capture his exact words. Yet, my mind continuously seeks to play this tune in harmony.