We are all told it’s the little things in life that create meaning. In theory, I’m aware of this truth, but it’s still taken me ages to entirely grasp the concept in all its reality. Though, I appreciated it regarding the people closest to me and my lovely clients, I had difficulty applying it otherwise.
Underwater experiences can be just as elusive as those on terra firma. We hanker after whalesharks, mantas and rays, and maybe even a marine mammal colony when exploring in cooler waters. Far too many hours are wasted trying to get a thrilling glimpse of marine life that often hurtles by so fast the experience is quickly over. If the sensational creatures aren’t around, we go for numbers and chase after vast shoals of fish and bait balls. Meanwhile, we blithely swim over the top of a multitude of treasures, oblivious to their beauty.
When always on the hunt for the dramatic, it’s easy to be disappointed. I’ve always enjoyed the underwater critters. Let’s face it, who wouldn’t be ecstatic to see a pigmy seahorse. However, I failed to focus on the finer details.
My friends and I were hard to satisfy, and no matter how amazing our trips were, we were always planning the next bigger, better one. We agonised over how the other group of divers saw things we seemed to have missed. If we’d only swam that way, done this, tried that. Why weren’t we faced in the right direction during the 2-second window when the dolphin swam by? This missing-out mindset was before I discovered we all live in our own slightly warped realities with our frequent exaggerations and different mental viewpoints!
As I got older (please not me), my previously good eyesight lost its edge. About the same time, I noticed that one of my girlfriends had stopped bragging about not needing to wear glasses to read. The upshot was that the small critters – the ghost pipefish, the tiny blennies, nudibranchs, and other midget versions of life grew gradually fuzzier. As everything is slightly magnified underwater, it took me longer to notice as the scenery blurred and the submarine world seemed to lose some of its beauty. My mood deteriorated somewhat as I downgraded the natural world from sublime and surreal to merely scenic!
I finally weakened and admitted it was time to buy a bifocal mask. On my next scuba dive club trip to Papua New Guinea, my headspace improved significantly. It was hard to believe how much little stuff I’d missed, and not only due to my altering eyesight, though I suddenly wondered if it had perhaps never been great for the close-up critters. I had previously overlooked the finer detail because of my lack of mental focus, and could have realised that my eyes needed help even earlier. I appreciated the macroscopic life like never before and understood what I’d previously passed over. My appreciation of each minute miracle went through the roof.