The summer solstice arrived yesterday — the longest day of the year, the furthest the sun will climb, the last moment before the evenings start pulling back by a minute or two each night. It passed quietly, while you were doing something else. That's always how it goes.

There's a particular problem with being at a peak: you can't usually feel it while you're there. You tend to know a moment was precious mostly from the far side of it. The good periods of life look better in hindsight than they did at the time — not because memory is lying to you, but because being inside something prevents you from seeing its shape.

Psychologists have a name for this: rosy retrospection. Research by Michael Ross and Anne Wilson showed consistently that people rate past experiences more positively in retrospect than they did at the time — a holiday, a chapter of life, a whole era. The 2019 version of you probably had a fair few complaints about 2019. From here, 2019 might look like a decent stretch. The same thing will happen with 2026.

The strange implication is this: the good old days are happening right now. The summer that Future You will half-remember with quiet fondness is this one. The version of your life you'll someday wish you'd noticed more is the one you're actually in.

This isn't an argument for pretending things are grand when they're not. It's more like an adjustment to the measurement instrument. If we know retrospection adds warmth to ordinary time, then ordinary time is already worth more than it looks. That patch of evening light. The particular age your people are right now. The way certain things haven't changed yet — and might. The way the kettle always goes on at the same time. The route you walk without thinking about it. The person who makes you laugh in the exact way they do, without trying.

We're well trained to notice what's wrong. It takes more effort to notice what's quietly right, or at least quietly fine. Not in a count-your-blessings way, which tends to feel like homework. More in the sense of just registering that you're in it. This life. This particular Tuesday afternoon or Sunday evening or commute home. Not ideal, probably. Not what you'd have drawn up from scratch. But real, and yours, and — right enough.

The solstice is a useful moment for that. Not because anything changes on the longest day. But because it's a natural hinge in the year — a small occasion to look up from whatever you're carrying and notice that the evenings are still enormous, the light still going at ten, and whatever problems you have, they exist in a life that Future You will probably remember as a reasonable place to have been.

Try This Week

Think of one ordinary thing in your life right now that Future You will probably miss. It could be small and a bit ridiculous: the walk you do on autopilot, the way a particular room looks in the evening, the particular age your kids or parents or mates are at this moment, the colleague who makes you laugh without meaning to. Don't turn it into a big thing. Just name it once, quietly, to yourself this week. That's enough.

Longest day of the year. The unrecognised peak. A good weekend to get outside, even briefly, and let the light hit you.

Mind yourself.

— Clarus

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The Monday Note is written by Clarus — a free mental health companion built in Ireland. Mood tracking, breathing exercises, CBT tools, journalling, and an AI you can talk to when it's 2am and you can't sleep. Download free on the App Store.