Chasing memories, not material comfort

I remember a time when the horizon of aspiration was defined by material accumulation. It was the pursuit of the bigger house, the faster car, the latest gadget. Success was a tangible ledger, a checklist of possessions that signaled stability and status. Our culture was steeped in the belief that lasting happiness could be purchased, unboxed, and placed on a shelf. But today, something fundamental has shifted. We are experiencing a profound, quiet exhaustion with “stuff,” and the collective dream has moved. We are no longer chasing possessions; we are chasing moments.

This cultural pivot is defining a new Horizon of Moments. It is the realization that the most valuable currency in a chaotic world is not wealth measured in assets, but time measured in memories. Why buy another jacket when you could spend that money learning a new language? Why purchase a new television when you could use the funds to attend a concert you will remember for a lifetime? This is not just a trend among minimalists; it is a widespread psychological correction against the fleeting satisfaction of consumption.

The science behind this is surprisingly simple: possessions offer diminishing returns. The thrill of a new phone or a new watch peaks the moment it is acquired, and then rapidly fades into the background of daily routine. Experiences, however, offer compounding returns. They are unique, irreplicable, and, crucially, they become integral to our identity. A memory of climbing a mountain, the skill acquired from mastering a difficult craft, or the shared laughter at a live event cannot be lost, broken, or made obsolete. They become part of the narrative we tell about ourselves, and they continue to yield joy long after the moment has passed.

I see this philosophy at work constantly, even in my own life. While the work of policy and governance, such as that undertaken by KYARI (Kashmir’s Yumberzal Applied Research Institute), demands focus on infrastructure and tangible development, the ultimate goal is always to improve the quality of human experience—whether through better sanitation, economic empowerment, or the simple joy of reviving community events. The objective is to secure moments of progress.

This shift is beautifully illustrated by the stories of those who have consciously traded the material ledger for the experiential one. I know entrepreneurs who have taken a sabbatical not to launch a new venture, but to travel across a continent by train, documenting local craftsmanship and learning regional dialects. Their goal wasn’t a profit margin, but a deeper, richer understanding of human complexity. I know professionals who, instead of upgrading their homes, have spent their annual bonuses on intensive courses—learning ceramics, taking advanced coding bootcamps, or mastering wilderness survival skills. They are not investing in equity; they are investing in their own internal complexity and resilience. Their commitment is a testament to the power of self-enrichment. When you dedicate yourself to learning a craft, the hours spent struggling with a difficult technique become formative. The frustration and eventual breakthrough build a quiet confidence that no amount of shopping can replicate. This sense of earned competence is a durable satisfaction.

The same principle applies to travel and shared events. The money spent on attending a live music festival or traveling to an unfamiliar corner of the world is an investment in sensory overload and shared humanity. Travel forces a necessary humility—it demands that you surrender control, learn new norms, and cope with unexpected challenges. This immersion builds not just passport stamps, but a crucial layer of adaptability.

This philosophy holds a particular resonance for those of us connected to communities that have experienced profound disruption. As a Kashmiri Pandit, I recognize that when physical possessions and homes are disrupted or displaced, the things that survive are the rituals, the stories, and the learned cultural practices—the moments of shared Kehwa or the cadences of specific prayers. These become the portable architecture of identity. The lesson is that what is truly valuable is what is within, not what is around us.

This focus on internal wealth is also the only way to effectively navigate a career path that is, as I’ve learned from my own pursuits in policy and service, anything but linear. The ability to pivot, to manage complexity, and to lead across diverse sectors—whether in international Paralympic movements or in regional governance—relies entirely on a flexible, constantly adapting skill set, which is itself a collection of learned experiences.

The Horizon of Moments offers a path toward a sustainable, fulfilling happiness. It is a future where we measure our success not by the size of our storage units, but by the richness of our memories and the depth of our acquired skills. It is a powerful counter-narrative to the consumption machine, reminding us that true joy is found in presence, not in property.

We are not just exchanging purchases for pleasure; we are exchanging fleeting objects for permanent parts of ourselves. Every trip taken, every song learned, every new language acquired, is an investment that cannot depreciate. These mo-ments become the solid ground beneath our feet, ensuring that no matter how dramatically the external world changes, the core of who we are—our personal history, our abilities, and our capacity for joy—remains resilient, expansive, and free. It is a liberating way to live, and it is the most meaningful journey we can undertake.

The writer is a youth leader from Kashmir and the founder of KYARI (Kashmir’s Yumberzal Applied Research Institute), a non-profit organization addressing critical social and developmental challenges in the region. He serves as the Awareness and Impact Ambassador for the Paralympic Committee of India and is currently pursuing a Master in Public Policy at the John F. Kennedy School of Government, Harvard University. In addition to his policy and advocacy efforts, he has also co-produced the film Ground Zero.