My Life in Pictures
If you are my friend on FB, you know that I post a photo just about every day (courtesy of my iPhone). It started as a way to share the amazing things I saw each morning when I walked. Then I realized it was a way to show up without having to think of anything to actually say. Because there are lots of days when I don’t have anything special to say.
Now I realize it’s a photographic diary of my life. Because all those photos of flowers and dogs and rabbits and turkeys and mountains and beaches are my memories. When I look at one of them, I can recall exactly where I was standing, and who, if anyone, was there with me, maybe even the conversation that happened. It’s a full 3-D recall, partly in my body, looking at the phone’s screen as I framed the photo, and partly outside my body, looking down from the sky. Looking at a photo, I can reach back into that morning, and maybe even recall a bit about how the rest of the day would unfold.
Does that happen for you?
I don’t think it happens for everyone. In fact, my teenaged stepson has a kind of inverse reaction. A few months ago he told me that the only thing wrong with last night’s party was that no one had taken his picture. The gist of the conversation was that if he wasn’t in anyone’s photos, then somehow, he wasn’t quite there.
I’m rarely in the photos — I’m usually the one taking them, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.