My month-long photo moratorium was a success. Well, kind of.
As I wrote in an earlier perspective, in an attempt to slow down the gargantuan amount of photos on my phone, I decided to hit pause and stop taking photos no matter how tempting.
Consequently, I have no documentation of the two deer swimming across a Northwoods lake, no closeup of rare pink wildflowers edging a wetland, no physical reminder of a blue heron gliding right in front of me, its angel wings backdropped against a purple and silver twilight.
What I gained, however, was a sense of freedom. A chance to just observe, marvel, and reflect. A chance to slow down and be in the moment.
And then, the grandchildren showed up.
Luckily, they came at the end of my month-long experiment—okay, I planned it that way— but never-the-less, I fulfilled my promise to myself. Of course, I had to take photos of them—after all, they’re growing up so fast—and so before long, not surprisingly, I was back to my old habits.
Nevertheless, I have learned a few things along the way. Number one, do I really need 10 photos of a sunset? Number two, can I let someone else be the photographer and get copies later? And number three, I must steel myself to use the delete button more often and get rid of all those ho-hum photos that I’ve kept “just in case.”
But most importantly, I’ve learned it’s the moment that counts. I don’t need photographic proof. Instead, I’d like to try following the poet Longfellow’s lead and remember those beautiful memories by writing them “in the round-tower of my heart.”
