“I’m going to throw out them out!”
It was her final threat. My wife had been after me to get rid of those boxes of photographs I had taken over the years…photographs of the kids, places we’ve been, things we’ve done. She was right, of course. We don’t have room anymore, since we moved from the big house to our small apartment. But throw them out? I couldn’t possibly do that without looking at them. They should be sorted and compiled. I had been meaning to do that for quite some time.
Sorted and compiled for whom? The trash man? Who in the world would want to look at my old photos? Who except me?
The issue came to a head at the same time that I started writing my first blog for Patheos. The blog was about an unnerving experience my wife and I had when we were newly-weds living on the beach of Santa Monica Bay near Los Angeles. She and I had slept through a tidal wave alert one morning and went for a delightful stroll on the beach. We found ourselves walking hand-in hand on a beautiful, sunny summer beach…all alone. We both noticd it at the same time: We were alone! To be alone somewhere where there should be crowds of people and there is no one is an eerie strangeness that is hard to describe…or to forget.
I wanted a picture to go with the story, but it happened long ago and far way. Was it possible I still had pictures I might have taken when we lived there? Was it possible I might find a snapshot or two in one of those boxes that my wife had been bugging me to get rid of?
I began the impossible search, and, gainst all odds, I found the photos I was looking for.
The thrill of that discovery led me to wonder what other treasures I might find in those boxes.
Once I started, I found myself taking the time to look at each photo and slide. Almost all of them ended up in the trash, sometimes after serious deliberation and with a faint heart, but none-the-less in the trash.
Yet it wasn’t really just about tossing stuff out. What great fun I had reliving those memories. I saved a few, the very best, and some of these will end up in frames for my den, constant reminders of how wonderful my life has been.
I found it odd that sometimes when I had taken a lot of pictures, I could recall the place and the people but the memory was a blur. On the other hand a single picture or two often conjured up a vivid memory, perhaps long lost, that caused me to stop and ponder and enjoy for a while.
What puzzled me was this. If I had felt something was so important that I had to take lots of pictures to enjoy later with friends and loved ones, why was I left with no real feel for the memory of it? The question begged an answer. Suddenly the “why” came through loud and clear. It was because I had been so busy trying to capture the event that I failed to live it.
I find it interesting that for most formal weddings the family arranges for a professional photographer to capture the bride and groom’s special day with quality photographs or videos. By doing so, they also relieve family and friends from feeling any need to capture the moment. They can relax and enjoy themselves!
The truth of the matter is, it is not the memories we have captured that bring joy to our lives, it is the memories we have lived.
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