The Photos That Mean the Most to Me


I've stopped taking photographs within the past two months. Somewhere in between January and February the desire to bring my camera everywhere with me, to snap and shoot, duck at an angle and peer through the vision of a tiny glass lens, became less appealing. Perhaps it was the mass amount of footage I've acquired over the past few years, some untouched and some edited to share, not strategically chosen but assigned by some fate of random motivation or "put-off-till-later" attitude. Perhaps, specifically, the untouched files were the ones that deterred me from continuing to capture more moments through a lens. "Not everything needs to be frozen in time", I thought. Especially if the fate of that everything was located in some private dimension, embossed within a memory card, unshared, unveiled.

But then there's this other thought I have, thoughts about the photographs I have taken, the ones I've shared and the ones I haven't, and how they flash in and out of my mind as if they were chapter markers for a larger story. You know, that four letter word used by everyone everyday, that popular board game in all capital letters. I get the urge to charge up my camera battery and pack a bag with an extra lens, prepared to sling it over my shoulder wherever I go next. Our lives move at a pace we can only express through a phrase we repeat every time we stop for a pause, reaffirmed by whoever hears us mutter the words.

"Life moves so fast".

"It really does."

It's amazing how emotional a single 3 by 4 frame can develop to be, a glimpse of "then" to remind us what's so special about "now". That life that moves so fast finally captured, if only for a single moment. Feelings, memories, thoughts, failures, triumphs. Naiveties and all. Following are some of the 3 by 4 frames that mean the most to me. And why I'll continue to be "that guy" holding a tiny backpack with a camera tucked inside.