Shuttered

I have these little sticky notes sitting in front of my computer at home, with random notes scribbled on them. They’re chicken-scratch fragments of conversations I’ve had, usually with either Amy or Christina, that have stirred my interest in something grand. Possibly even something profound.

The Internet, and how the ever-growing networks of communication (Facebook, MySpace, Craigslist, etc.) have created a sort of exhibitionistic digital communism, lacking the authority figures so ever-present in the rest of our lives. Our lack of will power when it comes to things like diets, relationships, and the dentist – and that oh-so-ubiquitous activity we all master in our school years: procrastination.

Even with these little sticky notes sitting in front of me, though, I feel like writing about something else – something that a song (though not a very good one) reaffirmed the other day.

“Didn’t have a camera by my side this time
Hoping I would see the world through both my eyes
Maybe I will tell you all about it
When I’m in the mood to lose my way with words”

Have you ever been somewhere – a party, or on a road trip – and had with you the token photographer of the group? This isn’t someone who really has a passion for photography (read: Matt, I’m not talking about you). This is someone who is so caught up in recording the event for later review that they essentially miss it altogether. He follows everyone around with the unmistakable sound of a shutter clicking, recording each and every thing that happens. He comes up with some great shots, and there’s no doubt the rest of the group will appreciate what they eventually see in a Facebook gallery. But at the end of the night, this token photographer hasn’t been involved in many conversations. He has been too busy thinking about the rule of thirds, and trying to capture the best moments, to actually live those moments.

That was me.

I took four years of photography in high school. I got started at The Daily as a photographer, and didn’t stop taking pictures for the paper until shortly before I graduated. I still take photos for organizations once in a while, and part of my job at Lakeside is to take photos for the communications office. I am, and will likely always be, my family’s designated photographer. But I can’t tell you how many post-Thanksgiving dinner conversations I feel like I missed out on because I was asked to take photos. How many times I could have been asking my grandmother about what Colorado was like in the ’40s, instead of documenting her presence with a camera. How many sights around the country (and around the world) I could have soaked in so much more completely if I hadn’t been so busy trying to squish all the elements into the viewfinder.

Part of me thinks it was an escape. Holding the camera up afforded me a bit of solitude. It gave me an excuse to avoid what might otherwise have felt like a forced conversation. To sidestep superficiality in favor of being artsy. To be there, but not feel the awkward need to participate. All these years, I convinced myself I simply preferred it that way, but in retrospect, I think I was rationalizing being shy.

It is, of course, my own fault – and I’ve made a point of making a change in my life. Whatever shyness I had before has melted away, and I’ve realized that the experiences are far more important than the record of them. I don’t mean to imply that we shouldn’t ensure photos are taken of the important people and places in our lives. But think for a second about how often you look through the dozens (or hundreds) of folders of photos on your computer, or the box of prints shoved onto the top shelf in your closet. Then think about how often you reminisce about times past when you’re talking with friends or family.

It occurred to me that despite my passion for that hobby, I need to remember to put the camera down once in a while. To see the world through both my eyes, so I can tell you all about it when I’m in the mood to lose my way with words.