Nothing to Document
I was looking for an old photo earlier and realized there are entire weeks in my camera roll now where almost nothing happened. A few pictures of something i needed to remember, maybe a photo somebody sent me, and then nothing again for days, that used to be completely impossible for me, I used to photograph everything, I had thousands of screenshots, pictures of whatever i was doing, things i wanted to draw later, conversations i wanted to remember, selfies, stupid things i saw outside, basically anything that seemed even slightly worth keeping. Even when i wasn’t posting them anywhere, apparently i still felt the need to have them. Looking back, i think part of it was proof to myself that i had actually been there. Here is what i looked like that day, here is what i was talking about, here is what i saw, here is what made me laugh, here is what i was thinking about. I could scroll backward and prove that i had occupied all of those days.
Now i barely take screenshots at all and i almost never take selfies anymore, most recent pictures of me were taken by other people, and i appreciate those a lot. There’s something nice about having a picture because somebody else saw you there and wanted to take one, rather than because you opened the camera yourself and decided that moment needed documenting. Sometimes one of the sisters takes a picture, or somebody at the parish does, and sometimes i’m unexpectedly in the background or someone sends it to me afterward, those have become some of my favourite pictures. I wasn't checking how i looked or thinking about whether i would post them.
There are parts of this summer that barely exist on my phone. I know where i was. I know i went to church, spent time at the convent, went to physical therapy, helped with things, drew, came home tired, got up and did it again. I remember conversations because they mattered enough to stay with me. Important dates and things i actually need are written in my notes. Everything else is mostly left wherever it happened, If somebody tried to reconstruct these months from my phone, there would be a lot missing. Before, i think that would have bothered me. If there was no picture, no screenshot, no post and no message about something afterward, it almost felt like the day had disappeared. Sometimes i think i was building evidence of my own existence without realizing that was what i was doing. I wanted a record that said i was here on Tuesday, and i saw this, and somebody spoke to me, and this is what my face looked like, and therefore Tuesday really happened.
I don't need that record as much anymore. I was there. Other people were there. God was there. The day does not become less real because there is nothing left in my camera roll to prove it. There’s less urgency to leave evidence of everything in general. If i spent an afternoon helping with something and nobody photographed it, the afternoon still happened. If i did something good and nobody online ever knows about it, it still happened. God saw it. If somebody was kind to me and neither of us wrote about it afterward, God saw that too. There are probably hundreds of completely ordinary moments from this year that only exist now in the memory of whoever happened to be there, and eventually some of those memories will disappear too.
There are years of my life where i could probably scroll backward and reconstruct myself almost day by day. Thousands of little pieces of evidence. I can find old versions of myself saying things i had forgotten, wearing clothes i don't own anymore, talking to people i haven't spoken to in years.
This year is becoming the opposite, I remember what i need to remember. I write down appointments, important things people tell me, prayer intentions, I still keep photographs when they actually matter. But there isn't an archive of every ordinary day anymore, maybe years from now some of those details will be gone too. There will be days i lived completely and can no longer reconstruct at all. I don't think a human being was ever supposed to remember every day perfectly anyway. We forget things. Other people forget us being there. Objects get lost, phones break, accounts disappear, and eventually there are moments nobody living can describe anymore. They still happened. God does not need photographs to remember me.
Psalm 139:1–2 "Lord, thou hast proved me, and known me: thou hast known my sitting down, and my rising up."