picture this

When I was younger, somebody (okay, an old flame) once told me that I didn’t inspire a lot of “Kodak moments.” It was during a breakup – the final parting shot, actually – and let me tell you, it scored a direct hit on the nerve it was targeting. I have always been somewhat solitary and reserved, a bit of a loner, and a chronic worrier to boot. You can imagine how this could potentially suck the life out of any wild parties waiting to happen.

So I did what any sane, dejected, mortally insulted person would do: I took it to heart with a vengeance. In fact, over the next several years, you could say that being crowned the Kodak Poster Girl became my mission in life. I hung out with musicians, tattoo artists, celebratory divorced people, and other spur-of-the-moment types. I became nuanced in the art of club-hopping and buying complimentary rounds of shots; carrying on futile conversations with my victims who, once propped securely yet contentedly against the bar, insisted on calling me “Marge” or “Amy” or “Sharon” in slurred and raspy voices. I took cruises and road trips and vacations to party-friendly places like Cancun and New Orleans, sleeping on hard-backed chairs or piano benches in those frequent instances when inert, bleary-eyed revelers had claimed every other square inch of surface area. And of course, I took pictures of every single slice in time.

Recently, I came across this mammoth box of photographs which, as you might imagine, had grown to approximate the size of the Berlin Wall. I flipped through hundreds of images showing that blithe, carefree person –- here in a sombrero, there dancing on a picnic table. She looked like an incredibly fun, energetic gal to hang around with. Exhausting, really. I felt kind of winded just looking at her. I also felt a strange sense of detachment. Because as I thought back over that entire span of time, so help me, I couldn’t remember a single moment when I’d felt truly connected to life.

And then I began to muse over more recent, more difficult years; remembering hardships, tears of worry, even fear. But I also recalled watching our dogs romp through a meadow. Adorning our fridge with the faces of sponsored orphans in Africa. Cutting my grandmother’s hair as she sat in her wheelchair, regarding her withered hands. Walking arm-in-arm with my husband, talking and dreaming. Feeling amazement and absolute awe at the unconditional love all around. And as I thought over these images, I realized each one was clear and vibrant and sharp -- both heartening and heartbreaking at once. Because life is a balancing act, and we fall down and get up repeatedly as the balance continues to shift.

And those Kodak moments? I think it’s possible to make such a frantic, driven rush toward something that you actually hurry right past it. Because the real Kodak moments are constantly there for the taking. And the best ones don’t require a camera.