One of my favorite local bands played at Down By the Riverside this year. If you’re not familiar, it’s this huge gathering at Mayo Park, behind the Mayo Civic Center. Hundreds (if not thousands) of people turn up with lawn chairs, blankets, and coolers and sit outside and listen to live music. As a member of the music community, I really appreciate that for several weeks each summer, a local band gets to share the stage with a national act. I was overjoyed to cheer on my friends from the crowd.
The sun was going down, the music was loud and dreamy, and I was absolutely determined to get a great picture to post on social media. But, the lighting was all wrong, there were people moving around in front of me, and for the life of me I couldn’t get a good shot.
By the time the headlining band took the stage, I’d taken maybe twenty useless photos. I was mesmerized at the stage lighting – it was an array of purples, turquoise, and orange. I snapped a picture – and the lights didn’t look quite right. Dismayed, I tried to put a filter on it to make it look how I had experienced it. None of my pictures could possibly do it justice. Here I was getting frustrated, instead of enjoying the moment.
I do this far too often. My kids do something cute and instead of just simply appreciating it, I feel like I have to immortalize it by getting a good picture. My youngest will paste on a half-hearted smile while I make him hold whatever pose he was doing. My pictures turn out unnatural. My oldest will dodge the camera outright. If I’m even holding my phone in a manner that might look like I’m taking a picture, he’ll duck like he’s playing dodgeball.
What would happen if we just enjoyed these moments?
When I close my eyes and look back at some of my most wonderful moments of my entire life, what do those look like? It sure doesn’t look like a picture posed for Instagram. I remember playing cards at Christmastime with my Grandma. She struggled with dementia, so she’d say “I forgot how to play,” and then she’d win. Every time. I don’t have a single picture of that – but I definitely chuckle when I think of it. I remember my uncle letting my sister and I drive his ATV around his property. I remember making my older brother ride every single ride at the Mall of America with me when it first opened. My heart smiles when I think of these things. I can still smell Christmas. I can hear the roar of the ATV. The laughter in the amusement park. Sometimes you don’t need a good picture of a good memory.
For example, my family played a game of baseball in my parents’ yard this summer. My brother and nephew were in town, my sister and her family, and me and my kids all played the game – with my mom, too! None of the pictures of this game capture how hard we laughed or our silly moments. You couldn’t tell that we were sweltering in the humidity. Sometimes a picture isn’t worth getting. Sometimes the moment is worth preserving, unadulterated, unfiltered, through our very own eyes and nothing else.
There are memories that we want to last forever – but a picture isn’t necessary for this. It’s ok to put down your phone and experience something great.
Eventually, at Down by the Riverside, I noticed a friend of mine taking pictures. She’s a professional. What am I doing, I thought to myself. She’s literally taking professional-grade photos right now. They’re going to get posted on social media. I don’t have to experience this event through the lens of an iPhone. I finally slipped my phone into my back pocket, snuggled up to my partner, and enjoyed the night in all its beauty. The lights, the music, the atmosphere – it was all perfect, even if my pictures aren’t.
