This thing called life...

I have tried this summer to set aside time to do things that I love, but don't often have the free-time to do. Like drawing, writing, reading, writing letters, watching sunsets and moonrises, enjoying soft, falling rain while sipping a warm cup of tea, and waking up in the early mooring to drink coffee and have my quiet time. And almost every time, I have thought, "I should get a picture of this." I was so caught up in the documentation of these things, that I forgot to fully enjoy them for themselves--instead of the Instagram caption I could slap on them, or the people who would 'like' them, or the comments they would render. I was robbing these things of the simple pleasure they naturally bring by twisting them into a means of affirmation. I wanted them not because they brought me joy or contentment, but because they brought me popularity. I wanted people to look at my life, via social media, and like it. And like me for it.
I would word and reword, and reword again, a status to make it as clever/witty/smart as possible hoping to elicit th emost likes I could. I found myself saying things like, "that post deserves more likes than that!" Or clicking to see who had liked it and gleaning satisfaction as I scrolled through the list of names.
And I realized it had to stop. Social media, like almost anything, is a good servant, but a wretchedly poor master. And it is slowly becoming my master. It is conducting my life. But slowly, of course, so it slipped up on me, with the intent to turn me into a man-fearing machine, before I could notice. Thank goodness, I don't think it got that far. But it has robbed me of some of the joy of life...

Have you ever tried to get a picture of a firefly? Or even looked for one on the internet? It isn't there. You may find an animation of some sort, but a real forest, alight with the flashes of fireflies, can't be captured--it can only be cherished and enjoyed. The moments of barefooted children snatching in the darkness at brief flashes of light can't be documented. But they can be remembered.
Have you ever felt the frustration of trying to take a picture of a sunset only to find that the brilliance of the fiery pinks and purples fade behind the lens of a camera? Sunsets cannot be properly captured either. If you're a fairly good photographer, and have moderate editing skills, you may be able to produce a nice photograph of a sunset, but ultimately, it won't look exactly like the real thing--because it isn't the real thing.
I'm not photographer, but even when searching through the photographs of professionals for images of a sunset, or a full moon, the pictures looked somewhat artificial--as if only careful editing by human hands could produce something like that. It's not a divine creation by the Divine Creator--it's only a representation that hardly does the real thing any justice. It doesn't evoke the same feelings as looking at a real sunset. It doesn't give you the same pang in your heart.

The best moments--those quiet and unassuming--cannot be properly captured. You may be able to come up with a near life-like representation, but in the end, it will only be that: a representation that falls woefully short. It will never be the thing itself.
And that's why I think it is important to put away the camera and just live sometimes. Because if not, you will have the representations of memories you barely remember. The photographs of times you didn't fully enjoy because you weren't fully invested at the time. In an age where we can now document things more easily than ever before, we have to guard ourselves against making documentation what we live for.

It's a freeing feeling, really. When you stop judging life based on an amount of notifications. And when the quality of moments is not measured by the number of likes they get. When you sit on the back porch in the morning with your fingers tucked snugly 'round a warm mug of coffee and push aside the Instagram opportunities, and sit there, in the mystical grey coolness of morning, just because you like it.
When you read a book and underline a passage not because it would make a good Facebook status, but because you find truth in what it says.
When you sit atop your roof and enjoy a sunset, and ignore the urge to go for the camera, and just revel in the fiery intensity of sunlit clouds.
Or whatever it is--just doing it for the sake of doing it. Not so anyone else will know, but merely to derive joy from the simple, little things which make up this wonderful thing called life.
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