Challenging Nostalgia

It's no surprise when I mention my love of photography. For well over a decade, I committed a lot of time into capturing macro images of insects and flora, and beyond. I had a photo displayed in the Louver, my photos in calendars, my original major in college was photography. Hell, my entire personality and persona was photography. All of my accomplishments and endeavors lay in the hands of photography.

And then, almost out of nowhere, it all meant nothing.

Maybe it was my aging equipment. Or the realization I didn’t know who I was without it. The Lightroom subscription ran out. I seemed to have lost all of my SD cards. I hadn’t even noticed the shutter button had collected dust.

You’d think something so huge would be dearly mourned. But it wasn’t. I don’t have a sob story or a tragic end to attach to the fact that I just, stopped.

After my college days, my life drastically changed. I somehow found my way to the desert with a husband and a dog. A change I never saw coming, but one I am grateful for, nevertheless. And through it all, art is still important to me regardless of the medium. So, I found a new outlet.

I’ve done a lot of drawing and mixed media art these last few years. I love my little desk and my meticulously organized hoard of craft paper and stickers. So much so I found myself confident enough to post things I created. I’d snap dozens of photos of my physical art and scroll through them all, find the perfect angle, and post!

I took 28 photos of that piece of art. And now I have 28,305 photos on my phone.

That’s… a lot.

I’ve doom scrolled through thousands of photos of my dog in the same position. Hundreds of photos of myself trying to get a good selfie. So many good memories and pictures I remember taking of family and events. Then so many photos I don’t remember taking. So much nothing.

I had this little ping in my mind. I wanted to bring meaning to photos again.

So, there I was, cleaning my dusty camera, buying a new SD card, and taking that bad boy on vacation to Los Angeles.

I took so many photos. I’d kneel and get great angles. I was switching out my lenses. Was that the sound of flint I heard?

No.

I didn’t like any of photos I took. Nothing gave off that artistic feel I wanted. One of my lenses was damaged and ruined most of my scenic shots. I was disappointed. And the disappointment didn’t end there. I realized I hadn’t taken any photos of my husband and I, or of the event I was there for. I was too focused on the art of photography and I just didn’t enjoy it anymore. It felt meaningless.

But there was still a yearning. I wanted to take beautiful photos, right?

I dabbled with disposable cameras. Maybe I wanted the mystery? Snapping a photo and not knowing the outcome? Was that it? Was I experiencing some kind of artistic breakthrough? I couldn’t convince myself that was it. Sure, it was fun using the disposables. But it’s not 1995 anymore. Those cameras cost almost $30 now and 1 hour photo developing is now 7-14 business days. plus another $35 to develop each roll. A fun activity, but not a sustainable hobby.

Again, I turned my back on it.

Then I started therapy.

I have a lot of fear surrounding loss. Family dying, losing the not even a handful of friends I have. And most importantly, memories. I found that nostalgia was hindering my ability to do new things. I’d cry about the summer of 2019. I’d mourn the loss of old electronics. I’m desperate to find and listen to all of the songs I remember playing on the radio. And finding the mix tapes my dad would make my brother and I for road trips. All I watched was cartoons I loved as a kid. This whole time I was just running backwards. Chasing the highs of the past because I was struggling to create new highs in the present.

Through therapy, I was able to break some bad thinking habits and have some exposer to events in the present I feared most. And through this maze, I found something that combines my love of the past and my fear of the present.

I welcomed a little pink 50 megapixel camera with a built in Mp3 player into my life. Best $22 I’ve spent.

No zoom, no flash, no focus. Just a camera.

All along, I just wanted memories.

This little pink camera gave me the nostalgic feeling I craved and the ability to create new memories. Instead of picking up my phone to snap a photo, I would have to remember to pull out my little camera. Which made the photo worth remembering. And the quality of the photos gave me the nostalgic feeling I wanted.

I love the train tunnel at DIA so I snapped a photo. The train cars make me both happy and sad, because I’m either leaving home or coming home. So I snap a picture. I love the ever changing view out of my window. I love the hustle of people at airports. It blows my mind that all of these people are going all over the world for a reason I’ll never know. So I snap some photos.

I love my mom’s garden, it’s what home feels like to me. I love my little path I follow at the park looking for dragonflies and dandelions. And you know what, I like the way I look sometimes, so I pointed the camera at myself.

And snapped some photos.

My favorite part is this little pink camera serves one purpose. (Well, two. Can’t forget about that mp3 player.) It’s just a box of memories. I can look through them whenever I want, and I don’t have to wade through useless screenshots to find them. I don’t have to post them to garner attention. All I have to do is enjoy the photo and remember why I took it.

This is how I’m learning to embrace the present using photography. Its importance never left me, just its purpose. I no longer have a passion to take National Geographic-esque photos. I just want to capture what’s important to me and no one else.

I still fear the present and future. I’m scared of tomorrow. But I’m learning, in my own way, that capturing my present will benefit my future. And when I find myself looking back for that nostalgic comfort, I notice the strides I’ve made into the future I feared.

erika.