This weekend, I went to a concert with one of my more experienced concert-going roommates. What stood out to me, besides her ability to perfectly plan and get us just close enough to the front without wasting our day waiting in line, was her lack of picture-taking. I was surprised; this is someone who is skilled with a camera and loves to capture a good photo. She wisely asserted that once she got one or two good photos and a video, she likes to put her phone away and enjoy the moment.Â
I’ve always thought that, in order to make the most of my money and to extend the experience, I should take videos at concerts. I try to be fairly offline, just capturing my favorite songs and moments, but even the stress of trying to record at the right times and get the right angle can take you out of the moment. We had such a great time at the concert – and I don’t have much to show for it. The concert was one of my favorites I’ve ever been to, which proved to me that obsessive memory capturing won’t actually enhance your experience. All it does is take you out of the moment.    Â
I say this as a sickeningly sentimental person. My mom, an obsessive de-clutterer, forced me to make the impossible decision of only keeping three of my favorite stuffed animals. (I won’t reveal what age this showdown was for my own sake). I’ve always been obsessed with capturing the moment. I’m scared about forgetting who I am or, rather, who I used to be. As a child, I’d scribble in journals with the sole intention of preserving my thoughts, opinions: my identity. As I got older, my desperation to remember manifested through my camera roll. My iCloud storage is always overflowing because of my refusal to let go of the memories. My private story on Snapchat saw every thought I experienced and every funny moment I witnessed, probably to most of my friends’ dismay.Â
Recently, I’ve started to feel alright with the idea of letting this go. Last month, Snapchat threatened to delete all of my memories if I didn’t upgrade my storage. Apart from my feelings about the inherent injustice of this demand aside, I am not opposed to the idea. Truthfully, there’s nothing in my “memories” on Snapchat that truly captures my lived experiences. If I delete those memories, all that will be lost are the details. Maybe I’ll no longer have a record of the 8th-period fire drill sophomore year or the hilarious thing my teammate said on our delirious bus rides home from an away waterpolo game junior year, but I lived through these things. I don’t need the digital proof that my high school was crazy or that my waterpolo team was fun— I was there!
That’s not to say intentionally remembering a time in your life doesn’t have value. Photos of the important people and moments in your life, I believe, are irreplaceable. Other tangible things that help us remember are significant, too. My red notebook from the class that made me fall in love with learning history, or even the songs I listened to when I was a melodramatic eighth grader, are part of my history and deserve to be commemorated.Â
But memories are more than physical, and certainly more than digital. They are the way it feels when I’m back home on a fall afternoon, and the sun dances over my piano. The smell of hand sanitizer and the reminders of starting school in the sticky Chicago heat. Those perfect summer mornings that feel like I should be complaining about having to miss my block party for a soccer game. When I feel proud of something I wrote, it brings me back to reading my first article published in my high school newspaper.
If I had to guess at the admittedly young age of 20, I would predict that when I look back on my life, I won’t need anything physical. I’ll know what it has been like to laugh with my cousins, to breathe in the Washington air on a hike, to stay up too late with my roommates. I’ll know what it has been like to be me and to be alive. Those things— the things that actually matter— are unforgettable. And they live within me.Â
