The Ache Of Missing Everything

I’ve always been the kind of person who takes pictures and videos of everything — every little moment, every place, every person I love. Then, somewhere along the way, it stopped being “cool.” Suddenly, everyone was preaching about being present, about putting your phone down and living in the moment. So I taught myself to become that person — the “in the moment” kind. And honestly, I’ve done a pretty good job. 

I like that I’m not glued to my phone the way I used to be. I like that I see things with my own eyes, not through a screen. But still, I find myself scrolling through my camera roll and Snapchat memories all the time, and what always catches me off guard is how much more I love the blurry, imperfect, in-between moments than the perfectly curated ones. 

Don’t get me wrong — I love a good artsy, Instagram-worthy shot. But those aren’t the photos I go back to. I go back to the ones that feel like time capsules — a laugh I forgot about, a street corner that looks familiar, a random Tuesday afternoon that suddenly means everything. 

I miss the big things, sure — the countries I’ve traveled to with my family and friends, the once-in-a-lifetime trips and celebrations. But more than that, I miss the 3a.m. McDonald’s runs. I miss the weekly CU club meetings. I miss bumping into friends on the way to class, and the daily walks to the coffee shop during studio. I miss the things I didn’t think to take photos of — the things that seemed too ordinary at the time to be important. 

And I wonder, if I had documented those moments, would I miss them any less? Or would they still tug at me the same way, living in the quiet corners of my heart?

I miss my friends and my family every time I’m not with them, and sometimes, even when I am. I miss my Gen Ed class friends from two years ago. I miss my elementary school friends whom I haven’t talked to in years. I miss that kind couple I met at the airport and never saw again. 

I even miss old versions of myself. The girl who was obsessed with the Chicago Cubs. The one who ran every day with her high school friends. The one who dreamed of becoming an astronaut. 

Sometimes I wish I had documented everything, just so I could remember how it all felt. The way the air felt, the songs playing in the background, and the way my friends looked at me mid-laugh. I wish I had more photos, more proof that it all happened. But maybe that’s the thing–we’re supposed to miss. We’re supposed to carry those memories in a way that’s a little soft around the edges. Missing things — even the smallest, most ordinary things — means they mattered. It makes life feel fuller, like a movie I’m lucky to be watching in real-time. 

Because who would we be if we didn’t miss anything at all? Nostalgia, in all its aching beauty, keeps the past alive.

• college
• love
• memories
• nostalgia
• writing