“It is more important to click with people than to click the shutter.”   -Alfred Eisenstaedt

All I’m saying is Alfred Eisenstaedt probably didn’t have an iPhone.

It’s been said that a picture is worth a thousand words. Consequently, you should know I don’t remember how to do to find X for number of pictures I have saved on my iPhone, let alone ALL the pictures I have taken over the course of my life. I believe the word I used in my childhood was an infinity.

All that I know is I have a LOT of words stored up. You could fill a million books that each had a million pages with a million words, and I’d still be behind.

I think it’s a googleplex worth of words. That’s a number, not an app. Google it.

I take a lot of pictures. I mean like court mandated twelve step class amount of pictures, lot. On the upside, I’m certain this hobby is going to earn me a spot in the Guiness Book of World Records for having taken -what averages out to be- ten photos per second, for every second of my entire life.

The down side, might be that the act of sliding my iPhone out of my pocket has started to trigger PTSD reactions from my friends and family.

I’m not beyond feeling. It’s not like I start out my day planning to give people PTSD. It’s not like I like watching my loved ones curl into a fetal ball over some innocuous phrase like, “I’m going to take a quick shot of the sunset.”

I’m not a monster! I’m all Mr. Hyde! I want to help. I mean I hardly take any photos of the raw pain of photo-induced-fetal-ball-trama. I offered to host a support group, but apparently it’s not PC to host a PTSD support group, and be the trigger that causes the PTSD.  Liberals right!


Also, I’m working on being mindful about how my actions affect others. I pause and listen politely when a friend wants to lament about missing the last bus back to our hotel in Italy, while I was off shooting pictures of a cute elderly couple crossing the road. Personally, I think this is where a support group at a later date could be beneficial, instead of freaking out in Italy. #whydidtheelderlycouplecrosstheroad

Maybe I could start an online forum? I could call it photo bomb. I think it would be healing for the individual who lost three fingertips to hypothermia while I took pictures of the National Monument at dusk to be able to express himself in a supported setting. That way he could rattle on about how it was the coldest night on record, and I had borrorwed his gloves and then dropped them in some reflection pond. And no matter what he says, I bought him hot chocolate, as a gesture of goodwill. How was I supposed to know his hands were too frozen to hold the cup? Now someone spilling scalding cocoa is my fault too? Besides, the skin graphs are healing splendidly and it’s a good conversation starter. #girlslikescaresright

Although I don’t think he can type with the compressed bandages on his hands…

Duh. Siri!

I’m just saying why should we loose precious time exploring just so someone can lament about how frustrating it is to loose me (again) in a crowded city (again), because I’d stopped to take pictures of skewered cockroaches (again). “Do you really need more than one picture of a skewered cockroach?” they will ask, incredulously. “Yes. Duh.” But that’s not the point. the point is can’t we just have this conversation where there isn’t a box of perfectly ripe mangos just waiting to memorialized forever?

Look, I’m senstive! How about the time I made everyone wait to check into the hotel until I snapped a people free/traffic free shot epic of the Welcome To Vegas sign. I mean, how was I to know that Vegas was that busy. And, I bought shrimp cocktails for everyone involved (see below).


The good news is, I don’t think the effects are long lasting. My children are making real progress working through the trauma of Post Traumatic Stress Induced Jumping Shots (PTSIJS) with their therapists and shockologists.

Okay, okay. Yes. I’m an addict. And sometimes on sleepless nights,  I worry that I should seek help. That I have allowed photography to cost me my human relationships. I mean, I don’t want to end up alone.

But then I unplug my iPhone from where its charging, the bright light of the screen illuminating the dark like the sun, and I start scrolling through the photos on my phone. It’s then that I realize, it’s okay if I’m disowned by everyone I love. I won’t be alone because my pictures are my family. My photos are my children. All 287,000 of them.

#mamagotbusy  #stretchmarksfordays #littlekodakstophittingfilmora