Less snaps, more living
The micro-shifts that are cutting my camera roll in half and making me more present
Our Fourth‑of‑July weekend was packed: a pancake breakfast at church, a sand‑lot baseball game with friends I’ve known since elementary school, a backyard BBQ, scanning the fog for fireworks at my mom’s, toddler dance class, and back‑to‑back pool hangs on Saturday and Sunday. Grand‑total photos? Fewer than ten. (If you knew me when my daughter was born, you’d have bet on fifty.)
I also noticed something wonderful: none of our friends had their phones out either. A few times my daughter and her buddies were being impossibly cute; we all glanced around to see if anyone could grab a shot—no one could. In 2025, that feels like a tiny miracle.
From Chronic Documenter to Intentional Memory‑Keeper
During my daughter’s first two years I photographed everything. (Live mode forever.) After she turned two, something shifted. I wanted less proof of the moment and more presence in it.
That insight clicked while I was listening to Jenna Kutcher interview author Erin Loechner:
“[When I stopped photographing everything] I moved from observer to participant. Once I started participating in my life, I didn’t want to leave the moment, snap this, and upload it.”
That line landed hard. I don’t want my daughter to remember a lens where my face should be.
“It felt so productive to have something to show for these moments—it felt productive to be documenting them. But am I sacrificing the present for the sake of the future?”
Yes. Guilty.
So lately I’ve started deciding ahead of time whether my phone is needed. When the answer is no, it stays zipped in my purse or left at home, freeing my hands—and attention—for what matters.
But What About the Memories I’ll Forget?
Truth: lately I’ve been revisiting photos and videos from her first two years of life and truly there are so many moments I have already forgotten and I’m grateful to have those memories documented. But also, the moments I have remembered are the most important – and some not documented at all – her first car ride, when she belly laughed at me for the first time randomly reading “Who Will Tuck Me In Tonight?” (a book she still loves) – and I find peace in that.
So now, the truth: when I scroll back, there are already gaps. And that’s okay. The important memories survive—especially when I process them. There are a few strategies I’m still developing:
Quick‑fire journaling after bedtime (three lines of what I want to remember).
Monthly photo books—tiny 5×5 books that keep our story digestible. When my daughter turns three I’ll switch to one yearly volume plus a compilation of written memories to highlight.
Reflections and memory reviews on Sunday evenings, which cement the moments more deeply than a thousand shaky videos.
Curation beats accumulation. If I’m overwhelmed by 34 GB of toddler content, imagine my daughter someday.
Five Prompts Before You Pull Out the Phone
Do I want my phone within reach right now? Decide before the moment starts.
Am I stepping into “memory‑keeper mode” because it’s comfortable— or do I want to be in the memory?
Could words capture this better? A journal entry tonight might serve more than a rushed photo that takes me out of the moment now.
Will this moment repeat? First steps? Capture them. Tuesday snack time? Maybe pocket the phone.
Will a photo break the flow for me or my kid? If it punctures the magic, let it pass.
A bench, an açaí bowl, and a lesson
Recently my daughter and I were sitting along the pier eating our shared acai bowl while waiting for my husband to get his pizza. We watched the waves in silence, trading bites and sitting close.
A dad walked past with his teenage daughter and told me, “I remember this time. It went by too fast. This is a picture perfect moment.” I smiled, but my phone was honestly not accessible. Part of me ached for it – yes, he’s right! Better capture it quick! But I had my hands full. So instead, I watched the sunset, looked at her face glowing and with some acai berry around her mouth, and I decided to remember it for what it felt like as I experienced it. I didn’t miss a thing.
Where I’m Headed Next
I’m learning that presence and preservation aren’t enemies; they’re partners. My goal this year is to continue to let them work together: fewer random snaps, more intentional keepsakes, and lots of unrecorded sunsets eaten with berry‑stained spoons.
