In the spring of 2023, my dad took my family to Orange Beach, Alabama. I was beyond excited to collect seashells, go parasailing, and swim through the waves of Alabama’s sandy white beaches. I immediately assumed my family felt the same way. However, this wasn’t exactly the case. Anytime we visited a local beach, restaurant, or even a tennis court, the first thing they would do was whip out their phones. I was bombarded with demands to capture the right lighting, “No, not there! The palm tree is blocking the sun”, or commands to find an interesting location, “A bench, Maddie? Seriously?” I was even overwhelmed with pleas to change the weather, “Maddie, this spot is too windy!” 

I couldn’t stand taking pictures everywhere we went. Every single boat ride, every new hotel balcony, every adventure to a new tourist shop; they all had to be commemorated with a photo. After the renowned Alabama Picture Incident of 2023; I noticed the sheer amount of photos I was pestered to partake in. I suddenly realized that time I typically spent building forts with my friends, swimming in lakes with my cousins, even sharing gossip at family dinner parties were all overtaken by the quest to take the perfect photo. 

For a while, I felt like I was better than everyone else. I was proud that I wasn’t obsessed with pictures unlike my family, friends, and even the strangers I saw taking selfies on the street. I didn’t realize I had the same obsession until I went to grab an important screenshot from my camera roll, and ended up finding it buried in thousands of photos of pretty flowers on the side of the street, stray cats, and old friends I don’t talk to anymore. I decided I had to make a change. I refused to be one of those mindless Instagram-obsessed zombies, but I couldn’t find it in me to delete my photos. I was attached to all the silly photos of my friends, all the photos of my sleeping dog, all the food recipes I swore I was going to bake someday, and all the screenshots of useless text messages. However, I couldn’t pinpoint why these pictures were so important to me. Why couldn’t I let these photos go? What was their true importance to me? 

I spent hours scrolling through my photo gallery, trying to understand why I couldn’t bring myself to delete my photos. Suddenly, while trudging through my 10,524 pictures, I realized why I couldn’t let my pictures go. Whenever I would look at a photo, I felt like I was reliving the moment it was taken in. Whether the picture captures the excitement of the Homecoming Olympics or the smile on my sister’s face as we watch waves crash onto the Orange Beach shoreline, those photos help me hold my favorite memories close to me. 

Letting go of things that bring back memories can be hard. We are often afraid to throw out old vacation souvenirs, childhood stuffed animals, or even receipts from a really good meal. However, deleting pictures with our friends won’t alter the past. We won’t suddenly forget the fun nights we spent with our loved ones. But holding onto pictures may run deeper than our attachment to them. We love to post photos on social media, share photos with our friends, and show off our best moments captured by the camera. We love to have proof of how fun our lives are in comparison to others. When we let go of our meaningless photos, we let go of the need to compare ourselves to one another. Social media often turns people against each other using intense comparison techniques, but by allowing ourselves to delete photos, we may conquer the need to share our seemingly perfect lives everywhere we go. Next time you’re with your friends, put your phone down and build a fort. When your dog comes up to you, put a treat in front of his face instead of a camera. Stopping social media from controlling your life is just a click away.