Almost Forgotten

By Steve Carr

As we left our family’s favorite pizza joint the other day, I saw my daughter taking a picture of the sign above the door. I had to ask.

“Oh,” she said, “I’m trying to capture one second a day, every day, to create a journal of my life this year.”

This sounded like a fun idea, a digital diary if you will, and far less overwhelming than trying to cobble together meaningful sentences in that Father’s Day gift: a handsome journal with hundreds of blank pages, its spine still uncracked. Maybe I already had a diary of sorts, I thought.

So I spent some time looking at the last several pictures on my phone. They included a nephew scoring a soccer goal, a grandchild’s wobbly first attempts at riding a bicycle, the family eating popsicles, and photos of my recent fishing trip. All happy reminders of a good life.

I was on to something here. Time to retire the ball and chain, i.e., pen and paper. I delved further into captured moments I’ve regularly recorded on my phone. This was going to shape up as an easy and authentic photo-diary of my life and times.

After viewing more than a few pictures of beautiful sunrises, it dawned on me there wasn’t a single picture showing me wide awake at 3:00 am, wishing I was asleep, or waiting on interminable hold to talk to a real person about a utility bill, or sitting in the doctor’s reception, thumbing a magazine about good prostate health.

Of course there wasn’t. But that meant there wasn’t any context to the trophy moments.

We are pretty good at capturing and remembering life’s highlights and allowing the mundane to slip from memory. That seems like a mostly good thing. (I’m not even going to mention life’s real struggles and the most difficult days, a subject for another time.)

 For years now as I’ve written these columns, I’ve resurrected significant and happy moments. I suspect I didn’t include much perspective from those unedited moments both before and after the big reveals.

 I see this in a picture from my recent fishing trip. Two hugely talented fishermen document a successful float on a record day on the South Fork of the Snake River in eastern Idaho. That’s me on the right. Maybe my goofy grin should tip you off to the truth of the matter: it says rookie, plain and simple.

Thanks to a feature on my phone that captures the few seconds before and after this nearly perfectly edited and saved shot, I rediscovered a memory I’d mostly discarded. It was in fact a cold, rainy day and the fishing was slow.

In the second photo, that slippery cutthroat had my number. It was taken by our guide, who tied our flies, untangled our snags, and fed us lunch.

That’s right: Steve, the mighty outdoorsman. My less-edited life. This expanded memory of our day on the river certainly adds dimension to my story. Some might say it makes it more interesting and adds honesty and a level of vulnerability.

It is my story to tell. Maybe I’ll crack that pristine diary and write a full report. As for my digital journal? Let’s just say my goofy grin in the first photo provides the careful viewer perspective to the only picture from the trip I will show my fishing buddies.