Focus, Click! How We Lose The Precious Moments In Life

It was the day after Chinese New Year and a holiday in Singapore. I was in the aquarium. It was crowded and slow-moving.

I thought, “Ah, everyone is taking time to watch the fish, read the info, and get their kids to experience something new and cool.”

Right?  Wrong!

It was slow-moving because most people were posing to have their photo taken next to a tank. Or, they were snapping pix of the fish, seahorse, shark, manta ray, octopus, and whatever creature was trapped behind the glass.

Annoyance and a certain sense of feeling cheated set in rather quickly.

I don’t relish frequenting places where animals are held in their non-native environment. However, I went to the aquarium for the sake of my son. Once there, I wanted to watch the fish, to talk to them, to appreciate the grace, fluidity, colours, and beauty of these often other-worldly, diverse creatures.

Frustratingly, I was denied this pleasure by the multitude of snap-happy maniacs crowding at every tank. They seemed to never truly see and want to experience what they had come to visit.

Don’t get me wrong, I love cameras. But this trip to the aquarium made me realize something had become out of balance.

We have lost what it truly means to “capture the moment.”

I’ve taken a plethora of photos in my lifetime. But, in the past few years, I have questioned whether I should reach for my camera whenever something delights me.

This internal conflict became more evident when I attended my son’s performance at his school gala. I struggled with wanting to video him dancing and the desire to watch every move he made on stage. I wanted him to see me watching him. I wanted him to see me smiling and clapping, not obscured behind a camera.

Later, I asked him what he would prefer. His answer was “To see you watching me.”

Another time I felt this mental tug-o-war was the first time a magnificent green parrot perched on top of a palm tree in front of my balcony. My first instinct was to reach for my phone to take a photo. I stopped myself as it occurred to me that I was missing something the parrot was doing.

I wanted to be completely in the moment with him. I wanted to feel the breeze that stirred his feathers and the palm of the tree he was clinging to. I wanted to feel the sunshine on me that shone on him, to see him looking at me as he twirled and turned.

I was rewarded for my attention. His partner flew in and perched on the palm tree nearby, chattered and flirted for a bit, and then together, they flew off.

I was thrilled and fulfilled. I would have missed so much if I had fumbled for my camera.

I don’t want to miss out on precious moments like this. I want to be lost in the details and emotions of the moment.

I want to watch the sharks I’m scared to death of hovering over me, feeling my heart flutter as I look them in the eye through the protective glass.

I want to enjoy the squirrels racing about like crazies around the trees in my garden, making weird noises I never knew they made.

I want to feel the romantic candlelit ambiance of a restaurant, to savour the food in every sense on each plate as it arrives. Setting up the perfect picture of my dish seems to invade and diminish the appreciation of this “sacredness.”

How can we embed ourselves in the moments of life that create the fabric of our existence? How can we capture these moments in our hearts, bodies, minds, and souls if we are occupied with obtaining the “perfect” shot?

Are we documenting our lives like an outsider? Not getting involved in it?

I’m not throwing out my camera or giving up taking photos. A delicate balance is to be struck, or we will lose touch with our emotions and experiences, the capacity that makes us uniquely human.

Perhaps the key to knowing when the “right” time for snapping is awareness of our surroundings. Awareness brings a deeper appreciation and desire to record the moment with every fibre of our senses.

It makes us grateful, and every cell of our being can remember.

After we feel our being is satiated, then we can reach for the camera.