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How do you capture the perfect photo of five children under the age of eight? Not easily.
My father is sitting on the floor, his back supported by the wall facing the stairs in my parents’ center-hall colonial. I am sitting to his right. I feel the presence of my brother behind me, and my sister-in-law to my right. I think my sister and brother-in-law are on his other side; I feel their presence even though, in the commotion, I don’t see them. I hear my mom in the kitchen, putting away the leftovers from Thanksgiving dinner.
In the foyer, it is all-hands-on-deck as we focus our attention to the situation on the stairs.
My twin nieces, six weeks shy of their 4th birthday, sit on the bottom step. Two steps above them sit their cousins, my 5-year-old nephew and his older brother, a month shy of his 8th birthday. Their 9-month-old baby brother is sitting on the floor in front of the steps, innocently playing. He has no idea what is happening right now.
What is happening right now is an attempt to direct the attention and smiles of all five children towards my father, who is armed with a digital SLR camera and ready to shoot.
Because you can never have too many cameras at the ready in these moments, I am in position as well, with my iPhone 6s aimed toward the stairs.
The Strategy
There was a time when I would try to set up the ideal shot before taking the picture. I would wait until everyone was perfectly still and looking in the same direction, and nobody had fingers in their mouths or a dirty face or a limb out of place.
If you’ve taken pictures of kids, then you already know that this approach doesn’t yield too many photos.
I’ve since learned that the best strategy is to “shoot now, sort later.” I would prefer to spend the time reviewing and deleting photos, instead of living with regret over not having taken the photos.
The Sorting
I curled up on my couch, wrapped in the silence that floods my apartment when I return home after a full day with my nieces and nephews. After I deleted the pictures that were out of focus, I had 40 pictures of the kids on the stairs.
Time stamps revealed that these pictures were taken in a span of 3 minutes. Funny. I could have sworn we were engaged with this project for at least 10 minutes. (Note to self: another example that all time is not created equal).
Each picture seemed to have at least one child who was looking in the wrong direction or not smiling or doing something else to thwart our attempts to capture the perfect photo.
There is not one picture where all of the kids are looking in the same direction and smiling at the same time.
Not one. Out of 40.
I started to hear the familiar voice of If only…
If only she were looking at the camera…
If only he were smiling…
If only the situation were something other than it was… then I would have the perfect photo.
The Moment of Awareness
The voices were just getting started when I brought awareness to them and called them out for what they are: manifestation of the anxiety of imperfection.
I realized that my strategy of “shoot now, sort later” hadn’t actually resolved my yearning for perfection. It simply deferred the search to a later time. I was still looking for the perfect moment, and hoping to find it within the pictures I had taken.
That picture doesn’t exist. That moment didn’t happen. Not this time.
Suddenly, I doubled over in deep, rib-splitting, infectious laughter. Alone in my apartment, looking at these photos, I was laughing so hard that I was making myself laugh more. I was infecting myself.
I struggled to catch my breath as a different voice emerged. This one, out loud:
These kids are just so funny.
Each picture showed a glimpse of the childrens’ personalities.
Their very distinctive personalities.
I scrolled through all the photos again. This time, I focused on their expressions and body language. The funny faces and big smiles. The hand gestures and body movements. The laughter. The eye rolls. I followed the trajectory of their gazes to see where they were looking.
Viewed in quick succession, the pictures show movement; the photos come to life.
Together, they tell a story that no single photo could tell on its own.
Together, they reveal a dynamic among the kids that was imperceptible to me in the moment. In the pictures, I could see how they interacted with each other and I could hear their unspoken dialogue: of curiosity and laughter and nurturing and love.
The Inquiry
In my constant attempts to uncover the deeper layers of my consciousness and further progress in my journey of awakening, I opened myself to another level of inquiry.
What’s behind my need to capture the perfect photo? Why do I need to pick just one?
Who are the photos for, anyway?
Did I take these photos for myself? Or did I take the photos for an external audience?
Was my purpose to trigger my memories of a great day? Or was it to show the world my perfectly adorable, smiling-on-cue, nieces and nephews?
Was I trying to capture the actual moment as it happened, or was I trying to create a moment to portray some version of an idealized life?
Was I seeking the one perfect photo for a frame, or for Facebook?
The Awakening
A moment of insight came the next morning:
None of the photos is perfect, because the one perfect moment does not exist. Perfection, if it exists at all, lies in the entirety of the series. Together, they perfectly capture the experience of that moment and evoke the unbounded love that I feel for these five children.
The photos are perfectly imperfect.
Just like their subjects. Just like me. Just like life.
And I’m keeping all of them.
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