A month ago my phone did the thing we all fear: it told me that there wasn’t enough storage space to take pictures.
And then I decided I didn’t really need to send a picture of my dinner to my mom.
It was disastrous (1) because my phone is my main camera and (2) because my momma will never know the beauty of my over easy eggs.
It was up to me to do the unthinkable. On a Friday night–the only appropriate night for this sort of thing–I was left to delete pictures from my phone. (I’m stuck in the past tense, but just so we’re clear, I waited until tonight to delete them. Procrastination alert!)
And you know what?
There are some really great pictures on here. I’m not saying I’m Cindy Sherman. (I always go with Cindy Sherman in a photography conversation. I have a very limited scope; there’s Cindy Sherman, Ansel Adams, and that woman who takes adorable pictures of babies in things. See? Limited.)
But these pictures show some really good times. I’m reminded of what a wonderful life this is and also that I’m not immune to poor choices.
Jill. A zebra farm. Wicked soundtrack. Four hours until we change in a parking lot and Jill curls her hair in the hallway.
This is a blurry picture of Kevin Costner. I swear.
This is a blurry picture of two ladies I’m blessed to know. I swear.
Sometimes growing out your hair has its bumps, speed bumps on the highway that throw your car down the ditch.
Pepperdine at night can kind of make you feel like a Disney princess (with rabies).
I climbed this rock and sat on it, and my Italian Rachel just happened to snap a picture at the right time. (She also took about fourteen failed versions, but details.)
Oh, and the dog pictures, but I’m keeping those on the phone.
Maybe I’ll keep them all because my heart’s memory is bigger than an iPhone’s or something really meaningful that I’m too tired to articulate because it’s 9:30 on a Friday and I should be in bed.