While screwing around with the photos on my phone, I touched the part of the screen that scrolled all the way up to the first photo in my library, an image of Banksy’s “Girl with Balloon” painting. The next is of a comic strip, and then a mirror selfie at the beach house from 2017 when I was decidedly more fit and tan. Anything from before the summer of 2017 has been moved and saved elsewhere or is in print form.
I spent the next twenty minutes swiping photo after photo: cats, comic strips, sunsets, selfies. More cats, more sunsets, a graduation, more comic strips. Then came an ex’s dog, some hikes, fields of sunflowers, the sky with rippled clouds, more cats, more comics, more of the dog. Photos of places an ex and I visited (New York City, San Diego, Washington D.C., Baltimore). Some pictures with co-workers, Christmas with the tree up, more cats, more dog, more comics, more sunsets.
Then began the screenshots of poems and somewhat sappy but wise phrases and memes – mostly about love and loss. This was after the breakup. A screenshot of a text conversation, more clouds, more cats, more comics, a fire pit. The ones of the cats in the car as we waited in a nearby parking lot during open houses when I was trying to sell my house, hit a little harder. I hated pretty much everything about selling my house. Sunsets, clouds, a trip through North Carolina as I went on job interviews, hazy mountain views near Asheville, an art hotel in Winston-Salem. A bar covered in mosaics in St. Louis (another trip for a job interview) and street murals. Then the last picture I had of one of the cats, Paris, a few days before she died. More comics, more screenshots of wise words about love, more sunsets, one cat (singular) on the refurbished deck, daily enso paintings. Final pictures with co-workers, a cat in an empty house, empty rooms, plants on the bare wood floor, a cat carrier, a moving van. Memphis.
It all seems like ages ago and save for the photos, a bit of a blur in the maybe I wasn’t thinking straight sort of way.
Recently, during a job interview, the person on the phone wanted to know about some of my shorter tenured positions over the last few years – nothing specific, but wondering if I was the type of person who moved around a lot. I said no, I was in a job for eight years or so, one of the best jobs I’ve had. For personal reasons I felt like I had to move away… also, I was at another job for three years, where I felt like I was doing good work, but didn’t feel at home in central Pennsylvania. I feel more at home here. I plan on staying. I’m just looking for the right fit. I didn’t share this with the interviewer, but having started over a few times, I’ve grown more stoic about things (jobs, relationships, friendships, and places) not working out. Things that may not be a good fit now might be a better fit at some other time, or might prepare you for something different.
The pictures from Memphis were bitter-sweet. Lots of screenshots of poems, sunsets over the Mississippi, the cat, one or two of my new friends and an eventual girlfriend, screenshots of dating profiles, and screenshots of old texts from the “for personal reasons” relationship – taken, I presume, as reminders of some of what transpired. Reminders that I needed when I started this blog and was trying to write/work through my shit. there was a lot of confusion being in an entirely new city and trying to do who knows what. More cat, more poems and memes about love, the dating profile of the celebrity I connected with on a dating site. The Mississippi River, Little Rock, North Mississippi hills and Oxford, my favorite cafe, sunsets, the cat, long walks during the pandemic, the Black Lives Matters marches. The screenshots of poems and wise words about love grew fewer and were replaced by countless sunsets and pictures of the river. So many sunsets over the Mississippi. Eventually, another moving van. Winter in Pennsylvania, the last pictures of the cat – dear, sweet Nick. Kimbrough the dog.
Sometimes, I’m tempted to delete all or most of them. The thought of doing so (especially of the pets) fills me with a nervous-sad feeling as though the loss isn’t already permanent or would, somehow, become more permanent. None of them are coming back. I know myself well enough to know that I would never actually delete them. I’d just move them on to a drive somewhere – probably next to the digital photos of exes and videos of concerts and my life when I was married. Pieces of my life filed away. Times of my life I don’t visit anymore.
From my time in State College, it’s almost all photos of the dog or screenshots of poems – very few comics, very few sunsets. Then an odometer reading, a loaded down car, and two months on the road. Paintings in art museums, hikes, camping, cities and murals, a woman I met along the way. Wide open plains, the red rocks of the southwest, sunsets.
California. No pets, a few funny memes, lots of poems and concerts, flowers, blue skies, and pictures of the Bay.
Strikingly absent are people. Very few photos of family or friends. Zero photos of some people. The same is true of my apartment. There’s artwork and street art and framed photos of hikes and the way light filters through the trees. No people. I don’t know how I feel about that. Even if I had photos, I’m not sure where I’d put them – which feels even more damning – as though I physically don’t make room for anyone or know where anyone belongs. When I got engaged (the first time) I know we hung our engagement photo up and later a wedding photo. I know we had some photos, not many, on the fridge and on the mantle above the fireplace – all family. When I got engaged a second time I had some photos of her and us. Everything’s in boxes now – has been for four or five years.
I didn’t delete many photos as I scrolled. There was a screenshot of a crappy text from a former boss interrupting my holiday vacation with something that was not urgent. I deleted that. There were a few screenshots of texts that marked the end of a friendship. I deleted those too. The grudges are gone, I don’t need the reminders. There was one of an ex and I at the Love sign in Philly. I’m not sure how or why that survived previous purges – not this time. I got rid of a few selfies. I hate selfies, but I’ve used them for dating profiles. I could get rid of some sunsets, but can never decided between the slight nuances from one photo to another.
I hadn’t intended to do a mini archeological dig through my photo library. It was, more often than not, pleasant. I remember the trips and the pets fondly. I was reminded of how good some of the poems are. I was surprised at how visceral my reaction was to some of the photos from the time just before I moved to Memphis. It still felt a little triggering. It was a lot of loss (for me) in the span of half a year: relationship, selling the house / moving away, and the cat dying. I was also surprised to see the different phases. How the comic strips and funny memes disappeared, or how in Memphis, my photos were all sunsets and in State College they were all screenshots of poems – an external life versus a very internal life. From my time here in San Francisco, there seems to be better balance. The funny memes have returned, there are plenty of pictures of sunsets and the bridge and the Bay, plenty of screenshots of poems, and quite a few screenshots related to concerts and marches and current politics. The last three photos are of a post I shared on Bluesky about M*sk’s pay package, a poem-ish thing about love, and a screenshot of a song that came on while I was on one of my walks.
