Over-Photographing Our Lives: When Capturing Takes Us Out of the Moment

I’ve noticed how quick we are to reach for our phones the second something meaningful happens. A sunset. A birthday candle. A quiet moment with our kids. Before we even breathe it in, we’re framing it through a screen.

The problem is, when we rely on photos to hold our memories, we don’t always create the kind of memory our body can carry. A picture can remind us what something looked like, but not how it felt. Not the smell of the woods, the sound of laughter, or the way your chest lifted when you were fully there.

On the trail, I learned this the hard way. My early days were filled with photos of views that now feel flat. Later, when I stopped pulling out my camera every mile, I started noticing what the photos could never hold—the texture of the rocks, the weight of the silence, the way the wind carried a story only my skin could remember.

That doesn’t mean photos are bad. They’re gifts. But they’re not a replacement for presence. The real memory isn’t stored in pixels—it’s stored in your senses, your body, your heart.

As Thich Nhat Hanh said, “Life is available only in the present moment.” Sometimes the best way to keep a memory alive isn’t to capture it, but to fully live it.

So the next time you reach for your phone, maybe pause. Take one photo if you want, then put it down. Let yourself breathe in the moment you’ll one day want to remember—not just how it looked, but how it felt.