Why You Should Document Your Life
The moments that escape recollection tug on my heartstrings. They are raw, genuine, and beautifully flawed, much like life itself. My thoughts on capturing them.
When I was a kid, my dad was big into photography. Very weird because he wasn’t big into much else besides God and prayer. Him, my mom, and a carousel of aunts and uncles were always around our home. They were snapping pics left and right — birthdays, parties, trips, you name it, they snapped it. There were these grand occasions with me in suits, bowties, and Nigerian traditional wear. It's funny, those photos my family took of my early life seem more real than my actual memories of that period.
But, you know, there's a part of that period that's always going be a mystery. Nowadays, my favourite memories aren't the big holidays — though they're pretty awesome, not gonna lie. It’s the little things that didn't make it into the camera roll. Those in-between moments. Like the mundane wait in a queue, or that eye contact with a friend after a WTF moment.
It’s all about the little things. The memories, both good and not so good. Big and small. I tend to lean a bit too much into the negative, so when I dig into my memories, the bad ones kinda stand out more. I know that’s not really logical, but it's how I feel. So, I’m trying to shift that perspective.
I’ve never been super comfy in front of the camera. I think most of us aren’t, right? For me, it boiled down to insecurity. I'm still a bit insecure, but I handle it better now, and I know others feel the same way. I work in sales, chat with customers all the time, even enjoy being in front of the camera. Photos and videos? Still a bit scary, but I do it anyway. There’s something beautiful about being captured and capturing others.
Over COVID, when the world slowed down, I had time to think about this stuff. My perspective is mine alone. The me right now sees things differently than past me, and future me will probably see things in a whole new way too. I can never capture that exact same feeling in that exact same moment ever again.
A sad truth is, you can’t really share your true state of mind with anyone, even yourself. Cognitive psychologist and psycholinguist Steven Pinker has a term for this: Mentalese. It's the language of thought. Our brains are high bandwidth, but our means of expresssion are low bandwidth. Talking is the primary means of conveying mentalese, but through recordings, writings, and creating, you increase your bandwidth.
The stuff you create are like little bits of yourself, out there and vulnerable. They're disconnected and, honestly, I feel, a bit fragile. It's that same insecurity, nagging at you. Kind of like leaving your kid unattended for too long. "Are they okay? Do they suck? Do other people like them?".
Thinking of your art as your kids means everything you make is precious and kinda scary. It’s a reflection of you that you can't fully control. My take? Art should be seen as a part of you. It feels more genuine and gives you both more and less control. I like that angle; it’s empowering in a sense.
It lets you talk to yourself across time and space, almost like a superpower. And it gets cooler the older I get. I'm creating more, getting comfier with sharing myself, and as I understand myself better, my ability to translate mentalese grows. Sure, it's not always easy. You lose motivation, it can be lonely, and yeah, there's a constant fear of judgment but you press on.
Then you hit a wall. Writer's block, paralysis by overanalysis, decision fatigue. You get the picture. Time doesn’t stop while you’re stuck. It just goes on, blending each day into a painfully familiar blur. Life starts feeling less like living and more like just existing.
Last autumn, I decided to change that. To capture life like my family did back in the day with a more personal twist. Capturing moments here and there constantly, transcending time with a few clicks. The photosets on my website, my writing, some cool videography stuff I’m working on and not to mention the site itself. Growing older has pushed me out of my comfort zone. Moving away, traveling, new social ties, and changing old ones. It’s been deeply transformative and I’m trying to document it.
Documenting mentalese takes effort. You might seem quirky, but it’s like turning your memories into poetry. It involves delving into the recesses of your mind, translating the language of your soul into physical form. Reinterpreting your own life. When I look at my old photos or reread my words, time slows down. Days feel fuller, and past and present versions of me merge, if only for a moment. Thanks for reading.
well all this certainly affirms what i believe to be true! its the little things, sacred reflections of your past self and memories. So nicely written.