What I Really Want to Say on our Holiday Card

I have never written a Christmas letter. This is not a Christmas letter, either. Read on and we’ll all figure out exactly what it is. Each year, finding photos for our family holiday card is not difficult, but writing the text is excruciating. The problem is more than a lack of real estate. It is trying to strike a balance between a positive holiday tone, acknowledging the big things going on in the world, acknowledging the things going on in our family, and trying to say something worth saying. Oh yeah, I also have three really discerning editors in my family. 

I want our holiday card to celebrate the friendships and connections with the many people for whom it is created. If I were to personalize each card, it would take me months to complete and I fear it would feel boilerplate anyway. I want to say to so many people, “I see you! I celebrate you! This card was created with you in mind – specifically!” 

Yet, I don’t want our holiday card to simply ignore what is happening in the world. It seems perversely ironic to send out smiling photos when children are losing their caregivers to COVID, the planet is unraveling, and people are being shot in wheelchairs and schools. But a woes-of-the-world card is not the idea, either. The balance is tricky. 

Could our holiday card be a kind of friendship card, a “we’re thinking of you and you bring us joy” card, a “your friendship is important” card? The values that the holidays represent work, just not all of them. When we get cards that seem steeped in religiosity, no matter what the religion, I always feel like the card isn’t really meant for us – or the sender doesn’t know us very well. 

We send our holiday card to a lot of people. We have been sending our holiday card via email since 2010. When we sent cards in the mail, I had to think about how many to print, get stamps, and take time to assembly everything. Things still take time, but it doesn’t cost more to send to more people. This is good; it allows us to be highly inclusive. However, it also means that our card has a larger audience – and how do you communicate well with a diverse group using such a small space? 

The photos are the important part of the card. That is why I take so many all year long: to get a few good ones! But I don’t want to be a show-off. My card is about communicating not posturing. 

I worry about those who don’t get my card. I post the card to Facebook so I can be as inclusive as possible. If we receive cards from people who were not on our list, we send them a card right away. That doesn’t happen much anymore. I know we are still missing people. Sorry about that. 

I don’t save all the cards I receive. I do save some of them, especially those that are particularly clever, powerful, or hit me in the feelies. These cards mark time, growth, and change. I may not write the Christmas letter, but I make sure that the landmarks are noted in the photos: driver's licenses, graduations, retirements, and important moments. 

Sometimes, I write a poem or short pithy statements on the card. They are never good enough. I would be a terrible greeting card writer. This year, I kept the main message to four words: Love, health, community, and family. That seemed to encapsulate 2021. 

May the year ahead be everything you hope. May you take lots of pictures that you want to save forever and share with the world. May this terrible disease pass over your family and community. And may you know that we are thinking of you, wishing you well, and sending you all our love. Think all that will fit on the card? 

Take More Photos

I wish I’d taken more pictures. With cell phones, photos have become ubiquitous. Social media encourages us to document everything and share, share, share. And that isn’t all bad. I am not talking about selfies. I am talking about non-selfies. I am talking about what goes on in those moments that are frequently undocumented every day.

I was a classroom teacher for more than thirty-three years. About fifteen years ago, one of my colleagues mused that we spend a significant percentage of our life at work and we have no photos of that experience. From that moment, I started bringing my camera (a REAL camera) to school – even when a camera was also built into my phone.

But I wish I’d done it far earlier. I wish I had photos of my early days. A few are in the yearbook, but I have no candids from my classroom, rehearsals, or meetings. I wish I could see the faces of my students in the late 80s and 90s. I wish I had class portraits of those Theatre, Sophomore English, Television, and my early Freshman English classes. I wish I took pictures of the library and the resource center and even the hallways before they were changed and updated. I wish I had documented my everyday life at school – and the wonderful people with whom I shared it.

While the staff changes more slowly than the students, people come and go. Students move through with regularity, but the personnel around me is constantly shifting. Remember that student-teacher? Remember that wonderful quirky and creative kid? I usually remember. I wish I had a picture, too.

What is it about the picture that validates and strengths my memory? Why is it that I can smell and hear and feel the moment so much more vividly when the image is present than when it is just in my head? And I trust my own memory less and less these days.

I treasure the yearbooks. I treasure the old photos that people post on Facebook. They bring me back and they help me remember and cherish the people I adored. I know there is a mosaic of photos out in the world waiting to be woven together. I wish I had more to contribute to it.

I have heard it said that, by taking pictures, the photographer is not fully present in the moment. I disagree. I find that my camera focuses me on the event (yes, I am aware of the double meaning of focus in that sentence). I am more attentive and aware of an experience because I am photographing it. The camera does not pull me away, it pulls me in! I see more clearly, specifically, and exactly when I am taking pictures. It crystalized the experience.

I became my department’s photographer. I documented the events and changes in the school and in my classroom. In addition to my children’s concerts, shows, birthday parties, and games, I also brought my camera for smaller events and day-to-day moments at home and school. I treasure these photos because they bring me back to the way I felt then.

That is the key. While I do want to document the way the old writing center looked or how my daughter decorated her bedroom, what I am really treasuring is how I felt at that time, in that space, with those people. I am affirming that what we did and who we were had enough importance to warrant memorialization and its influence is lasting.

We are worth remembering. We are important enough to hold on to. Our past matters and frames our present. I wish I had learned that earlier.

Little Camera is Watching

Recently, I purchase a dash-cam. I bought it because I had several near accidents with vehicles running red lights and stop signs, and because I was curious – and because it was on sale. It was easy to install and I have only twice looked at any of the videos that it has recorded. For the most part, I forget about it while I am driving. I remember it, however, when I see poor driving.

I think about how my driving is being captured on other people’s dash-cams. While this has changed my driving and, for the most part, I consider myself a conservative and safe driver, I wonder if people would drive differently if they thought that recordings of their driving might turn up online, at the police department, or in other ways. Would some of us slow down?  Would some of us put on a show?

Google introduced Google Glass in 2013 and more recently Google Clip. Both are, for lack of a better term, person cams. They serve the same basic function as my dash-cam, but for human beings. They are a civilian version of the body cams that some police wear.

As you move through your day, people with whom you interact might be recording everything you do and say. The ubiquity of cell phones has that potential as well. Does that change anything?

Let’s try a thought experiment: what if people at your work were recording you? What if, as you dealt with co-workers, clients, customers, and others, someone was secretly recording? How would that affect you? Would it change your behavior?

There are two questions here: one is obvious: how would the chance of being recorded affect one’s behavior? The second is what happens to that recording?

We act differently when there is a camera watching us. Our awareness that our actions will be seen by others, be more “permanent, ” and perhaps be critiqued makes us self-conscious. Our audience changes from known to unknown.

In the world of George Orwell’s 1984, Big Brother looked into the lives of his citizens through a kind of television set. Privacy was almost impossible. The state watched, judged, and punished. While we have no centralized eye in the sky, the idea that an audience is viewing what you are doing in your car, job, or anywhere is unnerving and increasingly likely.

The obvious retort is that, if you have nothing to hide, what is the big deal? Who cares if my actions go viral on Twitter? While there is value in this debate, it is moot. Video of people from cameras meant for security and all manner of personal cams are now out there. It doesn’t matter if you are behaving well or not. The world may see you and that, by itself may be a punishment.

Because the audience may not have context for your actions. The world may not know what your co-worker said to you just a few minutes before you lost your temper. The world may not see the crying person just off the screen. The world may only see the bad lane change, but may not the sick child in the backseat.

Pulling out your cell phone to record an incident is a way to both deescalate and intensify a situation. If you are going to cut in line, I am going to record you doing it and post it. You parked badly; I am going to shame you online. Just like in 1984, fear and shaming do not make a caring community. They do keep people in line.

So how do we deal with the proliferation of cameras and the recordings they produce? First, we increase our civility in public. There is nothing wrong with that. Beating people is wrong regardless of context. Second, we increase our awareness of the presence of cameras. We point them out and notice them wherever we are. If we are being watched, we should be aware of it. Third, we ask questions. Why are cameras here? Who sees the recordings? What is done with those recordings? Who has access to them and for what purposes? We add context wherever possible. If a camera appears, I may need to explain what is going on in more detail. I may need to directly address the camera. I need to think about my new audiences.

I never want to be on a reality TV show, but now we all may have our fifteen minutes of shame and blame. The camera genie is not going back into the bottle. But we must remember that the view into the bottle is often incomplete.

Get Over Your Selfie!

Last week, I watched a high school student walk through a crowded hallway holding her phone in front of her and sticking out her tongue. She was taking a “selfie.” A selfie, for the two readers (I should stop there, right?) who do not know this term, is a picture taken of one’s self by one’s self almost always with a cell phone.

And there are a lot of selfies on the web and social network sites. One could argue that their purpose is to publish them. Many selfies are taken at arms length and look slightly distorted. Some are taken into mirrors.

The rise of the “profile” picture has encouraged people to take lots of photographs of themselves. People of a certain age are now as concerned with documenting their lives as they are with living them. An event doesn’t happen without photos. And nothing works better than a picture of me at an event.

It is seductive. I want to show my friends where I was. I want to take a picture with a celebrity or in front of a landmark. I want to show the world me! See me! Here I am! Look! Look! LOOK!

When my grandmother was packing to move, we discovered her old camera. I suggested that she use it to photograph her apartment. She told me that she didn’t know how to use the camera. I was confused. She had stacks of photos of her travels. However, as I looked at those pictures, I noticed something: she was in all the photos. She had never used her camera. She had always given it to someone else and asked that person to photograph her. Who knew that my grandmother was a trailblazer? She’d do wonderfully on Facebook.

What does it mean to be so focused on taking one’s own picture? When the point isn’t the experience, the sharing, or even the people, we are left with a narcissistic focus on the self –the selfie. It is always about me. Take the picture of me. Look at me. See where I have been and with whom. “Like” me!

And if you are with me, I might just cut you out. Another aspect of this phenomenon is the odd profile picture that is clearly a group shot – but the group has been excised. I have stopped noting how many people have disembodied hands on their shoulders or around their waists. Don’t look at the whole picture: look only at me!

To get you to look at me, I get tagged. Tagging (again for those two readers) is the labeling of the people (if there are other people – or their disconnected limbs) in the photo. Sometimes, we tag people who we wish were in the photo. Or were just outside the photo. Or might like the photo. Look at me!

The way to ruin someone’s perfect self-portrait: bomb it! Photo bombing is the practice of sneaking into someone else’s picture and facing the camera, often with an odd smile or funny face. It is not enough that I have lots of pictures of me; I have to ruin other people’s pictures. When you are looking at your picture, instead you will see me! Don’t look at you; look at me!

There is nothing wrong with a strong sense of self or a healthy ego. However, taken too far, we become all about ego and little else. When the world becomes one big mirror, we become obsessed with our image in it. We are important, yet there is so much more. Our cameras can record beautiful sunsets and landmarks, historic events, and feats of great courage and skill. Or they can be filled our distorted faces with our tongues sticking out.