Rule #92: Forget the Selfie
We all have a bucket list—the things we want to experience before our time runs out. Mine includes drinking at Oktoberfest in Germany, riding the Orient Express, and taking a cooking class at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. Those are moments I want to savor fully. I doubt I’ll take a single selfie. I’d rather be tasting the stein of beer, noticing the Kellnerin balancing four liters at once, and soaking in the moment. I want memories, not Facebook posts.
When Pope Francis visited Philadelphia, I was amazed to see people turn their backs to him just to snap a selfie. They weren’t experiencing the moment—they were curating it for Instagram. For most of them, that was a once-in-a-lifetime encounter, and yet the memory was outsourced to their iPhone screen.
Don’t get me wrong—when Rachel goes to prom, I’ll be there with the other Archbishop Wood parents taking the required 100 photos. But even then, I’ll remind myself to experience the night with her, to feel her excitement as she moves toward graduation. The picture is fine—but the presence matters more.
Somewhere along the line, our culture—helped by the Kardashians—decided that everything is a photo-op. The obsession with proving we were there has made us forget what it means to be there. (And while I think naming that poor child “North” was the family’s worst cultural crime, that’s a rule for another day.)
Lately, I’ve realized I’ve been guilty of this myself. Tomorrow, when I watch Abby’s rugby match, the phone stays in the car. I want to actually feel the game, not document it.
My father understood this long before Instagram. He traveled to more than 100 countries and came back with incredible stories. No photos, just memories retold with more color and emotion each time. Yes, the stories grew larger than life—but they were his, and the emotions were real. When he described riding a camel in Egypt, my mental picture was far more vivid than any photo could have been.
So I’m challenging myself to live less distracted, less selfie-focused. I believe my experiences—and my relationships—will grow deeper for it. And while the world may see fewer of my Facebook posts, I suspect it won’t mind.
That said, don’t worry—there will be photos of Rachel’s prom, Stephen’s graduation, and of course my grandchild. Just fewer. Enough to remember, but not so many that I forget to live.
Love, Dad