The Art of Not Taking a Picture: Lessons from a Florence Walk

Have you ever been in a moment that seemed existential, meaningful, and beautiful and thought, “I should snap a photo so I can remember this moment?”

Me too, but on a long family vacation this summer, I started to question whether taking a photo interrupts our ability to be in the moment.

We did a crazy thing this summer: we took our 18-year-old and 5-year-old on a European vacation. It was wonderful and challenging, and we wanted to take all the photos.

One night, after a long day, I walked back to our house with a very restless and tired five-year-old who had been a bit difficult at dinner.

It was sunset in Florence.

He grabbed my hand, and off we went.

I decided to take a different route that night.

One that took us over a different bridge to avoid the crowds on Ponte Vecchio.

We wondered, and he talked (because he always does).

I took deep breaths as I took the moment in.

His hand in mine.

Our feet roaming new lands.

No sun was on the streets, only a breeze as night rolled in.

As we approach Ponte Santa Trinita the sun hits us.

We heard live music.

We crossed the bridge, and as he held my hand, we began to skip.

I don’t recall what we were talking about; I only recall the love I felt in my heart at that moment—the full experience of it all—being with him, being together, enjoying each other.

And then the thought, “I should snap a picture of this beautiful sunset so I can remember.”

I stopped myself.

I didn’t pull out the phone.

I stayed in the moment.

I stayed with my son.

We laughed. We skip. We ran. We almost got run over.

And not once did he say, “I’m tired” (with that winny kid voice) or ask to be carried (which he’d done one thousand times that day).

We strolled, and I stayed in the moment with him.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget it, and I don’t think I need a picture to remind me.

It is so easy to get pulled out of our lives. There are so many distractions.

Moments with those we love are fleeting.

What would life be like if we chose to stay in them, at least sometimes?

I’m grateful that I chose to stay in it on that day.