I made the mistake tonight of looking through old photographs. It started as a moving exercise, a chance to declutter some more stuff as we prepare to move across the nation. Then I got the brilliant idea to shove a few duplicates in people’s Christmas cards this year. I always like to do a gimmick, you see. One year I wrote jokes, another I included cards from other holidays; this year would be random photographs. Seemed harmless enough.

So I poured a glass of whiskey, put on some music, flipped on the fireplace, and started sorting. It went smoothly and rather than feel the pangs of regret or the nostalgic pull of the past, I felt a scientific detachment to the images, a genuine sense of wonder at the youth and experiences within. I made three piles: one to keep, one for the cards, and one for trash. I took my memories in my hand and literally, physically cast them away. Still, none of this affected me.

My stacks in place, I set to work. I went to my phone to collect the addresses I would need to mail the cards, which sent me through text feeds, on Facebook, and through email. This opened a new can of memories, and somehow this can had fermented. Whilst fingering through chats and photo dumps, meme exchanges, and holiday salutations, the feelings began to pull at me. I went to distract myself through Facebook feeds and came across this little gem:

 And he’s right. I get sad ALL THE TIME. And no, my life doesn’t suck. I just get alone sometimes or feel alone sometimes and I think it’ll never change; I’ll never not be alone. It’s like if you’ve ever stretched and had a muscle lock up, say in your neck or leg or whatnot, you have that initial reaction “Well, this is my life now; bent in this formation for the rest of my days. It was fun being functional…” Eventually it releases and you’re fine but in that moment you were absolutely resolved to be that twisted version of yourself forever. That’s what these late night sadnesses are for me. They come on and I’m convinced they’re the last new feeling I’ll ever have and I’ll just carry this shitsack of loneliness around my neck throughout the rest of my miserable life like luggage.

The hard parts came when I’d see a photo of someone and not remember their name; I’d have some remembrance of who they were, of why I took their photo, and I got over my ignorance and forgetfulness. The real gut punch came when I’d see a face that I did remember but either convinced myself or knew with certain conviction that I’d never see again. Be they dead or someone I’d had a falling out with, I just knew that person was gone from my life forever. And I hate forever.

Facebook gave me delightful videos of photos sliding through time of people I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with frequently and built indelible memories alongside; we thought it’d never end, the perpetual battle of us versus them. Then it did, and this video curated by an algorithm is all I have.

I think the lesson, however, is to constantly create memories; constantly smile at the camera, grab the hand next to you, dig into the shoulder, square your feet, and fight! Some day soon those pictures may be all we have.