For some reason, I think I’m nocturnal when it comes to cleaning. Like an owl, I somehow get incredibly energized when I start organizing and packing at night.

Tonight, for example, I went out for dinner with my parents and had a girls’ chat over dessert. I got back at 1240am and was pretty sleepy, but I started thinking about things I needed to move to my new apartment tomorrow and two hours later, here I am reminiscing over old photos, yearbooks, and albums. (Overly nostalgic to the point I probably woke up all my high school friends with my spitfire texts.)

I found my Harry Potter set, all my track and x-country awards, and my high school diploma - phew! My RPG game walkthrough guides. My roller blades. But what I valued the most were the photos and albums. Being able to see photos from my teenage years is very important to me.

I guess my mom was the one that used to take all the photos of us, because whenever I look through albums, there’s a large chunk missing from when I was 7 to when I was 12. Basically, nobody was really there to document my childhood from my parents’ divorce and my mother’s departure until I was old enough to have a camera of my own (or friends with cameras). Although that does sadden me a bit, that I am missing a large chunk of my childhood, I do see how that must’ve shaped the way I photograph so often now. I am grateful that I have found an appreciation for photos and for journaling things down because these are times we will never get back.

Please be clear I’m not saying this to feel sorry for myself, but if I could change one thing for when I parent my own children, I want to make sure I take millions and millions of photos of them growing up. It just happens so fast. If only I had a few more photos of Fat Derek..

There was this girl in high school that took photos all the time. She was permanently attached to her camera and probably averaged at least 5000 photos a year. It was occasionally annoying and we teased her about it sometimes, but I am very grateful she was there through our high school career. She provided proof of our simpler times and wonderful memories. She documented our adventures and gave us an outlet to look fondly back on. She photographed proof that we lived. And for that, I am grateful for the hundreds and hundreds of photos she took.

Nostalgia is a powerful thing. Just one look down memory lane and I can feel myself missing high school all over again.

It’s time to grow up, but remembering where you come from is important too.