Have you ever written one of those letters . . . you know, a letter to your younger self, where you go back and give yourself advice?

I would like to tell my thirty-five-year-old self to stop hiding from the camera.

From about that age on, I never wanted my picture taken, because I thought I was too fat, too wrinkly, or not wearing the perfect shade of lipstick. I would give anything to have that thirty-five-year-old body back! All the things I thought were bad then are twice as bad now.

Oddly enough, I didn’t just stop taking pictures of myself; I seemed to have stopped taking pictures entirely. Which is strange because I’ve always loved it.

My first camera was one of those Instamatics. It had a button that clicked loudly when I pressed it, and a little wheel advanced the film. It didn’t have any settings, and the pictures it made weren’t very good, but I loved it! One year, we took a family vacation to Mexico and spent two weeks on the beach. There were so many interesting people and vibrant colors. I came home with nothing but sunset photos—not a single person in any of the pictures. Looking at those sunset pictures now, the photos could have been taken anywhere.

I was in high school when I got my next camera. It was a Disc camera . . . thin and square. The film was a flat round disc, and since the camera had batteries, the film advanced automatically. I was assigned the camera when I signed up for the yearbook committee. I took nothing but pictures of people. Mostly the popular kids—the kids you’d expect to see in the yearbook. I loved having a reason to take their pictures.

When our kids were little, we got a camcorder. It was huge! Our first model took a full-size VHS tape. I liked this model the best because you could instantly watch what you got on the VCR player. Our next model of camcorder was an 8mm. It had small tapes. To watch those home movies, we had to hook up wires from the camera to the TV. The wires were never where you had left them, and when you did find them and hooked them up, the picture was pink! I’m sure we have tapes we’ve never watched. I will say we videotaped everything our kids did up until the age of five. My husband threatens that he’s going to put a show together to play at our kids’ weddings—the more embarrassing the better!

When the video camera died, we didn’t replace it. That was about the same time everything went digital, and no one had a camera, but everyone had a phone. That was also the time I stopped taking pictures. Just when picture-taking was at its simplest and most convenient, I quit. In my defense, it was a very busy time. We had two kids in different schools, and there was an unending number of after-school activities and playgroups. But I know the real reason . . . I was critical and judgmental of myself!

The kids are now all grown up and out of the house. We have books and books of photos from their early years and school, and sports photos for many years after that. What we don’t have are pictures of our ordinary home life. We did so many fun things! And I have no photographic proof that I was there with them.

So, to my younger self I say: Take more pictures!