For days, I’ve been searching for a description from a cherished childhood book, only to discover I had misplaced it along the way. The image of a nurturing figure organizing a child’s thoughts, concealing the unpleasant and highlighting the delightful, resonated deeply with me.
It struck me as ironic that I now must serve as my own guiding light, tending to my mind and shielding it from its darker corners—much like the guardian angel depicted by J.M. Barrie in Peter Pan, who is no longer by my side.
Today, social media often faces scrutiny for showcasing an overly rosy picture of life, as many debate the authenticity of these curated glimpses. I admit, I prefer not to share a messy photo or one that captures me in a less-than-flattering state, even though I encounter such moments daily. I could easily be labeled as one who only shares the aesthetically pleasing aspects of life.
Peter Pan was released in 1911, well before the advent of Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. Yet, people have always highlighted the best moments of their lives, presenting them for all to admire. We naturally gravitate toward showcasing joyful instances; focusing on negativity would make life feel unbearable. We strive to recapture those jewel-like moments, hoping for more to follow.
Recently, my daughter’s ballet instructor ended class by blowing bubbles while playing Judy Garland’s “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” I watched my little girl, who is no longer a baby, leap and pop the bubbles, and I felt tears welling up. I couldn’t tell if they were tears of joy or sadness, but predominantly, they felt like sorrow. As I experienced this emotional release, she was caught up in the joy of the moment, oblivious to my tears.
In that moment, I was reminded of my mother, who at just 68 suffered a life-altering brain bleed. Where was she now? In a distant reality, perhaps, unable to recall our visit just the day before. In my mind’s eye, however, she was still a vibrant 22-year-old, riding the I.R.T. to perform in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying.
It’s challenging to sift through the clutter of emotions and memories, and I often wonder if even the most nurturing figures could help sort through such a tangled web of feelings. I sought the source of my tears, pondering why my daughter’s innocent joy was so deeply intertwined with my mother’s decline. I wish for my mother to remember her time with her granddaughter, especially on days when they share similar features. I want my daughter to know the grandmother I cherished.
But time doesn’t wait; it slips away too quickly, and as I write this, I recognize the relentless passage of time marked by a constant echo of loss—loss, loss, loss—unless we actively choose to celebrate the moments that oppose it.
When we take a picture and celebrate capturing a lovely moment, we’re pushing back against time. Sadly, this noble effort has often been ridiculed by skeptics who dismiss the genuine spirit of what Tennessee Williams referred to as “the one success worth having.”
People often misinterpret these beautiful photos. They are not meant to deceive friends or fabricate our realities; rather, they are a means to defy time itself. While we know this struggle is ultimately futile, that only makes the pursuit more admirable.
I adore photographs, especially those that capture intriguing instances. However, the most cherished ones are the beautiful memories. They are just as genuine as the candid shots of messy hair or spilled milk, which have gained popularity. Would we criticize an author for only publishing their polished final draft?
I find myself in need of my own internal guardian to help navigate my thoughts at night. With a mother battling illness and the incessant ticking away of time, I feel the weight of loss most acutely in those quiet hours between when my daughter falls asleep and when she wakes, calling “Mama” from her bedroom.
Each nap signifies her growth, and even as I remind myself that the best is yet to come, the hours rush by.
Exploring a person’s mind is like trying to chart a child’s imagination—constantly moving and often chaotic. The Neverland I envision during the day is filled with images of my youthful, healthy mother and all the wisdom she could have imparted to her granddaughter. But at night, as I watch my daughter leap at bubbles, I’m overwhelmed with emotions akin to a child lost in a vast playground.
I need the comfort of nightlights. I need the pretty pictures. Every time my daughter ventures into her own Neverland, I want to be there, filled with warmth and light, when she returns. I understand too well the ache of absence when a mother is no longer waiting by the fire.
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Summary:
In a world where social media often faces criticism for presenting an idealized version of life, the author reflects on the emotional significance of sharing beautiful moments. Through personal anecdotes about her daughter and her ailing mother, she emphasizes the importance of capturing joyful instances as a way to resist the relentless passage of time. Ultimately, these beautiful photos are not about deception but rather about celebrating life’s fleeting moments.
Keyphrase: Sharing beautiful moments on social media
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