In three months Americans will mark the 55th anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Even those of us not alive yet seem to know the story well--or at least a version of it as told by writers and filmmakers. I am most fascinated by the eyewitness accounts of the people who were there.
           The motorcade route was lined with people—people waiting to see the President and his wife, maybe hoping to snap a quick picture. Every single person on the street that day had their own story. Unknown to them at the time, their faces, their reactions and their movements were about to become immortalized as part of one of the most talked about moments in American history.
           I take a lot of pictures, particularly when we are on holidays. It always amuses me to look through the images and see how many strangers will now be a permanent part of our photo collection. Yes, our family members are front and centre but in the background are countless individuals just going about their day who happened to be in the frame as the picture was snapped. Then I wonder: “How many cameras and phones have pictures of us on them? What was I doing at the time? What does my expression suggest about the moment? And of course…how was my hair?"
I used to take a lot of video too. Yes, used to. Then I discovered how the lens was obscuring my vision.
It was an amazing August day and we were on a whale watching tour off the coast of Washington. The sky was brilliant blue, the ocean sparkled and the whales were spectacular. With video camera in hand I was determined to capture every majestic moment of the orcas that afternoon.
The tour was led by well-educated guides helping us locate the whales. There were also 40 sets of eyes on the boat and each audible gasp or squeal alerted us to where we needed to look next. So I’d quickly swing the camera around and hurriedly try to find what had just been witnessed. I was so disappointed knowing I’d missed capturing the wondrous moment on video…and then I realized…I, too, had missed it completely. There I was with the vastness of the Pacific Ocean all around me, watching orcas leap, splash and play, and I was trying to take in the enormous scene through a 2x3 inch video lens.
I put the camera back in its case, moved to a new spot along the railing, and with a huge smile on my face (and at times, a tear in my eye), watched in amazement as these incredible creatures glided past the boat and rose powerfully and majestically up and out of the ocean. It was spectacular—and I was finally fully engaged in it. I can reminisce with ease and my memories are far better than any picture or video clip. In my mind I can recall the gentle breeze across the water, the warmth of the sunshine on my face, the fragrance of the ocean, and, best of all, the delight in my family’s voices as they shared the moment with me. I had to put away the tiny screen so I could see the big picture.
Sometimes we can get a pretty narrow view of life. We have difficulty seeing past the busyness of our day-to-day activities or we question the circumstances we may find ourselves in. It is exactly in those moments we need to step back, pull our eyes away from the small screen of our own lives and look to see all those who are, intentionally or unwittingly, captured in the various frames of our lives, collectively composing a more complete picture.
Seeing our world through a small lens means missing much of what is out there. There is a lot more to the bigger picture and sometimes we need to put the camera down so we can see it…because life is the best viewfinder and our memories are the best storage system of all. That’s my outlook.
