Delete
My phone recently told me that it was running out of storage. Knowing I wasn’t going to pay for extra storage I started to go through my phone deleting apps that I hadn’t touched in a while, sifting through photos that were screenshots or just temporary shots that I needed to send to friends in the moment. After deleting several of hundreds of photos (okay, I’m lying, maybe about 150-200 photos...) my phone seemed to be satisfied. Since then it’s become this weird, almost therapeutic, soothing thing to do before bed. I come up with some arbitrary number in my head, some random goal of photos and videos that need to be deleted. I can’t rest until I hit that now meaningful numerical amount. When it’s hit I’m satisfied.
Then I got this idea.
Why don’t I just delete all the photos from my phone?
Every
Last
One
Not before uploading them to my laptop though, of course. I grab my cable, plug my phone into my laptop and start the process of importing the photos. A message came up that I read quickly. Something about too many photos, not enough storage, certain items weren’t able to be imported because of one thing or another.
I looked through the photos that were stored on my laptop and deleted the ones that had snuck through my photo/video cleansing bedtime ritual yet I was still left with quite a few.
I scroll some more.
Travel photos. Amsterdam. Brussels. Paris. London. Los Angeles. Minneapolis. New York City. San Diego. Phoenix. San Francisco.
Ahh, San Francisco...
I scroll again.
Photos of my cat who passed away earlier this year. Definitely can’t delete those.
Scroll.
Scroll.
Scroll.
There it is. An album titled “2010-2015″ with the face of a familiar stranger as the thumbnail driving a car in Tampa. I stare at it as “This is: Beyonce” Spotify playlist plays in the background. I don’t click, I just stare.
“Yeah, this album can be deleted to save some space for more important things but let’s not make this decision just yet. Let’s sleep on it.”
Good idea.
A week passes and I’m here again. The same album. The same playlist. The same intention yet different action.
This time I double click on “2010-2015″ and I’m back in San Francisco. Sitting on the heart statue in Union Square with the Golden Gate Bridge painted in the background. I’m in the ice cream shop with the cookie ice cream sandwich trying to figure out how to make it stop melting while eating the paper it’s wrapped in. You’re smiling and I’m picking wax paper out of my mouth. Now I’m back in Boca sitting at your grandparents dinner table with your hand on my leg, stealing kisses when your maw-maw turns her back. We’re explaining to your horrified papa what a fleshlight is while your jovial uncle is picking a card out of the deck for “Cards Against Humanity” that he feels we should explain also. I’m in New York City again getting lost on the subway (I’ll admit, it was my fault, you were right...) on the way to dinner to meet a close friend. I’m in Cozumel teaching you how to salsa dance in between margaritas and giggly kisses. I’m in Tampa where we tried to piece it back together and back in San Francisco where we held it together for a second or two...
Then I’m back in my room, XO taking me mentally through the hills of Oakland while I’m physically staring at the album titled “2010-2015″.
Delete it.
But these photos don’t exist anywhere else.
Delete it.
Can we just save a few?
Delete it.
We can sleep on this again.
Delete it.
It has been a long time...
Delete it.
Delete it...
Delete it.
Delete...
Delete it.
...it...
Deleted.
