Encouraging myself to live in the past?

Today, I decided to count how many framed pictures I have in my room. I believe there are 66. That total, of course, doesn’t include posters or anything on my photo or cork boards. My photo albums, boxes, and scrapbooks don’t figure in either. It’s just framed photos. The fact that I crammed 66 of those in here is absolutely ridiculous given the dimensions of my bedroom.

But that got me thinking. Am I subconsciously fueling a very powerful nostalgia by surrounding myself with memories and images of the past? Is this more than a photography hobby? I’m not sure how to tell.

On one hand, everyone takes photos. It’s a bridge to the past, and they’re almost necessary. Most people do frame some of them, at least the best ones. That’s normal. But when does normal drop off and obsessive pick up? Because I’m afraid I might be sitting on that line, to be honest.

Most of my frames are filled with pictures of my pets, my family, and my friends. I’m in a lot of them, as part of the group. On a side note, keeping framed pictures of just yourself in your room would be very, very strange.  Anyway, a few of them are different. There’s one on my nightstand of the ocean that I took when I was parasailing. There’s another on a shelf that’s of and autographed by Austin Collie. There’s a cool shot I took of a palm tree that’s hanging on my wall. Mostly though, they’re group shots of myself and my friends.

I don’t know what to think of it. I get pretty wrapped up in the memories when I look at some of these photos. Sometimes I think I’d give anything to live a certain moment one more time. And even in a present moment, I often get concerned about taking a photo so that I’ll have an image to remember it all by. In reality, I should focus more on experiencing the moment as it’s happening. I have been working on that lately, and it’s proven to be a good thing.

But even as I’ve been taking fewer photos, I keep buying more frames and somehow finding a place to put them. There really isn’t room on my bookshelf or dresser or desk or shelves anymore. My walls are almost full too. I keep saying I’ll stop until I get a house of my own to decorate. But then I never do. I bought two more frames just a couple days ago. I plan to have them up by the time the weekend arrives. It’s bad, really bad.

So that’s my troublesome thought of the day, I guess. As I’ve said before, I really don’t want to be stuck in the past…but something’s telling me that I might be holding myself there lately, and all of these frames staring me down are perhaps part of the problem.

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