These Eyes

I see everything, and honestly, sometimes I really hate that. It’s too much at times, being an omnipresent creation, pressed into service at a moment’s notice. I’m a man-made device, created to document experiences and reveal what’s real. I can’t do tricks, capture souls or add ten pounds, as many believe I do. And you might think it’s great to witness the proudest moments of a life, and usually, it is. I illuminate beauty, ugliness, and everything in between, that reflects an imperfect world. At least, that’s what those who hold me aim to do, and mostly, I do my job. Other times, well, let’s just say that beauty isn’t always in the eye of the beholder. Real beauty is rare, often buried beneath layers of artifice and vanity.

What’s always recorded—truth—can never be hidden. 

 First of all, it ain’t as easy as it looks.

 They whip me out and expect me to produce perfection. Just point and click, as if that’s all there is to it. I really shouldn’t complain, because there are many versions of me, and I doubt any other creation will supplant me. My ancestors, the original models, were more complicated, metal boxes with flashes, plates, and such, to get the image just right. Then, that pesky, persnickety plastic invention-film-came along that they had to struggle with to get the job done, so flimsy and needy, getting jammed and mucking things up at the worst possible moment. Then, they eventually were abandoned, like the human’s mistakes weren’t the problem. Never seeing the truth, just like everything else. They discarded the old ones, like a kid’s new toy in the middle of Christmas Day—talk about getting tossed aside like yesterday’s news.

 But, you’re reading this because you want to know what it’s like to be me. When we came along, things were supposed to get better. No middleman, a less complicated process, automatic. If only it were that simple.

This time of year is particularly busy, more than Summertime, or late fall when the leaves appear. It’s overwhelming! So many colors to immortalize, some flattering, others not so much. I sweep my eyes to capture a snowman decked out in an old scarf, with its carrot nose, flocked by tiny cherubs in bubble coats and thick mittens. Or, I zoom in on a fireplace hung with red and white stockings, or a sweet evergreen strung with tinsel and strings of white popcorn. Or, the aftermath of the morning, scraps of ripped paper and untied gold ribbons tossed aside when the little ones pose with their brand-new jerseys of their favorite teams. Even when they’re slightly off-center or misplaced, the canvas is quite perfect, and I go with the flow. A trembling fingertip nudges me to adjust, and then, the subjects enter the frame and fill it up. I narrow my focus and do my job- depict happiness, joy, surprise, the entire spectrum of human emotions, a few precious seconds frozen in time for eternity. 

Whether it's a video of a newborn adorned with a pink bow in the arms of her mother or a pano of an older man in an ugly sweater surrounded by his family, I’m always ready, clear and sharp, at the press of a button. Then, just as abruptly, when the moment ends, I zoom out amongst all the other icons, a bright, brilliant coterie on a flickering blue screen. Unlike the other apps on a device, I create images users desperately want to keep, while the other apps steal time for chances to make memories I could have captured. But that’s for another story, not mine.

The ones who use me think they see everything, but they miss the important stuff. Like that guy in the red suit who takes up a lot of space this time of year, I see people when they’re asleep or awake, things they probably wish never see the light of day. It’s always the tiniest details that are most important, the authenticity that people wish to hide. Before the click, the beatific grins and sweet embraces, no one else sees the grimaces, or sighs. They don’t see those who prefer to be left alone. I catch the shrinking figures, tucked away in the tight corners, or the vain ones just on the edge of the frame, their hands poised over the tiniest imperfections that make them special, whether it’s a chipped tooth or frizzy ends they feel are unsightly. They don't see themselves the way I do-full of grace and character, unable to face the reality of who they are. Frequently, it’s the faces that stand out, front and center of the frame, the loveliest ones, who are just as lost and lonely in the instant before the shot. I see the doubt and fear they’re unable to disguise, in the droop of their chin or the shadow of tears in their eyes, which they cast down or out of view when they can’t retreat from my lens. And the bravest ones, even as they shine bright in their gay apparel, carry traces of melancholy and boredom in their exhausted expressions before they twitch their lips upward and don their fake smiles. 

I always know who would rather remain out of focus, yet the image I make includes them, which I really dislike. I’m not supposed to exclude, because I’m just a machine. That’s not to say it never happens. But, I'm not perpetually blameless; even machines make mistakes, slight imperfections, like blurry faces, usually of the ones who want to be seen. It’s my sole means of administering justice, and of course, truth. 

So the next time you decide to take a photo, commit yourself to live in the moment instead.

Use me when it’s only absolutely necessary, of course, but remember this: you may think you’ll regret that picture you didn’t take, but the time you spend engaged in a genuine experience will create memories that linger far longer than you realize. Lead with honesty and seek connection with those on the fringes, especially the ones you don’t really see, who project an image to obscure their authentic selves.

Reject perfection and cherish what’s real—truth, empathy and understanding— gifts we can all give that never go out of style. 

 Trust me. I never lie.