Photogenic

Late-night insomnia being what it is, I try to find new uses for it when it arises. Just now, I looked through every single picture I am tagged in on Facebook. And I noticed a few things.

For one, I never take pictures. I own a camera, but I think the last time I used it was March 2011 to snap two quick shots of a pizza making date. Which, ironically, are not posted to Facebook. If someone had to put together a profile of me based on my Facebook pictures alone, that person would surmise that I only care about vacations (London, Houston--not technically a vacation--Michael Buble concert), holidays (only the 4th of July, if I remember correctly), and my dogs. Oh, and that whole set of family photos.

And looking at my Facebook pictures, I can tell you exactly why I never take pictures, particularly of myself. This is not going to be an "I think I'm fat" rant, although that was the insecure thought that sent me running for my Facebook profile at 3 in the morning.

No. As I look at recent pictures of myself, I have complaints about them, places I want to airbrush or photoshop. My arms that look wide in that horizontally striped sweater, my all-too-prominent acne scars, my ever-widening thighs.

But the funny thing is, those are the same things I complained about in the older pictures, snapshots from two or three years ago. At that time, I'm fairly certain I also had moments when I thought I was fat, but I look at them now and think, "Wow. I was so skinny. How could I have ever thought I was fat?" I just can't comprehend it.

Now, yes, I have gained weight between those two time periods, but I don't think this phenomenon is indicating that I will continue to constantly get larger and only appreciate photographs of myself several years after they are taken.

On the contrary. It actually makes me appreciate the more recent photographs more right now. I compliment myself on a hair day well captured on film. I remind myself that I had a terrible cold that day, so who cares if I went a little light on the makeup?

And finally, I look at who else is in the picture with me. Mission companions, old friends, new friends, puppies, a mom, a dad, a brother, a sister, mere acquaintances. Since I'm never the one insisting on photographs, I know it was the other person who demanded that photograph. They wanted a picture. Of me.

Not because I have perfect skin. Not because I have an impeccable sense of style. Not because I am famous or have a famous boyfriend. Not because I have a popular song on the radio or a popular movie in the theaters or a popular show on TV. Not any of the reasons that the "beautiful" women of the world get their pictures taken.

No. But because those people (and puppies) have spent actual time with me and love doing it and want to remember doing it when they're not around me. (The feeling's mutual, by the way.) And all of the sudden, I'm not looking at the photograph as myself, hyper-critic and something-of-a-perfectionist that I am.

I'm seeing myself the way they see me and the way I see them in return.