What We Leave Behind

Crystal Caves in Bermuda

I’ve developed this quirky habit over the past ten or so years.

After something big or beautiful or once-in-a-lifetime-ish happens, I flip my phone camera around, raise it high above my head, and snap a picture of what’s behind me as I walk away.

It all started in Boston.

Fenway Park.

Game's over.

Crowd spillin' out and migrating toward the subway like a herd of cattle wearing Red Sox merch.

For some reason, I looked back.

The sea of people behind us felt cinematic.

So, I held my phone above my head, like a weirdo, and clicked the shutter.

Later, packed shoulder-to-shoulder in the subway, I pulled up the photo.

It was blurry.

Just random people.

No framing.

But it felt like a souvenir.

Not of the game, but of being THERE.

Of the moment AFTER the moment.

And it was special.

Still is.

Now I do it all the time.

A one-handed photo.

No aiming.

No preview.

Just a blind snapshot of what's left behind as I step into whatever's next.

Would anyone else stop and smile at these pictures?

Probably not.

But for me, each one is a tiny full-stop at the end of a sentence.

A farewell.

A reminder that this happened, and I was here.

Somehow, each blurred goodbye feels sacred.

Probably because most goodbyes are.

Feel like sharing any of your quirky rituals?

I'd love to read them!