Lost and Unfounded

Me looking melancholy as I mourn the loss of my camera.


Lost or forgotten items are par for the course when it comes to overseas travelling.
Still, I like to pride myself on being a notch above the average traveller due to my organizational savvy; I've kept it together for nearly two years by strategically placing and obsessively compulsively checking and rechecking my bags and bod for irreplacables: wallet, camera, keys, phone. I've kept it together - until now.

As soon as I realized my camera was gone while on holiday in Italy, the sinking feeling that accompanies the process of important item recovery set it. Next, the self-flagellation: somehow I have failed in the process of being a functioning individual. You irresponsible, scatterbrained, unkept woman! Yes, the loss of my camera somehow translated into failure as a human being.

Then there's the creepiness factor: what with all the information available out there about me on the internet, there is something that feels stragely violating about the fact that someone has access to a digital gallery of my life. I have nothing to hide (sorry, no scandalous or naughty natured pics available) - just standard tourist and hanging out with friends fare. Stil, I feel silghtly undone by the whole thing.

So I attempted recovery. I posted on craigslist and spent a half hour navigating the Florence City Hall home page. While in Florence I retraced my steps, asked waiters and conciergies if they'd come across my digital camera - so innocent, still seemingly new after two years together. We had a good run, my little canon elf powershot and I.

And then, after the denial and anger, I began to question the nature of my camera's existence. Honestly, why did I care about him so much? I delete many of the shots I take, or if I keep them, I don't bother to look at them. (The overly-critical perfectionist in me cringes when I see myself in photos). As for the validity of photos as memory triggers or nostalgic reminders I have no doubt, but those are not the primary reasons for the existence of my photos.

I guess I realized I like taking pictures more than having them. Carrying around my camera gives me an unexpected sense of control - that somehow elusive moments in my life aren't slipping away because I can capture them if I so desire. I miss the power of self-definition my camera gave me more than the object itself.