The Cringe Cycle
You ever look back at old photos of yourself or past experiences and feel overcome with waves of emotion? Nostalgia? Wistfulness? A deep longing for the good ol’ days when everything was better and things like TikTok didn’t exist…
What about…embarrassment? Mortification? Disgust? (cue depressing violin music)
Unfortunately, a lot of photos of my past self usually make me feel the latter. They make me cringe at myself and feel self-conscious about how unaware or naive I looked or seemed or acted in the past. On the positive side, however, they can also make me glad that I have “improved” or “glowed up” since then. Change is a good thing, right? (Honestly, thank God I started doing my eyebrows. Things were really getting out of hand up there.)
To this day, though, there is one photo that I am still trying to get over. Actually, I think I’ve “gotten over” it by now but am just dealing with the lingering feeling of why-did-that-photographer-think-it-would-be-a-good-idea-to-shoot-that-picture-he-should-be-fired.
So every summer during high school, I would pack up my bags and fly across the country to a camp in Georgia. Everything was paid for — airfare, transportation to and from the airport, camp T-shirt, even the suspicious-looking grits the cooks served us for breakfast. There were all sorts of activities you could try — archery, climbing, white water rafting; there were a lot of leadership and personality development workshops; there was even an outing to a nearby town where we learned how to square dance in the park. The campground itself was in the middle of nowhere in some forest and you could see fireflies every night and hear the bullfrogs chatting near the pond. And the weather — the weather was unbearable. It was so humid you could take a shower and dry yourself off and still feel wet. And it rained. Hard. I’m from the Pacific Northwest, so rain is kinda my thing. But when you combine heavy, squishy-mud-puddle-making rain with Southern humidity? Girl, don’t even get me started.
Anyways, one day we were having this barbeque outside and everyone was standing in line for burgers trying not to get eaten up by mosquitoes. I’m minding my own business (and admittedly was a loner for most of the camp’s duration) but happened to be standing behind The Popular Group™. (I’m seriously still confounded by how quickly that clique formed, considering all the campers were from different states and the camp only lasted a week. People were forming couples. Despite knowing the other person for like two days.)
While we’re waiting, the camp photographer comes up to the line and starts shooting photos of The Popular Group™. They’re posing, throwing up peace signs, smiling at the camera because they’re Perfect and Pretty and Fit and I’m just standing there watching in the background, feeling bitter about how I couldn’t fit in with anyone and why couldn’t the photographer take any pictures of me too?
Well, it turns out, he did. Just…not the way I expected.
Some time after the camp was over and a link to the photos was finally emailed to us, I was scrolling through the badly lit shots of sweaty campers sitting on the floor of the lodge (they seriously made us sit on the dirty floor almost every day) and white water rafting and hiking and having all the fun in the world, etc., when finally — there it was.
You know what they say: “A picture is worth a thousand words”. Well, I can look at this picture now and honestly, all I can do is laugh. It’s hilarious and it’s ridiculous. It’s hilarious because it is ridiculous. I mean, why, Mr. Photographer? Could you not see the physical distance I was purposely putting between myself and The Popular Group? Was it not obvious that I wasn’t friends with any of them?
Questions aside, I think we can all relate to the age-old tropes of not fitting in or being the underdog. And those of us who “can’t” relate have yet to awaken to the reality that is this: popularity, perfection, prettiness, physical strength — these things are temporary and will fade away. When you’re in the middle of your mid-life crisis you will look back at these photos of yourself and wish you could go back. But you can’t. That’s not allowed. At least in this time continuum.
On the other hand, those of us who started out on the “lower” end will be able to look back and see how far we’ve come (or how much we still have to grow). I mean, I’m still kind of a loner with a perpetual :/ face but at least I’m able to look at these old, ugly photos of myself and realize that I’ve changed for the better. And not just on a surface level, (even though I still am glad I started doing my eyebrows) but on the inside as well. I’m still pretty self-conscious, but I’ve learned that life is too short to take oneself seriously. I can laugh at the old me.
If anything, remembering who I was and where I came from drives me to grow even more in my spiritual and emotional journey. There’s always a better version of myself to work towards, and it’s not always the prettiest or fittest or most productive version of me. Change favors the underdogs, the late bloomers, those of us at the lower end of the social/financial/athletic/attractiveness ladder.
So whenever you go on a nostalgia binge and start digging out those old photos, try to remember this bit of advice for the future: do not stand next to a large group of people that are having their picture taken.
