Keep the Bad Pictures

In This Season

Aug 27

On a recent Tuesday morning in August, I met two friends for a “back-to-school” breakfast and coffee. We have kept this coffee-clutch tradition alive for 21 years.

Only one of us still has kids in high school and junior high. Two have kids in college. And I have a teacher, which kind of counts since she still goes back to school.

Over the years, we’ve met at various cafés or gathered in one of our homes. Some years we had mimosas. Some years, the mornings stretched into after-school pickup. We’ve laughed and cried. We’ve talked about our kids, our marriages, our jobs—our joys and our fears. Tears have fallen over loss, and happy tears have rolled down our cheeks from laughing so hard.

I’m so grateful for these girls.

We met when our now-26-year-old daughters were in preschool. Although our kids—and life—have taken us in different directions, we make the time to meet at least once a year. These coffee dates leave me filled to the brim with happiness. The genuine love and authenticity I get from these women is priceless.

I never want the morning to end. But when it does, we promise we’ll get together more often. And then, somehow, the next thing we know, it’s August again.

We always try to get a picture, although I don’t have one from every year. This year, we stood in Nellie’s kitchen, smiling and posing while her husband tried to take our picture. We were way too high-maintenance, and he finally gave up.

We laughed and howled when we looked at the pictures. Plants were hanging in our faces. We wished we’d done our hair or worn more makeup. Someone even suggested changing outfits. But we no longer had a photographer, and eventually we decided it was what it was.

Later that day, a text popped up from Nellie in our group chat.

“Do you mind if I post?”

By the time we saw it and responded “no,” she replied, “Too late!”

I just laughed.

Do I like the picture of me? Absolutely not. I look like I’ve been crying. My face is puffy. My hair is pulled back in a claw clip. I look a little rough.

But you know what?

I am so grateful for that picture.

I can pretty much guarantee that years down the road, when I come across it, I will smile. I’ll remember these two beautiful women who have touched my soul and shared their hearts with me. I’ll remember that we were navigating midlife together—hormonal changes, kids figuring out adulthood, aging parents and caring for them, and eventually losing them.

In a world of filters, photo editing and endless zooming in, it’s hard to accept a bad picture. But we all have them.

And maybe we should be a little more grateful for them.

With the recent loss of my stepdad, I’ve been going through so many old pictures. I love them. I’m sure there are pictures I didn’t like 20 or 30 years ago. Maybe I thought my hair looked awful or I didn’t like the way I looked that day.

But now, when I see those pictures, I don’t notice any of that.

I see a young mother staring back at me. I see the people I loved. I see the life we were living.

And I smile.

That’s what matters.

Those dear friends laughing together. The imperfect picture. The moment captured exactly as it was.

No filters. No retouching. No second chance to get the picture right.

Just us.

And I think, someday, I’ll look back at this picture of the three of us the same way.

I’ll see three women who have walked through 21 years of life together—laughing, crying, changing, loving, losing and growing.

And I’ll be so grateful we took the picture.