The moments we tell ourselves are important: a wedding, a graduation, a baby shower, that we painstakingly stage to seem "picture perfect" offer only "a semblance of knowledge" into emotion. What happens behind the lens of the camera tell a real story; what happens in front of it stages a production. The freeze-frames taken today on DSLRs or iPhone 7s may rack up thousands of "likes," but are about as intangible as our ever-dwindling appreciation for life.
We're too focused on getting the lighting right on our picture of an aesthetic lunch to truly taste that panini we ordered; we follow our peers on Instagram before we learn their deepest fears and greatest ambitions; we filter out (literally) the imperfections of our life before we realize that we're unhappy.
Our incessant snapping of our lives has given us nothing but a disjointed image of existence. Now, the sentiment of "life flashing before your eyes," is no longer considered a rare occurrence, present just on the windowsill between life and the grip of death, but rather a mainstreamed form of quasi-sentimentalism brought to us by the makers of Flipagram and Snapchat stories. Only now, instead of signaling the end of life, these fleeting images signal the end of living.




