I have a confession to make—I am a serial screenshotter. Every year, I capture hundreds of shots on my phone, ranging from food and travel to activism and emotional wellness to laughter. (I blame my trust issues on the ultimate betrayal of my computer deleting years of internet bookmarks.) While these screen grabs are a more accurate depiction of my inner life than social media, I never return to use an embarrassing percentage of them. So I recently opted for a digital spring cleaning to see how these digital archives speak to my ever-morphing personality and approach to life.

As I looked at the changing composition of what I stored over the years, I was surprised by how often my intent was not only practical, but also commemorative—to document a strong feeling, whether it was humor, existential despair, or a conviction to act. I was privately affirming truths, moments I felt seen by someone who spoke the words of my heart, and serendipitous findings. Sometimes a month of screenshots desperately and unhealthily followed the news cycle, seeking to preserve the truth in real-time before it could be twisted or forgotten. Other times they captured everything I was learning about a new hobby. Unintentionally, I left a trail of breadcrumbs into what captivated my fancy and worry over the past two and a half years.

In 2020, I held on to: guides to music genres I wanted to explore, inspiring graphic designs, roller skating icons, on-the-ground accounts of repression at protests, a stranger’s travel recommendations in Istanbul, a favorite TV show character’s outfits, life-giving perspectives from Christians in the global South, and DIY project ideas for the holidays.

In 2021, I saved: increasingly mournful threads on public health, Ghanaian kente cloth dresses, Q&As about redefining family as community, examples of people showing love in ways I hadn’t thought of before, the rare YouTube comment I learned from, and an herb garden outlay I wanted to try out.

Now in 2022, I find myself keeping: draft messages I’ll ask friends for feedback on, explanations of attachment theory, exposés of war, snapshots of stationary products and planners, and poems that stop me in my tracks.

Some things don’t change; throughout the years, I have consistently gravitated toward boldly-flavored recipes, an endless list of movies, books, and podcasts to check out, pictures of fruit trees and white homes with stucco roofs, and the “We can’t accept this as our political reality” moment of the month.

As someone who often feels like the internet moves too rapidly for me to digest, screenshotting is me holding my hand up to say, “I’ll catch up with this later. I’m working on my own timeframe.” The choice to not to engage in real-time with every thing I see on my phone comes with regrets, like missed connections and the petition I never got around to signing. But I’m making my peace with my slower pace.

And every once in a while, I see how a years-old digital spark shows up in my life: my first stumble onto a roller skating rink last month after being enamored with suave skaters for years, my presentation of an equity proposal at work after learning from others, and finally applying advice about boundaries and emotionally mature relationships.

When I am overly concerned with what is new or feel overwhelmed by what I have not executed yet, these digital archives are a reminder that my desire to connect and care is never stagnant, and that there is so much good to explore already in my reach.

Comfort Sampong

Comfort Sampong’s heart is sparked by fried plantains, tropical foliage and the stories of women thriving and creating a way out of no way. She graduated in 2018 with majors in economics and international development. Now she lives in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, where she works on English communications for the Association for a More Just Society, a Honduran non-profit fighting for justice and peace.