I remember my grandmother used to keep all her family photographs in a box by the front door so that if there was a house fire she could save them. The cat could fend for itself1） but， in the days before digital cameras and hard drives， if you lost a photograph， it was gone forever.

As a member of Generation Y2）， I thought that I was immune to this worry， until two months ago when I accidentally deleted every digital photograph I had ever taken. This included all photographic evidence of my university days， my backpacking adventures， and every family gathering during my 20s. It also included every photograph Id taken of my husband， Eoghan， who died from cancer three weeks after our wedding.

I have no one else to blame but myself. In September 2013， my relationship broke down and my ex-partner and I agreed that he would get “custody” of our shared laptop. As all my files were stored on the computer， I arranged for him to transfer more than 2，600 photographs on to an external hard drive.

In retrospect， when I collected the hard drive， I should have checked to make sure all of my photographs were on there but instead I saw a folder marked “Amys pics” and made an incorrect assumption.

I only realised my error 12 months later， when I wanted to show my new boyfriend evidence that Id been a Goth3） at university. I plugged in the hard drive， clicked on the folder … and it was empty.

I spent the next two hours in a state of denial， checking and rechecking every folder on my computer， Dropbox4） and iCloud5） with no luck. My grandmothers worst fear had happened to me and every photo in my archive was the equivalent of ash.

The only pictures I have left are those taken before my 21st birthday， mostly out of focus6） and taken with a series of cheap disposable cameras. Apart from that， every snapshot taken between the ages of 21 and 29 is now a distant memory.

The first thing I did was share my grief on Facebook， changing my status to， “That feeling when you delete every photograph youve ever taken # bad day.” My update hit a nerve with every friend from my age group and I was inundated7） with platitudes8）. As a generation weve been groomed to believe that no event is valid unless there is evidence it took place.

A number of friends suggested that I put a shout-out on social media asking anyone with photographs of me to email them， but this wouldnt help me. It wasnt the loss of public events such as birthday parties and baby showers that hurt so greatly. It was the intimate， private moments that I was really mourning—the moments that seemed so magical and so unbelievable that I didnt trust my memory of them.

A whole church congregation9） had photos of me saying my vows at the altar but that wasnt the extraordinary point of my wedding day in my eyes. Only I had been there to capture the moment my husband awoke the next morning and， despite being riddled10） with cancer， turned to me and whispered， “I cant believe how lucky I am.”

That was seven years ago and， though I rarely ever looked at those photographs， I always knew they were there as a reminder. Yet， to my surprise， I didnt cry when I realised I would no longer have these memory prompts at my disposal. In fact， as the weeks went on， I felt an odd sense of relief and lightness.

When a song on the radio reminded me of Eoghan， I was no longer tempted to spend an indulgent afternoon poring over old photos. When I was having a fat day， I couldnt look back at photos of my 21-year-old self in a bikini and wish I still had the constitution11） of a child.

I began to wonder if my mistake could actually be a good thing. In our culture of constant self-curation， its tempting to look back on photographs taken on our best day， showing only our best sides and find our life lacking. Could our need to capture every milestone stop us from living in the moment and ever feeling content？

“A permanent record of our lives can imprison us in unrealistic and hurtful feelings about ourselves， our bodies and our relationships，” warns Marie-Pierre Cleret， a psychologist who specialises in narcissistic behavioural disorders. “Such photos， which are often carefully framed， styled and filtered， can make us see our past through a skewed12） lens.”

When it comes to grief， many self-help books recommend making a memory box filled with reminders of your lost love， but there is an argument that such a shrine could be detrimental for some people.

“One of the most powerful processes of grief or disappointment is the fact that our memories fade with time but digital evidence can keep us frozen in a period，” says Cleret. “That series of pictures taken on a wonderful holiday can become weapons in the hands of our inner critic. We can glorify who we were， who others were and the glamorous life we led.”

In her book Necessary Losses， Judith Viorst13） argues that we need to accept that there are losses in life that we need to undergo and embrace in order to be fulfilled， whether its a first love who wasnt suitable， the body a mother had before giving birth or the party life we enjoyed before responsibilities. I can relate to14） this after my experience.

I have always been very conscious of not placing my late-husband on a pedestal15）， but sometimes my subconscious still idolises him. I even painted a rose-tinted16） view of our relationship in this article without meaning to， when I wrote about our wedding day. I didnt mention the huge argument we had because I caught him smoking a cigarette at the reception. If the professional photographer noticed us feuding in the corner he certainly didnt capture the conflict， but maybe it should be acknowledged.

It may not be a picture-perfect moment， but its all part of the cartoon strip that made up our love story.

It has been two months since I realised my photos were missing and Ive not only accepted my loss but I can see there are benefits to no longer having a shrine to my 20s. Thats not to say that Im anti-camera， as Ive already amassed17） more than 600 new photographs， but Ive also downloaded an app called X-pire that erases all social media photos after a set expiry date.

I do worry that， when Im older and—hopefully—have children， Ill wish I could show them pictures of me when I was younger， but maybe its better that I cant step into a time machine. In the days before digital cameras， photographs naturally aged， faded， and wrinkled in parallel with the person who took them. Thats the natural order of things.

我記得祖母過去總是將她和家人拍的所有照片都放在前門旁邊的一個盒子里，這樣萬一房子失火，她還可以保全它們。貓遇到火災(zāi)可以自己逃生，但在數(shù)碼相機(jī)和硬盤問世之前，照片要是丟了，那就永遠(yuǎn)找不回來了。

作為Y一代的一員，我曾認(rèn)為自己不必為此擔(dān)心，直到兩個月前，我意外地刪掉了自己拍過的每一張數(shù)碼照片。這包括我的大學(xué)時代、我的背包探險經(jīng)歷以及我在20多歲時參加的每一次家庭聚會的所有照片，它們是我當(dāng)時生活的見證。這其中還包括我為丈夫奧恩拍的所有照片。他在我們婚禮后三個星期就因癌癥去世了。

這件事除了自己我不能責(zé)怪任何人。2013年9月，我的戀情告一段落。我和前男友達(dá)成一致：由他來“保管”我們共用的筆記本電腦。由于我所有的文件都存在那臺電腦里，我就讓他把2600多張照片都拷貝到一個外置硬盤中。

現(xiàn)在回想起來，我在拿回硬盤的時候本該檢查一下，確保自己所有的照片都在里面，但是我沒有。我看到了一個名為“艾米的照片”的文件夾，然后做了個錯誤的假設(shè)。

直到12個月以后我才意識到自己的錯誤。當(dāng)時我想給新男友看一些照片，證明自己在大學(xué)時是哥特派的一員。我插上那塊硬盤，點(diǎn)開那個文件夾……里面卻空空如也。

接下來的兩個小時里，我一直拒絕接受這個事實，一遍又一遍地檢查電腦以及Dropbox和iCloud云存儲里的每一個文件夾，但都一無所獲。我祖母最擔(dān)憂的事情發(fā)生在我身上了，我存檔的每一張照片都已灰飛煙滅。

我保留下來的僅有的照片都是在我21歲生日之前拍攝的，它們大多模糊不清，出自各種廉價的一次性相機(jī)。除了這些，所有我在21至29歲之間拍攝的快照現(xiàn)在都成了遙遠(yuǎn)的回憶。

我所做的第一件事就是在Facebook上分享自己的悲傷，將我的狀態(tài)改為“刪掉你拍過的所有照片的感覺#糟糕的一天”。我更新的狀態(tài)觸及了每位同齡朋友的痛處，各種套話鋪天蓋地地向我襲來。我們這代人所接受的教育使我們相信，任何事情都是無效的，除非有證據(jù)表明它發(fā)生過。

許多朋友建議我在社交媒體上發(fā)起號召，請所有有我照片的朋友用電子郵件將照片發(fā)給我，但這于事無補(bǔ)。令我痛心的不是失去了那些攝于生日聚會和新生兒派對之類公眾場合的照片。真正讓我遺憾的是那些親密的私人時刻——那些時刻看起來那么不可思議，那么令人難以置信，我都無法相信自己對它們的記憶。

所有的教堂會眾都有我在圣壇前宣誓的照片，但在我看來，那并不是自己婚禮那天最特別的時刻。只有我抓拍到了那一刻——第二天早晨，我丈夫醒來，盡管受盡癌癥的折磨，他卻仍轉(zhuǎn)向我，輕聲說道：“我不敢相信，自己竟如此幸運(yùn)?！?

那是七年前的事了，盡管我從來都很少翻看那些照片，但我一直知道它們都在，提醒著我。但令我感到驚訝的是，當(dāng)我意識到自己再也不能隨意處置這些提醒記憶的物品時，我竟然沒哭。事實上，隨著時間一周一周地流逝，我感到莫名的解脫和放松。

當(dāng)收音機(jī)里的某首歌讓我再次想起奧恩時，我不再受到誘惑，縱容自己用一下午的時間去凝視那些老照片。在我變胖時，我不再回顧自己21歲時穿著比基尼的照片，不再希望自己仍能保持孩子般的體格。

我開始懷疑自己犯的錯誤其實是不是件好事。在我們這種持續(xù)自我治愈的文化中，人們總愛回顧那些在最美好日子里拍下的只展示自己最好方面的照片，然后發(fā)覺自己的生活有缺失。我們總想捕捉每一個重要的時刻，這是不是會妨礙我們活在當(dāng)下，體會知足常樂呢？

“對我們生活的永久記錄能將我們禁錮在關(guān)于自我、身體和感情的不切實際的痛苦感覺中?！爆旣?皮埃爾·克萊瑞特警告說，她是一名專門研究自戀行為障礙的心理學(xué)家?！斑@樣的照片通常都經(jīng)過精心的裝裱、設(shè)計和挑選，會讓我們透過歪曲的鏡頭看自己的過去?！?/p>

談及悲傷，許多自助書籍都推薦做一個記憶盒子，里面裝滿能讓人想起逝去之愛的物品。但有人認(rèn)為，這樣一個神圣的盒子對有些人而言是有害無益的。

“悲傷或失望過程中最具殺傷力的一種情況是，我們的記憶會隨歲月的流逝而褪色，但數(shù)字憑據(jù)卻能將我們冰封在某一段時期，”克萊瑞特說道，“攝于美好假日的一系列照片可以成為我們內(nèi)心的評判者手中的武器。我們可以借之美化自己、他人以及我們多姿多彩的生活?！?/p>

朱迪思·維奧斯特在其所著的《必要的喪失》一書中寫道，我們需要接受一點(diǎn)：為了人生完滿，生活中總有些失去是我們需要經(jīng)歷和欣然接受的。無論失去的是并不合適的初戀，還是一位母親在生育前擁有的身材，抑或是在需要承擔(dān)責(zé)任前所享受的派對生活。有了照片丟失的經(jīng)歷后，我對此有了共鳴。

我一直都很清楚不能將已故的丈夫當(dāng)成偶像去崇拜，但有時我仍會下意識地將他偶像化。在這篇文章中描寫我們婚禮那天的情形時，我甚至下意識地給我們的感情描上了瑰麗的色彩。我沒有提及我們之間激烈的爭吵，爭執(zhí)的起因是我發(fā)現(xiàn)他在宴會上吸煙。如果那位專業(yè)攝影師注意到了我們在角落里爭執(zhí)，他肯定不會抓拍那不和諧的一幕，但或許我們應(yīng)該承認(rèn)它的存在。

那可能不是適合拍照的完美時刻，卻是我們愛情故事連環(huán)畫中不可或缺的組成畫面。

距我意識到照片丟失已有兩個月了，我不僅接受了失去它們的事實，還看到了不再擁有自己20多歲時的神圣盒子的益處。這并不是說我反對照相，畢竟我已經(jīng)積攢了600多張新照片了。但我還下載了一個名為X-pire的應(yīng)用軟件，它會在設(shè)定的失效日期刪除社交媒體上的所有照片。

我的確擔(dān)心，當(dāng)我年紀(jì)漸長并且——如我希望的那樣——已為人母時，我會希望自己能給孩子們看看我年輕時的照片，但或許，我不能搭乘時光機(jī)會更好。在數(shù)碼相機(jī)問世之前，照片會和拍照者一起自然老化、褪色和變皺。這才是萬物發(fā)展的自然規(guī)律。

1. fend for oneself：照顧自己

2. Generation Y：Y一代，通常指1980年以后出生的美國人。這一代人隨著計算機(jī)和互聯(lián)網(wǎng)的發(fā)展而成長，極具自我意識，認(rèn)為世界上沒什么值得尋找的意義，一切皆無限制，仿佛在不斷追問why （為什么）。

3. Goth：（流行時尚中的）哥特派一員（尤指以倫敦俱樂部為背景，身著黑衣、喜愛搖滾樂、離經(jīng)叛道的年輕人）

4. Dropbox：美國一款云存儲服務(wù)軟件

5. iCloud：蘋果公司提供的云存儲服務(wù)

6. out of focus：焦點(diǎn)未對準(zhǔn)的;模糊不清的

7. inundate [??n?nde?t] vt. （信件、要求等如洪水般）布滿，鋪蓋

8. platitude [?pl?t?tju?d] n. 陳詞濫調(diào);套話

9. congregation [?k??ɡr??ɡe??（?）n] n. 教堂會眾

10. riddle [?r?d（?）l] vt. 損害，傷害

11. constitution [?k?nst??tju??（?）n] n. 體質(zhì);體格

12. skewed [skju?d] adj. 歪曲的;存有偏見的

13. Judith Viorst：朱迪思·維奧斯特（1931～），美國著名心理學(xué)家、作家，《紐約時報》《華盛頓郵報》的專欄作家，被譽(yù)為“缺失心理學(xué)之母”，其代表作為《必要的喪失》（Necessary Losses）。

14. relate to：產(chǎn)生共鳴;認(rèn)同

15. place ... on a pedestal：把……當(dāng)做偶像崇拜

16. rose-tinted：玫瑰色的

17. amass [??m?s] vt. 積累