He’s not wrong. I’ve got tons of pictures of the outdoors. Not that they aren’t beautiful. Pressed, I mostly couldn’t tell one from the other.
It's easy (an often correct) to assume that most such photos will never be seen again, or maybe scrolled by quickly at best, but the fact is one doesn't know the motivation of the photographer, nor how they might change their motivation in the future to actually make use of that photo.
Even if it's just walks around a city center, I have a thing for photographing street art, and uploading the different photos to my walks and it places them at their locations on the recorded path/map of the walk (or hike) to be revisited/replayed when feeling nostalgic.
It also helps to be more discerning about what photos to keep (do I really need another wide landscape shot?) But once the "worthy" photos of my walk/hike are added, I remove the others from my phone and make the recorded activity private for me to enjoy. The context + notes with the photos in one place makes it all mean so much more when I revisit them. I completely ignore all social bits of the app, but this might appeal to some since you can share/fork an activity to the accounts of people that where with you.
*I don't work for them, but been using it over a decade now
They're my favorite memories. NY's Central Park, London's Hyde Park, Norway's fjords, Barcelona's beaches... The best part is that these feel like very tangible memories and take zero physical space to store!
They also go away faster than you expect.
There one of of a non descript mountain turn with a small gravel pullout. There's a million prettier pictures but that one means the most meaning to me.
I almost died there; crashed on my motorcycle. Took the turn just a little too fast, panicked and just went over the edge trying desperately to stop. I don't remember much of the crash itself; just green, brown, and blue. Just that when I finally managed to get myself together, my leg crushed under the bike on on dirt that felt like concrete. No chance of pushing the bike off. No chance of digging or wriggling free. No chance of being seen from the road. My only hope was 911.
Except... I couldn't bring myself to call. There was nothing technically stopping me; good signal strength, modern phone with enhanced positional reporting. Just one little button press and help would be on the way. But why?
Why should I call for help?
Why did I want to keep living?
Why do I deserve to live?
Damned questions that I had been asking myself nearly every day for almost 26 years of my life by then. And here, finally at that mountain road I couldn't run from it any more. But it was also the first real chance I had to put myself to the test; to know myself one way or the other. So I turned my phone off. And left my mortality to the hands of fate.
For 7 hours I just lay there, nothing else to do but watch sun and cloud drift in the sky with waiting for an end. And yet there was a stillness there that I had never experienced before in my life. No more voices demanding that I meet their expectations. No more fear. No more uncertainty. Just a blessed silence with a light at the end of the road that I had no seen in a long time.
It seemed almost cruel when motorist looking to relieve himself found me. Part of my wished he hadn't but there was not much else that could be done then. Him and his buddy played the rescuers, and I played the victim; freed me from my entrapment, got my bike on the road, kindly offered to call for help or stay with me, and I declined as graciously as I could and limped both myself and bike home.
But after so long, I had an answer.
I don't want to live.
I don't deserve to live.
My life has no meaning.
But it also means that I don't have to care anymore either. Not about trying to maximize my career. No more forcing myself to fake smiles to make friends I can't find any connection with. No worry about finding a partner. Not about measuring myself or trying to improve or anything.
That photograph on my phone is meaningless to everyone else.
To me, it was where I finally found peace. And nothing can ever replace that.