JenniThis summer, I unexpectedly found myself traveling to California for a family reunion to celebrate my aunt’s 90th birthday. With free time before returning to school and no other immediate family members able to make the trip, I was encouraged to attend as our family’s representative. I initially envisioned this journey as a grand photographic adventure, but it turned out to be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to reconnect with extended family and strengthen bonds. Still, I looked forward to capturing some of the beautiful landscapes and meaningful moments along the way.
Our itinerary, organized by my aunt and several cousins, was ambitious yet loosely defined, especially with such a large extended family in tow. Plans included a day at the beach, unique culinary experiences in Los Angeles, a birthday celebration at a local golf club, and a three-day stay at a Las Vegas hotel—all while traveling by family caravan.
As a photographer, the prospect of documenting these experiences was thrilling. I hadn’t visited this part of the world since the summer of my sixteenth birthday, when I was reluctantly dragged to Los Angeles on a family vacation. This trip offered a chance to forge new connections with relatives I hadn’t seen in decades and to explore the unique natural landscapes of the Pacific Coast while experiencing the vibrant atmosphere of a city even larger and busier than Toronto.
However, as I began planning my trip and deciding which gear to bring, I faced an unexpected challenge. This was the first time I was traveling primarily to see family—with a camera in hand. How could I document my journey while remaining fully present with my loved ones? Could I find a balance between capturing meaningful images and not missing out on precious moments with family?
Packing for Presence: The Gear Dilemma
To address these concerns, I chose gear that was minimal, light, and compact. I opted for my trusty 50mm lens, three memory cards, two extra batteries, a charger, and a microfiber cloth. The 50mm lens was a deliberate choice—versatile enough to capture both portraits and landscapes, but limited enough to make me more mindful about each shot. My goal was to stay mobile and avoid the burden of heavy equipment, though I couldn’t shake the uncertainty of whether I’d have the time or opportunity to capture images that were both meaningful and technically satisfying.
The Inner Conflict: To Shoot or Not to Shoot
As the list of family attendees grew and I coordinated my stay with cousins, it became increasingly clear that this trip’s primary focus was on reconnecting with family. The weather forecast predicted searing heat with little to no rain, which, while ideal for capturing the arid, sun-soaked landscapes that characterize the West Coast, also meant that carrying camera gear could be uncomfortable. With all our activities planned as a group, there would be little opportunity for solo photography excursions, making it challenging to balance my passion for photography with the need to be present in the moment.
Yet, there was one experience I won’t forget, where having my camera in hand became a meaningful moment. On my first day in California, we spent the afternoon on a long and beautiful stretch of the Pacific Ocean at Huntington Beach. As we drove away from downtown Los Angeles and slowly approached the ocean, the overall feeling of the air changed. The smell of the sea filled the air, and everyone moved at a more relaxed pace. Inhaling the air gave you a distinct taste of salt on your tongue, evoking a sense of nostalgia for childhood memories of dipping my toes in the Pacific Ocean for the first time.
After settling on a large spot on the beach—with adults slumped in beach chairs, sunglasses on, and drinks in hand, while kids and teens ran excitedly into the ocean—I found a few quiet moments to be present, to observe, and just soak everything in. The columns of tall, narrow palm trees, the diverse surfers on boards of every length and color, the soft but hot sand melting underfoot, and the ocean waves breaking in an endless cycle against the shore all combined to create a vivid, almost dreamlike atmosphere.
Looking toward the pier and the symmetry of its pillars, the lapping waves, and the human bodies populating the shore under the bright afternoon sun, I felt nostalgic. Many of my best childhood summer memories were spent on the beach of the Pacific. After more than twenty years of being away and so much life change, it was a meaningful moment to capture a few frames.
As I stood there, camera in hand, under the bright afternoon sun, I took a few photos. Each shot was carefully composed to focus on the ocean and the people around it, with an emphasis on the sea’s brilliance and the rich textures that the light revealed.
Presence Over Pixels: Privacy, Consent, and Being Present
In the past, I’ve often brought my camera along when spending time with friends and family, but taking photos has always been secondary to enjoying quality time with loved ones. Additionally, I’m sensitive to people’s comfort with being photographed and always seek their consent. I firmly believe that not every moment is a photo opportunity—some moments are better enjoyed by being fully present.
The day after my aunt’s birthday celebrations, my cousin hosted a BBQ at her house, offering more time to connect with family. I had my camera gear ready, should a memorable moment arise. However, the desire to converse with family members I didn’t get the chance to speak with the night before, and the opportunity to offer my time, effort, and energy to create genuine connections became more important. I could have asked family members to pose for a photo, but I felt it would have lessened the experience, reducing it to a single image. Besides, many family members took multiple photos of our get-together and shared them on social media, so I wasn’t worried about lacking photos to share with my family back in Toronto.
Just because you’re the photographer doesn’t grant you the right to “own” someone else’s image or privacy. This belief guides my own photographic practice.
I’ve also witnessed other photographers capture images covertly, without the subjects’ knowledge or consent, only to post those images on social media. To me, this practice feels exploitative and disregards the privacy and agency of others. Just because you’re the photographer doesn’t grant you the right to “own” someone else’s image or privacy. This belief guides my own photographic practice.
Final Reflections
Reflecting on this journey, I’ve learned that being present and cherishing moments with loved ones sometimes requires setting aside the camera. While my passion for photography often drives me to document every detail, this trip reinforced the importance of prioritizing human connection over the need to capture the perfect shot.
As I stood on Huntington Beach, camera in hand, I realized that this moment wasn’t just about capturing the beauty of the scene; it was about reconnecting with a part of myself that I had almost forgotten. Each click of the shutter anchored me to the present while paying homage to the past. This experience underscored the delicate balance I’m always striving to maintain—between living the moment and capturing it, between holding on and letting go.
Choosing to be present rather than constantly behind the lens was a powerful reminder that some of the most meaningful moments are those lived fully in the present, without the distraction of trying to immortalize them through a photograph. Equally important is the understanding that respecting the privacy and comfort of those around us is essential in travel photography. Capturing someone’s likeness without their consent or intruding on their personal space can compromise the very connection and authenticity we seek to document.
This experience has shifted my perspective, helping me realize that my role as a photographer doesn’t have to conflict with my desire to be an active participant in life’s special moments. Moving forward, I will approach photography with a deeper understanding of when to step back and simply enjoy the moment. The balance between capturing memories and being present is delicate, but it’s one that I now appreciate more than ever.
In future family gatherings, travel adventures, and personal experiences, I will carry this lesson with me, knowing that sometimes the best way to remember a moment is to live it fully, without worrying about getting the perfect shot—and always with a mindful respect for the people and stories I aim to capture.
