We “took” photos differently when our cameras had a roll of film that could take 24 shots. And it would be days — later just 24 hours — before we got our prints back. That’s when we learned if we got the light right and everybody was ‘in’ the photograph. We didn’t snap photos back then. We positioned everyone. Said dumb shit to try to get them to smile. We worked at making the photograph. A little bit.

Today we one-hand the phone and fire off a burst of half dozen images and if they’re not very good they’ll scroll into oblivion in a few hours. We have no investment in such images. We have so many they’re like a wheelbarrow full of Reichsmarks in 1949. Or a pair of Imelda Marcos’ shoes.

The image would seem to be the obvious answer but I wonder if sharing isn’t an equally important component. Yes, you can take a photo and enjoy it without ever showing it to someone but that rarely happens. When photos were expensive and rare, we hung them on walls for all to see. As we accumulated more, we sat next to each other with an album in our lap, slowly turning pages. Or on the floor with a shoe box filled with “pictures.” I never cared much for carousels filled with 35mm slides. Trapped in a dark room, clicking through hundreds of photos of Old Faithful.

But now photos are cheap and easy. Like that girl in high school. We take thousands and dump them in the sky or cram them onto our phones drop them into a Facebook stream where they live for a few seconds then die. Marie Kondo asks, “Does this photo spark joy in your heart?” If not, give it away. I’ve done that with a life-time of prints. Feels good, like giving a dog you can’t care for to someone who lives on a farm.

There’s no way to share 10,000 photos.