When Not to Take the Photograph

A woman sitting on the beach, watching the sun set. West Oahu 2019

As a photographer, I’ve come to understand something that might seem contradictory to my craft: there are moments too sacred, too fleeting, or too deeply personal to be captured through a lens. Sometimes, I choose not to take the photograph.

In those moments, I set the camera down. I let the scene unfold without interruption, without framing, without the silent click that often turns experience into artifact. Because while photography preserves a moment in time forever, it can also create a barrier between me and the moment itself.

There’s a quiet power in choosing to be fully present.

It can happen in an instant. Maybe it’s a golden beam of sunlight piercing through the trees during a hike, or the infectious laughter of my daughter echoing down a wooded trail. Maybe it’s the way my wife’s hand fits into mine during a slow walk around the block. These are the moments when I leave the camera behind — not because the moment isn’t beautiful enough to be photographed, but because it’s too beautiful to risk missing even a second of it.

Choosing not to photograph doesn’t mean the memory is lost — in fact, it’s often the opposite. Some memories are sharper, more textured, more emotionally resonant because I lived them fully, not filtered through a viewfinder or distracted by settings and focus.

This isn’t to say that photographs aren’t valuable. They absolutely are. But the act of not taking a photo can sometimes create a different kind of value — a personal, intimate, and unrepeatable moment that exists purely in memory. And perhaps that kind of presence is even more rare in today’s world, where the instinct to document often overtakes the instinct to simply be.

Not everyone feels this way. But I suspect many do — those who’ve paused in awe, who’ve chosen connection over documentation, who’ve found meaning in just being there.

There is a time to capture. And there is a time to let go. Both are valid. Both are powerful. But sometimes, the most impactful image is the one that only you will ever see — etched not on film or sensor, but in your soul.