Right now you’re the old photo someone will look at in thirty years. Make it a good one.

The present is always somebody’s past in progress. This ordinary week, the one that feels like nothing in particular, is the material that later becomes a photograph, a story or a memory someone holds on to. Nothing about it announces itself as important while it is happening.

You cannot curate this, and trying to would ruin it. What you can do is be a little more present in it: look at people properly, take the photo you would usually skip, say the affectionate thing out loud. What survives of this week is mostly made of small things.