It happened yesterday. I was out on my bike, cruising along with no particular place to be—just soaking up the kind of summer morning that makes you believe in serotonin again. I rolled up to a red light, coasted to a stop, and that’s when ithappened.
Something caught my eye.
Now, when I say “something,” I don’t mean a majestic bald eagle landing on a fire hydrant or a circus clown getting arrested (though, I’d click on both). No, it was probably something dumb by most people’s standards—maybe the way the morning light was hitting a crumpled Coke can, or the odd geometry of a torn sticker on a street sign, or the absurd grace of a pigeon with a limp. That kind of thing.
But for me? It was clickworthy.
So, naturally, I did what any iPhone photographer who’s completely given up the need for external validation would do—I grabbed my phone and took the shot. No hesitation. No second-guessing. No worrying about whether anyone else would “get it.” Just tap.
And then I heard a voice beside me.
The guy next to me—about my age, maybe a little more tired in the knees—leaned over and said, “What are you photographing?”
I turned to him with a smile and said, respectfully but truthfully, “Not much. Something just caught my eye.”
Now, here’s where it gets good.
He follows the direction I’m pointing my phone and squints, hard. Like he’s trying to decipher an encrypted code on a CIA document. Nothing. He sees nothing.
He even cocks his head, like maybe the angle will help, like maybe this “something” will reveal itself to him if he stands just right.
It doesn’t.
After a few seconds, he shrugs with mild disappointment and confusion. The light changes. We both start walking across the street.
Me? I’m smiling like a lunatic, happy as a clam at a rain delay.
Him? He’s perturbed. Not angry, just… unsettled. I could see the questions running through his mind:
Did I miss something?
Is this guy screwing with me?
Should I be concerned?
Was he photographing me?
Maybe he thought I was some sort of weirdo.
And you know what? He’s absolutely right.
When it comes to photography—especially iPhone photography—I am a weirdo.
I photograph stupid stuff. Trivial stuff. Ordinary, boring, overlooked stuff. I take pictures of shadows on sidewalks, reflections in puddles, rust stains on trash bins, accidental smiley faces made of bird shit. I photograph dead flowers. Dirty windows. Bent poles. Crooked fences. Stray socks.
Why?
Because I like what I like.
I don’t wait for permission.
I don’t need a second opinion.
I don’t ask the committee of “what makes a good photo” to vote.
If it catches my eye, it’s mine.
This isn’t some avant-garde artistic manifesto. I’m not trying to reinvent the rules of modern photography or make a statement about consumerism or existential longing. I’m just saying: I see stuff. I like stuff. I shoot stuff.
That’s the whole thing.
Now, this tendency of mine to click on life’s leftovers hasn’t always been understood—especially by strangers at red lights. I’ve had people look at me like I was photographing invisible unicorns. I’ve had people glance at my screen and go, “Wait, what were you even shooting?” I’ve had people step into my frame thinking they were helping, only to completely block what I was actually aiming for.
It’s fine. I don’t hold it against them. Seeing is a muscle. Most people don’t stretch it much.
And that’s not their fault—it’s just not how they were taught to look. We live in a world where cameras are pointed at people, products, pets, and sunsets. Everything else? Meh. Not Insta-worthy.
But for me, the joy is in the in-between. The missed. The mundane. The blink-and-you’ll-miss-it nonsense that most people step over or walk past.
That joy—the one I felt while walking across that crosswalk, grinning like a guy who’d just won the lottery of visual serendipity—is everything to me.
There was no prize for seeing that thing.
No one clapped.
No one shared or reposted.
But for two glorious seconds, I saw something that no one else saw.
And then I clicked.
Let me tell you: that moment is better than coffee.
So yes, I’m a weirdo.
I’m the guy taking a picture of a parking meter shadow while the Eiffel Tower looms in the background.
I’m the guy ignoring the “scenic overlook” sign because I’m too busy photographing the trash can at the edge of the lot.
I’m the guy on his bike, pausing at red lights, snapping away at cracks in the sidewalk.
But I’m a happy weirdo.
A free weirdo.
A weirdo who’s found a way to delight in the absurd, the accidental, and the awkward beauty of everyday life.
So next time you see someone pointing their iPhone at what looks like nothing, maybe—just maybe—they’re not crazy.
Maybe they’re just seeing something you haven’t learned to see yet.
Or maybe they are crazy.
But if that’s the case… I hope you’ll join us.
Click.
Jack.
