"I Wish We Taped It."

Back in 2009 there was a song by Asher Roth called “I Love College”

It’s not my favorite song by any means but you’ve probably heard it before.

"That party last night was awfully crazy... I wish we taped it."

A few years later Project X came out, and for a lot of people my age it felt oddly familiar. Not because every party turned into a neighborhood-wide disaster, but because it captured something that was true at the time. We weren't trying to create content. We weren't trying to go viral. We were just trying to have a good time with our friends. The camera just happened to be there.

That line always resonated with me because... we actually did tape it.

From probably middle school through college, I was almost always the guy carrying a camera. First it was a flip phone, then a Flip Camera, then a GoPro…you get the idea. 

I'd film beach weekends, house parties, concerts, random Tuesday nights that somehow turned into a beer fest. Then I'd spend hours in iMovie putting everything together—music, transitions, inside jokes, the clip that made everybody laugh, or the thing happening in the background that nobody noticed until we rewound it three times. Nobody was asking me to do it. I just loved it.

Looking back, I don't really think I was making videos as much as I was trying to keep moments from disappearing.

The funny thing is, if you watched most of those videos today, you probably wouldn't even know I was there. I'm behind the camera in almost all of them. For a while, that bothered me. Honestly, part of me still wishes there were more clips of me actually in the moment instead of just filming it. Everyone else gets to watch themselves laughing, acting like idiots, enjoying life. I mostly get to remember where I was standing.

But the older I get, the more I think I was looking at it the wrong way.

Those videos have become more valuable than I ever imagined, not because the editing was great or the camera quality was anything special, but because they captured ordinary moments before anyone knew they were worth remembering. The conversations nobody thought to record. The way someone's voice sounded. Friends who have since moved away. People who aren't here anymore. Places that don't look the same. It's funny how those little details end up meaning the most.

That's why I still think video is one of the greatest time machines we've ever invented. A photo freezes a moment, but video lets you step back into it. You hear the voices again. You hear yourself laughing before something funny even happens. You remember the jokes, the music playing in the background, the way everybody looked before careers, kids, mortgages, and life slowly started pulling everyone in different directions. Memory has a funny way of simplifying everything. Video doesn't let it.

And I love that.

Those videos were never really for the internet.

They were for the people who were there.

They're time capsules that only mean something to a handful of us, and I think that's exactly why they're so valuable.

Years from now, when somebody says, "Remember when..." we won't have to rely on memory alone.

We'll just press play.