As much as I love "at home" sessions (see last post), I equally love going on adventures -- like a winter hike. Is there anything more Coloradan?My baby Sophie and baby R have been friends since the womb. I have a belly bumping picture to prove it. One thing I admire about this family (besides the fact that they're just solid, good people who we met through a college ministry and have known for ten+ years now (how? how?) is that they're off the grid. No Facebook, no Instagram, no social media. Nothing. Poof. Gone. And guess what. They're still solid, good people even if you don't know what they're having for lunch or where they buy their groceries.As thankful as I am for social media -- especially as a platform for getting my photo work out into the world -- I'm inspired those of you who have cut it out cold. My husband and I often discuss the impact screen time and social media will have on Sophie's generation -- especially the young ladies, who, according to current research, are more susceptible to depression than their male counterparts because of social media. A recent Forbes article reports, "Three to five hours of social media per day was linked to a 26% increase in depression scores in girls, vs. 21% in boys, compared to kids who just used it from one to three hours/day. For more than five hours/day of social media, the increase in depression score rose to 50% for girls and 35% for boys." In other words, the more they use it, the more likely they are to become victims of cyberbullying, fall into the trap of comparison, lose sleep, post inappropriate photos with major consequences -- all of which can help trigger depression. So, once again, I admire and celebrate the choice this family has made to part ways with social media. Even though I feel like I can't cut it out completely, thanks to a screen time alert that tells me when I've hit 30 minutes of social media time, I'm developing a healthier relationship with it.At night when Joe is trying to fall asleep, I often tap him on the shoulder and try to convince him to talk to me about death: how short our lives really are, how we could get into a car crash or plane crash tomorrow, our legacies. It's morbid, I know. But it's there. When I'm gone, I don't want Sophie to remember me on my phone. I want her to see me creating and writing and singing and dancing and working and photographing -- and posting later. Later. As in, when she's not around.