The Look Back Photo

In early April, I took a tour of Hohenschwangau Castle in Bavaria. While I waited for my time slot, I circled to the far side of the castle, searching for views and hidden corners. Entranced by a carved figure on the façade, I was taking photos when some instinct compelled me to turn around. Behind me, on the steep path leading up to the castle, was a gateway I had almost missed. I changed direction and walked back the way I came, suddenly seeing my surroundings from a completely new perspective.

That backward glance is something I do regularly now. A year ago, a wonderful photographer in the Northeast Region Porsche Club posted what he called his “look back” photo. It’s the snap he takes when he turns around to look back at his parked car as he walks away. These “look back” photos are often the best – the car at a quirky angle, or in context with things you don’t see when you are parking.  

I now regularly glance over my shoulder for another look and it’s not just for checking that I turned off my headlights. Often the car is nowhere nearby.

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But “look back” is a funny term. It can mean dwelling in a former time we believe was better than today. Or replaying decisions, regrets, paths not taken. It can mean checking who is coming up behind us, as I did on the Nürburgring, one eye on the rear-view mirror while faster cars gained ground (and all cars gained ground on me that day). It can mean making sure nothing important has been left behind, the way my kids and I used to do our final “idiot check” whenever we left a hotel room or restaurant.

This European road trip has given me plenty of reasons to look back in the heavier sense. Under the front hood of the Blue Car is the soft backpack I carried on my first trip to Europe, when I was a 20-year-old architecture student spending a summer in Copenhagen. That time was transformative. I wanted, more than anything, to live and work in Europe—Denmark, really. Life had other plans.

And, of course, I am driving the car my husband and I bought in 1991, soon after we were married. Other young couples saved for sofas and dining tables. We took out a loan for a used Porsche and ate on a sheet of plywood for years. There are many memories in this car, and also reminders of unfinished things and incomplete lives.

I am newly retired, newly untethered, and in a new chapter of my life. It would be easy to use this trip as a rolling audit of every path taken and not taken.

But the look backs I have been practicing on this trip are different.

The turn of my head doesn’t stop me from continuing on. It’s just a quick pause and assessment. Maybe it reveals a splendid view missed. And occasionally, yes, it does show the headlights are still on. But it doesn’t stop me in my tracks or derail me. It doesn’t bog me down in memories of what it was like to drive the car five minutes earlier, or to live 10 or 20 years ago.

The look back photo requires a different kind of gaze. It is not a backward glance for nostalgia, regret, or second-guessing, but a brief, active, perceptive gesture. A careful sweep for something missed. A way to make sure the focus on the destination does not blind us to something equally wonderful off to the side, or just behind us. All while staying in motion.

My kids and I were continually amazed how many times we just knew we had checked every nook and cranny and then did that last “idiot check” under hotel beds and restaurant chairs only to find the stray teddy bears, forgotten scarves, lone socks, and hidden books. Important things almost overlooked.

We had been so sure everything was accounted for and all was good. It’s just like that with my look back these days. I can be heading straight for my destination – the view, the tour, a meal – and turn around to find the most delightful surprise.

In the Black Forest, I turned away from a sweeping mountain view and found another compelling composition behind me: beautiful fences, a farmhouse, and an antique truck.

In Grasmere, a 180-degree turn revealed a rain-slicked side street of glistening slate buildings tucked just beyond the entrance to William Wordsworth’s Dove Cottage.

And here on the coast of Wales this morning, a sudden message on my Facebook feed sent me turning the Blue Car’s wheel toward a Sunday Cars & Coffee, where locals gathered at the beach chatting cheerfully and I wandered among the exotic and the humble, the lovingly restored and the brand new, catching glimpses of what lives in Welsh garages.

I used to think moving forward required a steady gaze ahead. Eyes on the road. No distractions. No turning back.

But maybe that is too narrow a way to travel through a life.

A good look back does not ask me to return to what I have lost, or to measure the present against some imagined alternate version of my life. It does not ask me to second-guess decisions or reopen old doors. It simply reminds me that the view is wider than I think.

Yes, there is the road ahead. The destination, the plan, the next turn. But there is also the gate behind the castle, the slate street beside the cottage, the farmhouse behind the mountain view, the beachfront parking lot full of beloved cars and stories.

The trick is not to stop moving. The trick is to keep going with a wide enough gaze to notice what else is there.

So, I will keep taking the look back photo. Not because I want to go backward, but because sometimes the thing I most need to see is waiting just outside the frame. It is teaching me how to look back without turning around completely.

Susan

Blue Car Road Trip Miles: 3,595

From the Blue Car Europe Series