Is it some sort of inflated ego problem? Or a desperate searching for some sort of meaning within a restless, tormented soul?
Perhaps the masochist in me wants to be reminded on a regular basis that he isn't getting any younger.
Or maybe I'd like to leave something for future generations to look at and say... 'That was dad / grandad / great grandad / Sab Will... I wish I could have met him... just once'.
Or perhaps it's just fun. The only difference between men and boys, so they say, is the size (and expense) of their toys. And god knows I spend a lot of time playing with mine.
Does it matter in the end? Does anyone care? Does it make any difference to me or anyone else if I take pictures of myself until the end of my days? Well call it self-centeredness if you wish, but I'd honestly like to believe that the answer to those questions is yes.