Photo Journal: Finding Flow
I took the wrong lens. I wanted my 17mm. I had my 60. I wanted to cry. Crying is normal for me these days, most days, and so I pressed on. DO WHAT YOU CAN WITH WHAT YOU HAVE IN FRONT OF YOU. A mantra that had slipped its way into my mind recently. A mantra I'd hit repeat on in an attempt to gain some semblance of sanity in my surroundings.
I had wrangled my horrendously sleep deprived 3 year old into the car along with snacks and a promise that we were "going somewhere, to find something." That something was my life force. How do you start shooting when you could shoot anything and also want to shoot nothing at the same time? How will you recognize your life force when you see it? Will it catch your eye with a nod and a smile? Will it try to slip away into the crowd? Or would it have aged and morphed so much that it went unrecognizable even when right in front of you?
This used to be easy. It used to flow. The images would unfold before me, weaving their way into my lens. My camera, an extension of my heart, soul and mind - finding magic around every turn, telling stories through snippets of time. Crafting miracles.
When you're in flow, things just go.
I can’t tell if my flow stopped abruptly like a garden hose pinched shut, or if it was gradual, slipping away as life turned the knob bit by bit wrenching every last ounce of power I had. I suppose it was both. Pregnancy. Trauma. Post Partum. Pandemic. Job loss. More Pandemic. Failures to Launch. Grief. Pet loss. Grief. Trauma. Parental Loss. Grief. Depletion. Some were tiny turns of the knob, less detectable and some were the hose being clenched tight. Each one tapping in and turning off the flow little by little until one day, almost a year later I went to get a drink and the hose had run dry.
There's something about writing about this that is so hard. I want to sit poised on the pedestal of the expert, spewing wisdom to others, to guide them home like a lighthouse when in actuality it's me that’s floating aimlessly. I want to take photos, post them and share wisdom with others, where it’s safe. I don’t want to be waist deep, fighting the currents.
Getting into the car today, knowing I was setting out to start a personal project was a struggle. Resistance was riding shotgun.
“You're too tired” (fact)
“You don't know where you are going” (fact).
“Your son is going to need supervision and you'll struggle to get into the flow” (quite possibly a fact).
“What's the point in taking photos if no one sees them?” (more existential struggle than fact).
“It’s too cold and you don’t have a jacket” (mostly fact)
Later as I uploaded the images, I accidentally hit zoom, cropping in super tight on a small corner of a shot. I gasped out loud. I had taken the wrong lens. I almost cried. But this time it was because of what lay before me: lines of purple flowers, some crisp and clean, some melting in the bokeh, all swirling together in this dance of purple, blue and green.
There she was. somewhere, way beyond what I intended to see. Something that would have been impossible to see had I taken the right lens. And yet there she was before me, playing with the light, smiling carefree like a child playing make believe. A glimpse of my inner muse whispering to me. She wasn’t where I thought she'd be. And I wasn’t prepared to meet her. Hell, I'd have missed her altogether if I’d not had shaking hands and a frantic mind that caused me to glitch zoom on a minute portion of the image. But she was there.
I cried. Crying is normal for me these days, most days, and so I press on.
