On Saturday last I left work and headed to a tea shop in Fayetteville. (Savoy, if you want to know.) I sat there at my table and sipped on my tea, ordered at the recommendation of one of the young ladies who works there, thinking about my life, and my heart, and love, and honesty, and desire, and acceptance. I thought about a number of things, and also built up some frustration by trying to write a couple of different pieces (on meditation, and minimalism, specifically) and not coming along very well, seemingly unable to articulate any of the thoughts I wanted to share. So I closed my laptop and just sat for a while. Then I wished the ladies a lovely day and headed out, thinking vaguely that I might find a sunny spot to sit atop my little truck and meditate.
I drove south along roads I didn’t know, and wandered into a field that caught my eye. I got out of the truck and walked about, and took a few photos. Not very many, but I wasn’t upset by that. I got back in the Rodeo and crawled along in the mud a bit before getting back on the road, driving a mile or so more, and then pulling over again to take photos. I used a tire as a step stool to get to my roof, and gazed at the sun as it set away in the west behind the trees and the little farmhouse I could see in the distance. I got back inside and sat for a while longer, taking a few more photos, then headed back to the field to sit and edit the images. Every now and again I would look up from the screen of my laptop to notice how much darker it had gotten. I kept editing, freely, without compulsion, without worrying about the images being perfect. They were simply fun to make. They were part of a meditative evening that I hadn’t anticipated.
And now, without realizing that I’ve been doing so, I’ve started writing about meditation. Because that sort of thing looks different for all of us, and this past Saturday, for me, it looked like driving places I didn’t know, making photos for fun, walking in the grass and looking at the setting sun. Taking time to breathe, and be alive. I would say that I think we could all use more of this sort of thing, but no, it isn’t that I think so: I know that we could all use more of this. Humbling reminders of how beautiful and real life is, even when it is also confusing, and uncomfortable, and full of shifting sand and mud and earth. Because it is life, and these are the things that it’s made of.
Maybe in your work you don’t get to see the sun very often; maybe too much of your time is spent in the cold wind and you wish you were inside more; maybe your job is unfulfilling and makes you sad. This may be so. If it is, find the details and the small things about your day that remind you of how much more there is to life, things that remind you why the work isn’t what you want it to be, why you’re unhappy in what you’re doing — because you know there is so much more goodness, and you know that you desire it. You know that you want more, and it’s there for you. Pursue it, beloved.
I write this while sitting up in bed. My lamp is on and it’s very dark outside. It’s past my bedtime, and normally I’d be unhappy with myself for choosing to look at a screen rather than rest my eyes and body and mind, but I know that this is worth the sacrifice. Because I know that while I’m not the best person for sitting down and cranking out an essay out of necessity, I can give you words to remember when the mood hits me. I am learning that when I find that muse it’s best not to ignore it, but to listen to the twanging of my heartstrings and do what I feel I ought. And maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. Maybe I’m not the greatest artist when I want to be; but I can still be a good artist when the Great One wants me to be.
love,
— Joel
Geeky Things
Camera: Fuji X-Pro2
Lens: Fuji 16mm f/1.4
Location: Hogeye, AR
Processor: Capture One
Notes: While some of the images that I saw during this adventure would have been better captured with my 35mm, I used what I had with me and chose to be content with it. Something worth noting. Also, for those wondering about the bear in the back seat, that’s Beary. Early this year I drove past him along Route 265 and was immediately struck with the thought that I should rescue him; so I made a U-turn and picked him up, brought him home, cleaned him off, and placed him in my Rodeo. He has lived there ever since. Sometimes he sits up front with me, but at the moment he happens to be in the back.