I’m taking an online class from Masters of Photography taught by one of my favorite artists, Joel Meyerwitz. In the very first lesson, I knew the purchase was a good investment. This class and this instructor are right for me.

And here’s how I knew. These few sentences spoken by Joel with a disarming smile and honest eyes that looked directly into my soul.

“So what I’m really saying to you is instinct and impulse. As soon as it arises, react, do it, go for the picture. Don’t think too much. Let the intuitive, physical part of your being, of your body and your brain, join in that moment, and you’ll make a photograph of something that is disappearing right in front of you.”

I spend a fair portion of each day wrestling with myself, trying to convince myself to do the things that are good for me, things that I should do. I should eat well. I should make time to get 30 minutes of active exercise each day. I should strength train a few times a week. I should make home-cooked meals. I should go to bed on time and make sleep a high priority. I should sit still and meditate. I should keep up with correspondence and reading. The list goes on and on. And many of these things I enjoy and do regularly. But most of the time, what I really want to do is explore and discover and wander and create and make pictures. I want to read about photography, practice, work at it, sink into it and then do it all over again.

At this age, my energy is limited. I can’t do it all. There are competing demands for my time, pulling me in different directions. Sometimes I’m left in that awful place where I didn’t get to do the thing I really wanted to do AND I didn’t get the thing done I should be doing. It’s a joyless way to live.

I think Joel is right, “in photography, hesitation is loss, and every picture you lose is like a wound.”

From now on, I’m going to mostly do what I want to do. And with the leftover time, I’ll do some of the things I should do.

 

“If only she didn’t feel so pushed aside. So extraneous, so unnecessary.

She had always assumed that when she was old, she would have total confidence, finally. But look at her: still uncertain. In many ways she was more uncertain now than she had been as a girl. And often when she heard herself speaking she was appalled at how chirpy she sounded—empty-headed and superficial, as if she’d somehow fallen into the Mom role in some shallow TV sitcom.

What on earth had happened to her?”

—Anne Tyler, A Spool of Blue Thread