I felt again, as I often seem to experience, a sense of awe in the company of whatever it is that calls my attention,
and maybe that is the deepest part of my photographic behavior;
the willingness to give myself over to simple awe.
—Joel Meyerowitz

I credit the camera with teaching me this skill.

Giving myself over to awe.

I know people who have this ability naturally. They stop to notice chickadees at the feeder or a red-tailed hawk perched on a branch. They listen for Virginia peepers in the marsh and pullover to carry box turtles from the middle of the road to safety on the side. They look up at the sky and listen to the waves. They hike through the forest and smell honeysuckle. They seem to have all the time in the world. They have always been that way.

I am not one of these people. At least not naturally. I spent my formative years trying to stay safe. When you are fearful, there is really very little time left over to embrace the nature of the world or the nature of yourself. Both of these are things I’ve had to learn as an adult. And, outside of my marriage to a wise and caring man, and a few dear friends, I cannot think of a single thing that has helped me more than photography. I am truly blessed.

It all seems empty . . . still. The ball field without players. The planter without flowers. But when this is all over, we will fill them both. We will overflow with gratitude for all that we have regained. We will marvel at how glorious everyday pleasures feel. We will dance as worries lift. We will hold our lingering hurts and our fearful doubts deep inside, willing them to disappear or at least lay dormant. As we embrace the fullness of life, how will we balance the mix of bitter and sweet?

 

The heart remembers everything it loved and gave away,
everything it lost and found again, and everyone
it loved, the heart cannot forget.
—What the Heart Cannot Forget, by Joyce Sutphen

It was one of those magical days that nearly wasn’t. Something triggered the oncoming migraine. Maybe a change in barometric pressure. An almost balmy March day. The light hurt my eyes and finally I stopped trying so hard and let them close shut. I took the medicine. He drove me along country roads as I prayed for the pain to lift. When I finally opened my eyes again, the world was soft with diffuse light. And the wonder of it all. The heart cannot forget.