To celebrate the completion of our project, Natural Histories, Susan and I spent a Friday together. Wandering through rural Virginia, stopping here and there, letting loose. The person who writes in this space is well-controlled and careful and mostly proper. She is sometimes a killjoy in her need to follow the rules. But the version of me that is most real is incredibly corny and funny and deeply sincere. Maybe even earnest. I’m so tired of trying to corral her. She is begging to be let loose, and maybe the time has come to embrace the complicated truth of who I am.

Dear Susie, Thank you for helping me to remember that I am capable of forgetting myself and having fun!

{photographs taken with Pentax K1000 35mm camera and Kodak Portra 400 film}

I am deep into a mission to try to limit my own tendency toward binary thinking. I see the way it is harmful to label things as good or bad, right or wrong. And now that I’ve seen it, it cannot be unseen. It’s everywhere.

I am learning from wise teachers, like Alan Levinovitz, associate professor of philosophy and religion at James Madison University. Sharing an excerpt from his essay, In Praise of Bewilderment.

“For those who find bewilderment terrifying, who value the integrity of their web of belief, I can only offer the reassurance of my own experience. There is, I admit, an initial shock to the system, like when you jump into a frigid lake. But the shock doesn’t last. It quickly gives way to relief, even comfort. You no longer need to exhaust yourself pretending to understand what you don’t or making pronouncements about questions that are above your pay grade. You can trade false simplicity for complicated truth. And the resulting worldview is more useful and more beautiful because it genuinely reflects reality. That’s why a synonym for bewilderment is wonder, which, at least for me, is not terrifying but exhilarating.”

{photographs taken with Yashica T4 point-and-shoot camera and Kodak Portra 400 film}

I have observed, over several years, this VW beetle, overcome by weeds, vines, and shrubs. Once I even saw a snake in the front seat. I keep coming back because I wonder if the scene reflects indifference, neglect or simply a gradual decline into disorder.

We pull over at a small boat landing in Caroline county (because we almost never pass up an opportunity to sit by the water). It’s early spring, but still chilly. We walk the parking area and notice this trail of shotgun shells. Hunters have been here, I suppose.

{Taken with Pentax K-1000, Kodak Portra 400 film}

I am remembering what it is like to play. And allowing all of that joy in my life for the first time in what feels like forever.