Am I completely crazy? I’m sure that countless photographers, writers, and artists of all kinds have said that. I’m certain that my loved ones have had concerns about my state of mind. And as I stand in the snow, the wind most inconsiderately moving my intended subject just when it comes into focus, my feet numb and hands stinging, I wonder too.
However, having thawed out once again, I’ve now come to a conclusion. Perhaps photography is a little nuts, but more importantly, for me it is love. I am still in the throes of falling desperately in love with the world. The intricacy of it grabs me by the throat more and more every day. And, even when I am frozen, wet, footsore, and weary, this new-found childlike joy in my heart never gives up. That spark of Spirit has woken from sleep and literally can’t stop seeing beauty everywhere. And at long last, she has found a way to put that sometimes unbearable love into form through a photograph.
So, even if photography means—at somewhat random times and occasions—losing my mind, I believe it’s worth it. For her, the wild child in my soul. For the calmer and wiser part of me that knows it’s time now to get out there and really live, more deeply than I ever have. For the joy and the nameless yearning. For the ache that awakes in the dark and the music in another language and the tears and laughter together.
Do you wonder too? Do you wonder what is the point of all your work and all your hopes? Do you wonder if anyone even cares, if your lone droplet matters in the face of overwhelming tides?
Don’t give up, brave little soul. We’re out here and we feel it too. There’s more of us than you can know right now, gushing our heart’s blood into the world. And for all of our love and determination, our work still can’t be complete if you shy away from yours.
Perhaps it’s hard to see the point at all sometimes. Maybe the caterpillar wonders why it’s bothering to make the chrysalis. Does it know what is happening to it in the darkness? Could it even imagine flight before the time comes to emerge? And when the transformation is complete, does the butterfly know how beautiful its wings are?