Sometimes I wonder if during those moments when the world is a blur, black and white or even invisible — if the reverse is true. I wonder if it were the same, if during those moments I could not see the world, if I too, disappear from it. Written on a migraine day, February 20, 2013. Photo taken on a day when the Grand Canyon was hiding behind a cloudy day in 2016.
If there’s ever a clichéd metaphor for life, it must be this. That no matter how gloomy, cold or dark a day may seem, the sun is there, a constant presence, waiting for its time to shine. For there is this thing called not-quite-yet — that something ever burning, so very bright, awaits its turn in this grand design of an awe-inspiring universe. If there’s ever a clichéd metaphor for life, it must be this. But we all need a reminder sometimes. Photo taken during a winter walk in Wawayanda State Park, NJ. It’s definitely worth a visit if you’re in the area and would like a simple walk, with its hiking trails even including 20 miles of the Appalachian Trail.
The moment you think you know everything is the moment you stop living; the moment you stop learning is that moment you’ve stopped being. It’s a world of infinite possibilities and endless chances for doing, creating, experiencing, gaining, giving, loving. It took me a while to cease being closed up to these very possibilities — there’s fear and comfort and insecurities — that are all too familiar companions, too attractive to abandon for the unknown. Even then, their call is louder sometimes, but I try. For what is the alternative, but to stay safe, unharmed but not living. The past year was certainly a year full of such moments, days presented with the choice of going for it, or staying cocooned in the safety of the not-for-mes, not-right-nows, and maybe-next-times. I could only wish this year would be this and much more, and the ones after, ever more open to chances to say yes. To the moment, that which may not come again; to today, our now, the only one we’re certain of; to the …
The weary finds solace in the dead of night, where, in the stillness, hearing only one’s own heart, comes absolution: that no matter how beaten, tired and bruised, it beats — slowly, quietly, but loud enough for even a frantic mind to hear — and fights to see another dawn. Text from my writings, 2010. Picture from our trip to PA, July 2016
For auld lang syne — for old times’ sake, we sing just as each New Year strikes. For old times’ sake, we sing, looking back on people, places and times spent together as we start another chapter. As I get older the more I realize the value of true, tested and old friendships. Ones where not only have you opened yourself up to reveal your own personal history at its beginning, but when you look back you’ll find this history is now a shared one, and has been written with your friends playing their own big parts. My fiancé and I ended and started 2017 with some of my oldest friends, and are now his as well. As I stood there looking up at the fireworks with him to my left and our friends to my right, the music rang true. ( Also knowing that the first day of the year will be spent celebrating a reunion with a high school classmate I haven’t seen in 20 years.) For auld lang syne, and for all …
What of beauty, as snow flakes fall and leave a blanket of white. What of the world as it spins, again, the wonderful snow globe a reminder that it’s setting the stage for renewal — of hopes, of dreams, of life. For as the snow flakes fall and as the world spins and the last year turns to the new, we begin again.
I want to remember. Long after I am no longer capable of forming coherent words, or thoughts that warrant two seconds of time, I want to remember moments when I felt and truly understood — that there really are things more to life that give meaning to mere existence yet at the same time we only have the capacity to comprehend when we let ourselves just be. I want to remember, that there is beauty, and simplicity, and meaning all coexisting in the same plane. I want to remember. Photos taken earlier in the year at Horseshoe Bend, Arizona. There is a little bit of a walk so be ready to do a short hike, especially if you’re visiting in the summer and you may want to bring water with you. The sight you’ll be rewarded with would be worth it, though. We visited in October so the weather was nice and it was not too crowded.