Wow. Last post: April 30. Huh. Really? I guess so. Well, here I am.
I’ve been more than a little preoccupied with social media and related topics at work for the last 8 million weeks, so my energy and desire to pursue these personal ventures and forays into a digital medium have been a little less than strong. Honestly, it gets pretty tiring. When a large part of your day is spent thinking about what to do with Twitter and Facebook and podcasts and blogs and Flickr and YouTube and everything else under the sun, it’s hard to get home and think about the rest of your world… while staring at the computer screen.
One thing that totally got me away from that a few months ago was my first outdoor climbing experience at the Gunks (Shawangunk Mountains) nears New Paltz, NY. Here’s a photo I took from a few hundred feet up (click to embiggen):
Yup. That’s about as far away from sitting at my desk as I could get on a day trip. Believe me when I tell you I was dreaming about this that night. Cheesy? Perhaps. But lovely.
Perhaps there will be more out of me soon. I can show off some more of my pictures. I got myself a small new camera of the high quality point-and-shoot variety so I can be a slave to the moments more easily and capture EVERYTHING my eyes notice. Well, more than I’m catching right now. I have several friends who throw out the “memory is the best camera” line, but until technology advances much further than it has right now, I can’t share memories in my mind’s eye with anyone else, can I? At least not so they see what I see.
Well. That’s still corny. And even cornier will be this idea – think about the quotidian, ordinary things you see that other people really wouldn’t notice unless you pointed them out or caught them on film. It doesn’t have to be beautiful, by any means. I notice the graffiti that’s on the brick walls lining my train’s path to work every morning. There’s a section where someone spray-painted something beautiful, resembling koi in a Japanese woodcut. No one beyond commuters on NJ Transit trains (or people who play on train tracks recessed about 20 feet below street level behind fences) really gets to see it.
I’m always surprised; there’s more of that kind of beauty than I ever think.