When I fall asleep at night, multiple things run through my mind.
I’m amazed at how peaceful I feel these days. I’m amazed that my life is finally less hectic, less painful, more livable. I didn’t know if that would ever happen.
I’m memorizing a poem by Mary Oliver called The Journey. It talks about listening ultimately to your own voice. More than anything, I’ve regained a sense of myself, some of which I haven’t felt maybe for several decades, some maybe for the first time.
Today I had lunch with a friend and then showed her our new office space. She was genuinely happy for me. Sometimes I think it’s easy to feel a sense of competition with people who are trying to do the same thing. She didn’t show that, a real friend.
Later we had beer with the staff like we always do then I went and toured the new exhibit at the MAC called Modern Masters: Group f64. It’s a photography exhibit that highlights five of the most prominent members of the group.
The first time I saw any Edward Weston photos was an exhibit at the Getty back ten years or so ago. I was in awe. I’d never seen such bold photos of such beautiful, natural shapes. I think I’ve always wanted to do more of that, somehow. Now I’m finally getting a chance.
I hope to go back to the exhibit several more times. I love staring at the large format prints of such famous works such as Ansel Adams’ Moonrise, Hernandez, New Mexico and Edward Weston’s Pepper. You can see them in books; nothing like a giant gallery print.
I didn’t use to do things like this.
Everything made me anxious. I wondered what on earth I should be doing. I didn’t feel good about any part of myself. I trusted none of my own instincts. I tried tons of things, just like that scene in the movie with Julie Roberts, Runaway Bride. There is a scene where she has left yet another boyfriend and realizes she’s been making herself out to be whatever they wanted her to be. She’d ask them their favorite eggs and make that for their breakfast together, whatever it was.
In this scene, she makes about eight different kinds of eggs and starts to try them all, to see what she likes, because she actually has no idea. She kept running away from the altar with all these guys because she knew they didn’t know her, because she didn’t know herself.
When I saw that in the theater years ago, I started sobbing quietly. I realized that was me. I had no idea what I really wanted or liked. I remember going home and starting a list. I put “jazz” at the top, the list of things I liked because I really didn’t know.
So it feels good to just go to the gallery and look at the photos. I know I’ll go again, and again and again. And that feels good too. I don’t need to ask anyone for permission. It makes sense to me, and it’s what I want to do to learn more about exceptional photography.
I’m 52 now, and I’m still learning a hell of a lot. Much of it now feels more positive, less recovery.
Years ago, this week would have laid me out for days. Days before all these meetings, days after.
Now, I’m going to galleries and keeping up on what’s important to me.
I’m grateful for all the changes.