July 9, 2009
Stop the presses.
What will people say when there aren't any presses to stop any more?
Stop the twitterfeed!
Today the internship woman asked me what my broader goals in life are.
The Big Question.
I had no real answer for her. My answer went something like, "to find a way to tell my stories".
I never thought that I could ever get paid if I chose the path of a photojournalist. I didn't even associate with that title. I thought maybe someday I would be able to call myself a photographer, but the name "photojournalist" never crossed my mind.
There are times like tonight, when the moon is low over the eastern horizon, a fading full moon, and the sky is just clearing up after a transient rain... At times like this I just want to drive forever. Stretch my arm out, spread my fingers and let the wind envelop it and feel the movement of the earth as it slides away, finally blending into one horizon.
I remember sitting in the stairwell on a train rumbling through sticky, humid, lush Thailand. I sat there for a long time and I could have stepped forward and tumbled off the train, rolling to a stop somewhere between Bangkok and Chang Mai. I thought to myself, I could never do this in America as the train made its steady way towards the bustling center of the country.
I've got a feelin'...
I saw a fox tonight darting through the shadows, pausing at the foot of my neighbor's stairs, as if concerned that it was so quiet. He was a whisper in the night. I pulled forward in my car and sat at the stop sign, watching the same fox trotting only 15 feet from me. He turned his head and I noticed he had company. They sniffed the air together and then quickly moved on to the next house with such a sense of urgency that the act seemed only natural in a big city. But as they scampered off into the night I could feel my heart break.
I've never been able to fully relate to people. Part of it is because I've always understood most people better than they know themselves. And the other part is that they write love songs about each other.
I fall in love every day.
I fall in love with strangers I've never met, with people I will never know. I fall in love with fleeting moments that most people never see. The most perfect light can make my stomach drop, and the most subtle smile, movement, or interaction between a person and their environment can make me weak in the knees. It's that split second-that moment within a moment-where someone's true self is revealed. That.
That is what I live for. That is what drives me. That is why I get up in the morning, and that is what I write love songs about.
Her lilting voice can barely be heard over the din of the coffee house, but I can feel it. I can make out her smooth anthem even as the door opens beside me, bringing in noisy customers who are enthralled in each other and alive with the night. I stand there frozen with the New York Times slipping from my limp fingers and I feel my body begin to sway automatically to the timeless song as the words softly weave themselves through the ambient noise and sing to my soul,
"At last, my love has come along, and my lonely days are over, and life is like a song."
And I know that she understands that longing and suddenly I realize that we're not so different after all.
My best friend and her dad on her birthday in March.
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