I posted this on my photography blog, but since it's about struggling for words it's a pretty good description on why my posts have been lacking here. Moving has been hard.
The words haven’t been coming to me easily for awhile. It may be the move, the long winter, the new speed of daily life, the lull in photo sessions, the homesickness for a home of where I’m not even sure anymore, or the desire to get out and see more than what’s around me. Whatever the cause, I’ve felt myself drifting further away from being alive. The kind of alive where you’re excited for the day and beyond stoked about the things you’re doing, creating, imagining, living. I now find myself struggling for words, in a simple reflection of how I feel. If I feel uprooted in the new place I live, if I’m discourage that I’m not overwhelmed with clients, if there’s been snow outside consistently for the past month and I don’t even want to go outside anymore, what do I write about?
Instead of losing inspiration and dwelling on the things that I think are wrong, I push myself to do the opposite. In the whole scheme of life and the different adventures that are inevitably taken, the rush of events and the unstoppable passing of time, I as a photographer have the gift to do one thing: find the beauty, joy, peace, and meaning in a single moment and freeze it. I make time stop, for less than one second. I capture it, and it’s mine. It may be the intimacy of two people in love, the joyous welcoming of a new life, the precious moments shared between a family, or simply taking a step back from my life to see how wonderful it really is and capturing a piece of it… in this case the most important piece of it. The piece that is a person whose love I may never have the ability to understand, and who believes in me with everything he has. It’s those things that remind me of why I chose to write this as the story of my life. This is what I do, and I love it. I’m a photographer, and that’s inspiration enough.