Taken in 2008. I don’t recall where. Los Angeles?
It’s a major time suck to look back at shots I took years ago and never published. Seeing these photos nestled next to the kids when they were younger is an emotional velcro wall. I get stuck reliving the moments in the images and stray from doing final edits the image I want to share. This has always been a thing for me. I’m drawn to the past and whenever I look at anything from the past, my mind instantly races to construct the world around the thing I’m looking at. I think it’s that aspect of personal history that drew me to blogging; saving the memories of a specific time for later review. So much of what I’ve done in the past has been topical or ephemeral. I’ve been spotty in the personal history area, largely due to my inner Victorian. I have, deep within me, a composite E.M. Forster character. Some people talk about the angel or devil on their shoulder. I have this super uptight, highly judgmental hypocrite who plays both simultaneously. To wit:
“Share your life experience. It’s full of wonder and excitement. And poop!”
“Airing your dirty laundry for the world is unseeingly and in poor taste. You don’t want to seem craven and weak. It’s one thing to write fictional accounts but it’s quite another to tell the truth.”
Or some such.
The modern version goes something like this:
“Get off my damn lawn.”
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Daily affirmation: Stop making myself crazy.
