![]() I came back from Antarctica with 1,200 photographs and maybe a dozen memories, which made my bucket-list trip an allegory of my life…so far. All the photos remind me of something I saw while tromping around my seventh continent, which makes sense because they literally are the things I saw while tromping on my seventh continent. Or, maybe, they aren’t the things I saw at all, just the photographs I took along the way. It’s a challenge for every photographer, and I’ve commiserated with dozens of them, but it’s also a challenge for every humanoid. There’s a balance point in the struggle between enjoying the moment and capturing the memory, and it’s damned tough to get the right balance. I mock people who take pictures of their food instead of just enjoying their dinner, desperate to memorialize a bunch of calories that will be gone before they get their first like. Maybe that’s part of their enjoyment, though, sharing with friends or crowing about snagging the hot reservation. And I’m as guilty of anyone, texting my wife or kids when I’m dining alone somewhere or posting something goofy to Facebook so I feel more connected to all my “friends.” Back in the old days, we spent vacation evenings writing postcards* to people back home, so none of this is anything new. Still, there’s a time for sharing and a time to simply be, to absorb the wonder, to just sit down and shut up and take it all in. That’s the part where I really suck the worst. I’m especially bad at nature, since I work on a tight schedule and the animals should be polite enough to show up as soon as I get there. There’s nothing more irritating than waiting a whole ten minutes before the aardvark aarives. I went to Antarctica, it turns out, not to see the beauty of nature but to take pictures of the beauty of nature. There’s overlap, sure, but these are not even remotely the same experience. To my credit, I remember seeing everything that’s in the 1,200 images. To my regret, I remember rushing on to the next shot, without soaking it all in before I moved on. “That must have been incredibly beautiful,” friends will say, and I will reply, “You might be right.” I’ll look at the image and think, “Wow, I wish I had seen that myself,” and then I remember that I did. All of this makes me human, I suppose. In the race to see and do, to strive and achieve, it’s pretty easy to forget the part where we absorb and reflect. Every day in my world, some sound or scent or scene will evoke a memory from years ago and I’ll smile at the recollection. But I notice I’m not stopping much to capture the new sounds or scents or scenes for my future nostalgia. The redeeming quality of the photos is that each sparks some memory of the moment I captured the image, the thought that led me to aim and shoot. Memories fade, but photographs revive them, giving them renewed energy to captivate and inspire. Still, there’s wisdom in the advice that we stop and smell the roses, even if the closest “roses” consist of kelp and penguin poop. Next trip, next year, next part of the journey, maybe I’ll get it right. * (Postcards were 3D text messages prepared by artisans who employed recyclable tree fibers, organic plant dye and a self-lubricating stylus to communicate with people who could not be accessed online. These masterpieces were so valuable the creators had them delivered personally by federal agents. Unfortunately, the art of postcard workmanship has been lost forever.) If you want to know how I screw up my next vacation, just click here to subscribe.
3 Comments
Sherry Pound
9/5/2023 02:18:01 pm
This is why I like to find some poor sap (ah I mean hnonored and talented individual) on any trip I go on and name them the official trip photographer. Makes them feel like they have a mission and purpose and I get to just enjoy.
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Dad Writes
9/5/2023 02:38:19 pm
You are so very wise.
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9/8/2023 12:25:37 am
This is interesting.
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Who writes this stuff?Dadwrites oozes from the warped mind of Michael Rosenbaum, an award-winning author who spends most of his time these days as a start-up business mentor, book coach, photographer and, mostly, a grandfather. All views are his alone, largely due to the fact that he can’t find anyone who agrees with him. Archives
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