A friend shared a familiar photo with me.
I remember once gazing along The Front, taking my time from corner to corner as I took a panoramic photograph in my head. I've often buried useless stuff in my cranial hard drive, but this one went under the LIFE section; rubber stamped IMPORTANT. There are some things in the city, in life which you want (or need) to forget so you send those images, memories, and repressed feelings to the emotional shredder. But, then again, there are things you could never forget...though we try. The City that never sleeps also never forgets, I truly know. Therefore, why should I? But, then again, I come to realize that I'm not as gracious or as strong as The City.
I once walked along the edges of a quiet neighborhood in Brooklyn Heights, feeling like a lost time traveler who had abandoned a broken Time Machine back on Coney Island. It was surreal, meditative despite the Time Machine pilot fantasy being lame and all. Anyway, my point is the universe, the world, the country, the city, everything is so much more grand and bigger than ourselves and our petty problems and stories. At the most basic level, we all somehow know this.
In my own impromptu self-analysis and lame science fiction scenario (yeah, yeah the stupid Time Travel thing), I curiously wondered if someone had taken a photo of me as I walked down a quiet avenue? What would they say or think about the quiet man on the quiet avenue in the still photo? Would it even matter? I don't know and maybe I'll never know what was said about me. All that can ever be known is that there was a man in Brooklyn Heights...once. That man had a story, a past, a present, and hopefully a future.
When I look at photos now of people and places and things, I see more than artful photography or superior lighting and color. I see beyond the lens, wanting to know people more in detail, more in life, more in their own stories. There's something noble yet painfully tragic in looking beyond our own existence. Maybe it's the disputed fact that we are all really alike? Maybe it's the human reflection? Maybe it's this, maybe it's that...but, then again? Who knows for sure?
This driving force, this driving realization has added to my life. The ability to stop for a second and without judgmental mind or presumptive disposition is essential in living a full life. How else would I have recognized the kind eyes of a pretty woman in a crowded restaurant from the corner of a busy street, one busy day? How else would I have embraced the northern blanket of wind which welcomed me back to New York City after many long flights? How else can I really explain these things without a hand to hold on to or a heart to love? My life is, thus, most certainly lonely but not for long when I remember that everybody has a story.
It'll all make sense, I hope, one of these days...but, then again.
I remember once gazing along The Front, taking my time from corner to corner as I took a panoramic photograph in my head. I've often buried useless stuff in my cranial hard drive, but this one went under the LIFE section; rubber stamped IMPORTANT. There are some things in the city, in life which you want (or need) to forget so you send those images, memories, and repressed feelings to the emotional shredder. But, then again, there are things you could never forget...though we try. The City that never sleeps also never forgets, I truly know. Therefore, why should I? But, then again, I come to realize that I'm not as gracious or as strong as The City.
I once walked along the edges of a quiet neighborhood in Brooklyn Heights, feeling like a lost time traveler who had abandoned a broken Time Machine back on Coney Island. It was surreal, meditative despite the Time Machine pilot fantasy being lame and all. Anyway, my point is the universe, the world, the country, the city, everything is so much more grand and bigger than ourselves and our petty problems and stories. At the most basic level, we all somehow know this.
In my own impromptu self-analysis and lame science fiction scenario (yeah, yeah the stupid Time Travel thing), I curiously wondered if someone had taken a photo of me as I walked down a quiet avenue? What would they say or think about the quiet man on the quiet avenue in the still photo? Would it even matter? I don't know and maybe I'll never know what was said about me. All that can ever be known is that there was a man in Brooklyn Heights...once. That man had a story, a past, a present, and hopefully a future.
When I look at photos now of people and places and things, I see more than artful photography or superior lighting and color. I see beyond the lens, wanting to know people more in detail, more in life, more in their own stories. There's something noble yet painfully tragic in looking beyond our own existence. Maybe it's the disputed fact that we are all really alike? Maybe it's the human reflection? Maybe it's this, maybe it's that...but, then again? Who knows for sure?
This driving force, this driving realization has added to my life. The ability to stop for a second and without judgmental mind or presumptive disposition is essential in living a full life. How else would I have recognized the kind eyes of a pretty woman in a crowded restaurant from the corner of a busy street, one busy day? How else would I have embraced the northern blanket of wind which welcomed me back to New York City after many long flights? How else can I really explain these things without a hand to hold on to or a heart to love? My life is, thus, most certainly lonely but not for long when I remember that everybody has a story.
It'll all make sense, I hope, one of these days...but, then again.
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