Finding Appreciation

 

I recently had a garage sale to get rid of some of the stuff I've accumulated over the years so that I don't have to carry it all with me when I move next month. I'm moving because I can no longer afford my rent. 

When I first realized I would have to move, I was despondent. Why didn't I get as many opportunities as my friends, I wondered? Why did I continue to struggle while others had it so easy?

But as I looked around the garage sale, I realized that almost everything I had was given to me (either by friends, family or the side-of-the-road gods). I had been given furniture, TVs, books, dishes, clothing, everything I really needed.

I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude. I realized that there have been so many times that I've been the recipient of good fortune and generosity.

My focus shifted from depression and indignation to thankfulness and appreciation. Now, I am grateful that I have another home to go to and that it has turned out to be even better than the last.

Are there things in your life that need a second look? Can you find appreciation where and when you might need it most?

Image and words courtesy of Gennifer Carragher. You can find her on her blog or on Facebook, where she created a community for other Gratituders in The Year of Gratitude.

Update on Friday, December 14, 2012 by Kim Klassen

The winner of a spot in Kim's Lightroom class, Round Trip is, Becs! Congrats!

A Legacy of Love

My father was a professional photographer, illustrator, ad man, and filmmaker.  He photographed Charles Lindbergh and other famous people, but his favorite subjects were my blonde mother, sisters, and me.  My dad died when I was 3, so everything I know or made up about him came from a lifetime of studying his prints. 

My sisters were a lot older than I, so they didn’t need pictures to jog their memories.   I was so young when he died that I still believed in magical thinking.  You know, “step on a crack” kinds of thoughts.  My father achieved immortality for me through his photographs.  At 13, Brownie Starflash in hand, I photographed everyone I loved to insure their permanence, and I never stopped.

The Starflash became a Nikon 35mm, which became a DSLR, while my own darkroom got better safe lights, a real sink, and suddenly an iMac appeared on my desk.  I breathe photography.  Yes, I know that capturing image doesn’t keep people from leaving me.  But, it comes close.  When photographing people, an immediate intimacy happens that stays in my heart through the archived moment.  I love everything about photography.

I have immersed myself in photography projects like, They Come and They Go; a series documenting everyone from UPS drivers to first cousins who visit me, “keeping track” showcasing objects relating to memory, or Loving Aunt Ruth; a 3-year odyssey into the life of my aunt, the last of my mother’s family that turned into a book with a possible 2013 release.  I am interested in memory, time, impermanence, and love.

In 2007, my oldest sister moved to live near her daughters.  I photographed her packing and the truck taking her away, and her move prompted a feeling of urgency in me to get closer to my Aunt Ruth.  I asked Aunt Ruth if I could photograph her for a book without imaging a “real” book was possible.  At the time, I was probably thinking of a photo album.  She said, “Sure, I’ll have a party, and you can meet all of my friends.”

Loving Aunt Ruth is the culmination of everything for which I have cared:  family, story, respect, hardship, triumph, humor, and my work as a photographer.  Since the book began with a party, I chose to end it with one.  My Aunt’s 90^th birthday was a beautiful place to close a journey that we began together.  Aunt Ruth had 165 people of all ages, ethnicities, and religions to her party.  I only “know” that many people on Facebook!

My father left me the legacy of an understanding of photography’s power which opened the door to my understanding of Aunt Ruth whose philosophy of living life guided by loving and caring for people has changed mine forever.   

In the last year, both of my sisters have died.  Aunt Ruth offered me comfort and wisdom.  I asked her how she stays determined in the face of so much loss.  She said, “I have my faith, and I have a will to live…that will comes from loving people.” 

 Image and words courtesy of Honey Lazar. Discover more about her and read more about her Aunt Ruth on her blog.  

Election Night

 

On election night, we loaded up the car with lawn chairs and a picnic dinner and headed to a friend's house to watch the results roll in. The news broadcast was projected onto the side of the house and several computers were set up in the yard to track the results. At one point there were more than one hundred friends, neighbors, and passers by squeezed into the small front yard. The conversations were primarily of the political nature, from the smallest local propositions and bond initiatives to the house/senate races to the presidential election. This election-watching party was a family event to be sure. There were so many young children that night running around without a care in the world...children of loving straight couples, children of loving gay couples, children of loving single parents, children of loving affluent parents, children of loving parents struggling to get by. You hear a lot about voting as a civic duty, and I love and appreciate that our children are learning that the act of voting is truly an individual's chance to voice how they want their world to be. All the worry, all the hand wringing, all the emotional investment that bound us together that night represented the world we want for our children—a better, kinder world. A world that embraces the diversity around us and affirms that differences can deepen our understanding of one another instead of driving us apart.

Show us a better, kinder world today through your lens.

Images and words courtesy of Jote of Bless Her Heart.

trusting inspiration

 

I picked up the camera so many times and looked through the viewfinder.  Maybe fired off a couple of frames half-heartedly.  Sometimes I deleted them in the camera, but there are hundreds more sitting on my hard drive, unedited, unviewed.  The light stopped speaking to me.  The camera body no longer fit my hands like a beloved tool.

If I can’t see images, how can I think of myself as a photographer?  Worse yet, what does it say about the way I’ve filled my life, if it doesn’t inspire so much as a snapshot?

It was a long way to fall.  I finished a 365 project last October, totally inspired, totally proud of myself, totally grateful.  It is a powerful exercise to keep your eye and heart attuned to the beautiful and the remarkable in the midst of your everyday life.  To have a photographic record of your progress over a year.  To begin to see yourself as an artist.

But with the year up, I stopped shooting every day.  I stopped being so mindful.  I bought myself a fancy new camera but immediately lost my courage.  It is a Serious Camera.  In my head this camera deserved to shoot Serious Things instead of my everyday life.  I shot less.  I felt it as a little death, this loss of a fledgling creative life.  It’s not the sort of thing you hold a wake for though.  No one brings you red wine and casseroles while you wonder why your eyes don’t work anymore.  There was grief but it was mine alone.

But recently I’ve started to notice shadows again.  There is the color of autumn leaves.  There are long eyelashes and kids in mismatched prints and wet dog noses.  My eyes are hungry.  My hands are a little itchy for the heavy camera body, even though it still feels awkward in my grip sometimes.  I’ve started carrying it with me again, so I’m ready when it calls to me.

I’m starting to understand that it wasn’t a death after all.  It was just the change of seasons.  I’m starting to believe that just as I know that autumn always follows summer, I can trust inspiration and vision to return.

Have you ever had a dry spell?  How did you work your way out of it?  What inspired you to start again?

Image and words courtesy of the wonderful Corinna Robbins of Bird Wanna Whistle.

letting go

Each fall, I watch as the weather cools off and the ground becomes littered with yellows, browns, oranges and reds. The trees shed their leaves and turn their attention inward, gathering the energy released by the decomposing leaves and transforming it into the new beginnings of spring.

Just as the trees must release their old leaves to make room for new ones, we must let go of things in our lives that no longer serve us, especially our fears, in order to make room for new possibilities. It can be a difficult process, though. Even when I know my fears are not serving me, I wrap myself in them like a cozy, old sweater because I have grown comfortable with them.

When I don't know where to start, I pick one fear and name it. By starting with just one fear and giving it a name, I make it into something more manageable – something I can release, taking the bits of knowledge about myself that I find within it and transforming them into something new. Just as trees lose one leaf at a time, we can choose one fear at a time and let go of it. 

What are you letting go of this fall? How are you making space for the new leaves that will appear in your life next spring?

Gennifer Carragher was raised on the beach, grew up in the woods and now spends her days capturing the magic of these places with her camera and sharing her photo adventures on her blog. If you love fall as much as she does, consider joining her in Embracing Fall, her newest e-course.