Exorcising Ego

I haven't been blogging as much as I'd like lately, mainly because I haven't felt that my thoughts were worthy of publishing lately. That, and there is a black hole where Wi-Fi goes to die at my mom's house. Among the many positive traits I am developing, I regard ego-busting to be high on my list, as I believe ego gets in the way of living a humble existence.

This story began last spring, when Carl and I were discussing the Grouse Grind. Not hearing the warnings of the story, I decided that I too would like to be one of the proud, the elite, the few survivors to climb to the summit (or at least to the pub) of Grouse Mountain. The warnings were many, and involved pointing out the level of shape a person should be in, but I didn't hear those. I'm in good shape, I thought; hamburgers create fuel that I can use to climb easily to the top. Maybe I can even do it in under an hour!

Finding myself in Vancouver last weekend, I decided to phone Carl and see if we could go. As luck would have it, he was available last weekend (he'll be busier this weekend, but that is for another post) and off we went. As we left the parking lot, I still maintained a vision of reaching the top in under an hour, and having enough breath to converse about it. As we began a steep section, Carl was explaining that on flat sections like these, he usually attacked it to make good time. Wait, what? I wanted to ask him what he meant, but the air is really thin at Grouse Mountain, and I was having trouble disguising my gasping wheeze.

I soon discovered that he was right, but I was still enjoying myself, although the forest seemed very damp, the kind that soaked through clothes and plastered my hair to my forehead. We must have climbed an awful long ways up, as I was still finding the air "thin".

Before the halfway mark, I abandoned all hope for a one hour time, as we had already passed that. My gasping wheeze had become like a donkey braying, and I stood out against the granola munching mountain goats like Rita MacNeil at a yoga class. I valiantly struggled on against the thin air and my increasingly heavy shoes. After what seemed an eternity, I saw the halfway mark, and through the pounding drumbeat in my ears, I heard Carl explaining that meant altitude, not distance. That meant it was getting steeper, if that were possible.

I soon realized that it was possible, as I labored on hands and knees up the scree. The trail resembled the stairwell Frodo & Sam climbed on their way to Mordor, right before they met Shelob the giant spider. Carl bounded on ahead, taking photos, admiring the view, and generally enjoying the afternoon, and I laboured under the weight of a thousand hamburgers. At long last, we reached the summit, and had some sandwiches. At this point, it is critical to rehydrate the body to prevent any damage from dehydration, and a hefenwiesen worked quite well in that regard.

This has been a long post, but the point of the story is this: life is made up of moments that we remember, and when we look back, we see a series of moments stretching back into the grey fog of distant memory. This will be one of those moments for several reasons: it is always good to get out with friends to enjoy Canada's wilderness, and I am grateful to Carl for providing this opportunity. It is also good to have a more accurate view of one's general condition, and not the invincible view that Ego gives us. This allows us to more accurately judge whether or not we should be lifting washing machines or other appliances, or even to offer to help someone move! But most important, I spent a glorious afternoon hiking with a good friend I've known for over 25 years, and this I will remember fondly for many years.

Sitting in a pumpkin patch

Standing in a pumpkin patch. That was what I was doing on Saturday night. In different times, I might have been waiting for the Great Pumpkin, but on Saturday, I was enjoying the feelings of standing in a pumpkin patch. Waiting with my camera for the muse to come to me, being in awe of where I was standing, I started thinking of where I had come to.

I have come to the fork in the road, dear reader. I have been downsized now, and my future is much less clear than it was. With the world in economic turmoil, the planet in crisis, I sat down in that pumpkin patch, and reflected. And you know? A pumpkin patch is a good place to reflect, because it starts you off in the right direction. For pumpkins care nothing of Wall Street, pink slips, or gas prices. They care nothing for status symbols, or whether or not I own an iPhone. Nay, sitting in that field of gourds, I was reminded of bounty, generosity, and a general concern for whether there would be frost tonight. The reader will forgive me for taking a walk on the esoteric side of life to clear my thinking; I began by thinking thoughts of gratitude.

In times of struggle, or in times of good fortune, I believe it is always best to begin with gratitude. It is easy to be grateful for good tidings, to be thankful for a great meal and full belly, for a new car and a good job. That's a good warmup, like a pre-game stretch. What brings perspective is to look at your life - look at everything in your life - and to find a reason to be grateful for it.

"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." - from Hamlet , Wm. Shakespeare; Act II. I believe this should be written on the ceiling of every bedroom in every house in Canada. Think of it - everything that has happened in our lives, we have labelled "good" or "bad", or sometimes "ugly"; but it is our thinking that makes it so. And it is within our power to change that label, so as to use that experience as a positive force or impetus. Our lives are a perfect balance of sights, sounds, smells and things, in a perfect harmony of what we can bear, although we don't always think it at the time.

The key to living a meaningful life is to feel grateful for everything in your life. Everything. The challenge is to look at the "negatives" and to see them for what they really are; neutral events we have classified as "bad". The next logical step is to see that neutral event as being a positive influence. On my right hand sits a ring, engraved with the words "This too shall pass." It reminds me that no matter what is happening, it will soon change. I have been given an opportunity now to turn photography from a passion into a career; from a daydream I had in 1996 into a reality in 2008. One of the more cryptic conversations I have ever had was with a photographer, in 2006. I can remember word for word his advice to another up and coming photographer: "Do you want to know if you can succeed? Then quit your job, begin paying rent on your studio, and get your wife pregnant. You will soon realize if you are succeeding." He looked at me and said, "Have you heard of the 80/20 rule? It applies to photography as well. Photography is a very good business - for some." (Here's where I expand on that). There will always be weddings, there will always be a need for portraiture, and there will always be a need for good images. Those that can provide them will be in demand, and in that regard, recession-proof. Flikr, Twitter, Uncle Bob with his camera - these are all real, but to a pumpkin, they are neutral. To a good photographer, they can be motivation to become better, instead of standing still. When I was photographing a wedding recently, having Uncle Bob (not his real name) off my shoulder with a newer, more expensive camera inspired me to shoot better; to watch my background even more; to animate my subjects even further; to play with my lighting even more carefully. And to be rewarded by his exasperation when his photos turned out differently than mine did was quiet affirmation that I have become better than I was. I'm not competing with him, but with myself. He was just a reminder to me to give it my best.

If anyone has any comments on this or any other post, I welcome feedback. I may not agree, but wonderful things can be learned from dissenting viewpoints.

- Kees

The books we read and the lives we live

Currently, I'm reading St Francis of Assisi, by Nikos Kazantzakis. It was a wonderful book, written 30 or 40 years ago, and based on the life of St Francis. So far, I'm around 100 pages in, and the main characters have just restored a church, gone naked in the town square, and been disowned by St Francis' father.

Ever feel like you've missed the point? Well, I do. I don't know if I'm just grieving for my gramma and being melancholy, or if I am actually this self absorbed, but I'm hurting. I watch what I say to people when they ask me how I'm doing, I smile and say, Oh its all right, but inside, I'm cold. Having someone close to you die, seeing them dying before you, shocks a person. I'm seeing my life in new light, the mistakes I've made, the successes I've had, the songs I've heard, it's all shaken up. I've measured out my life in coffee spoons, wrote TS Elliot, and like the character he was writing about, I feel unable to see the results once the curtain is drawn back. My life has been shaken, and now I am watching as the pieces fall back down. What surprises me is that things I thought were important, are not. Things I forgot were important, are important again. Suddenly, I am in a direct conversation with my soul, and instead of the little voice it usually has, that barely squeaks over all the distractions I place in my life, I am now listening to the roaring of a perfect storm. The only thing that hasn't changed is the love I have for my wife; if anything, I've told her more times how absolutely amazing she is. I catch myself sometimes just observing how beautiful she is, just being who she is.

When I look at my work as a photographer, I see it as absolutely essential that I continue. I see how important it is to do what I do, and how much of a lasting effect I can have by doing what I love. On church on Sunday, the pastor spoke of the Blues Brothers, and being on a mission from God, and I could relate to what he meant. I know that he was fishing for people to be called to do God's work, but I could still relate. But then when I look at what I do for a living, I feel sad, because that's not God's work. I feel the guilt of suppressing my dreams to make a living. I feel like such an unimaginable failure for not having the courage to seize the day, and to follow my dreams as St Francis in the wilderness. I feel the misplaced rage as I lash out at people that are still submerged in their own little lives, when they place importance on pedantic details that mean nothing. Getting to work 5 minutes earlier by tailgating me earns you a bouquet of fingers, all pointed up. People and their insessant worrying; cramming more and more into a day, and not knowing when enough is enough makes me want to scream. Making themselves so busy they can't hear the silence within; if they did, would they still do the things they do?

The image above was taken in Prince George, in a moment when my life's purpose seemed crystal clear.

The tyranny of the urgent

Have you ever gone out and forgotten the important papers sitting on your desk? Or left the milk out on the counter as you left for work? Answered your phone while you were visiting with someone else? Ever been so caught up with the urgent things at the office that you lose track of what is important? Too often, the important loses out to the tyranny of the urgent. Two years from now, how important will that milk be? At the time, leaving a full carton of milk to go bad seems like a big deal. Sometimes, a natural correction flows into our lives, putting things in perspective. We laugh about how critical that sales meeting seemed at the time, or how important hairstyles were in the 80's, and we remember not to take ourselves so seriously.

What if you look back and realize that all of the effort you spent bustling around, rushing here and there looking busy, meant that you haven't been doing what was important, but doing what seemed urgent instead. How would you feel, knowing that you could have been spending time with someone close, you could have brought flowers home more often but didn't, you could have said, I love you but you didn't.

Last week, my gramma had a stroke. That natural correction puts a lot of things in perspective; career, job, family, debt, pets, friends... like throwing a deck of organized cards in the air and waiting for what lands on top. I found myself looking through photos I've taken over the years, and memories I've kept, and I realized that I had way more memories than photos. So many times, I kept my camera in the bag, couldn't be bothered to record what was happening. Suddenly, with an icy feeling, I knew I had regrets. Those moments are lost.

As photographers, we sometimes become numb to the importance of what we do for a living, and for a life. People scoff at our passions, or trivialize the nature of the work, comparing it to the trades as though one were better than another. They may even have a camera themselves, convincing us that they can do as good as we can. It takes a moment like this to realize how important portraiture is, and reaffirms my commitment to this art. But I wish that I had taken more portraits, and starting now, my camera will be ready.

I love you Gramma.

The importance of gratitude

I believe that the key to happiness is gratitude. Gratitude comes in many forms, and not all are equal. Some people cannot find it in their hearts to be grateful, no matter what happens, but those people are for another post. Some people can find gratitude in good things that happen to them, and this is a good beginning. There is a Taoist principle that things happen, it is we that apply meaning to them, and thus label them "good" or "bad". I'll look that up when I'm home, so I don't mislead the good reader.

A better approach is to be grateful for everything that happens, because it is all part of the great, perfect mystery that we call life. If you consider life to be a beautiful, perfect screenplay, everything that has happened, everyone we've met, everything we have done, has all been part of the perfect plan that God has laid out for us. Instead of cursing at events we don't like, be grateful for what it teaches you. Study an athlete, or watch a child with a skateboard practicing. They learn from what isn't working, and correct it. A slow driver in front of you teaches patience, and the fact you were upset about it says you need to learn some! The person that left a dent on your car door was teaching you to release your attachment to material things. The spouse that left, the parent that abandoned you - they were teaching you self-reliance, and the degree to which it crushed you is the amount of self-reliance you needed to learn. Nothing is in greater quantities than you can handle; we may think it is, but we underestimate our own abilities. I remember in Karate class one day, our sensei asked us how many of us could do 200 push-ups. Not one of us answered yes, and Sensei told us gently "You all can do 200 push-ups; the difference is that you don't know it yet." For the next hour, we did sets of push-ups, punctuated by various running exercises, and at the end of the hour, all of us knew we could do it. I've never forgotten that lesson, although I may doubt myself sometimes.

While I use this blog as a personal soapbox, I never want the dear reader to assume I don't struggle with what I blog. I write to release what is pent-up inside me, to understand more completely what I am going through, to remind myself not to take myself too seriously. I write to create balance in my life, to express what I want to feel, and not necessarily what I am feeling at that moment. Teaching others, writing in a journal, or trying to explain our actions to the RCMP officer affords us a sense of self-awareness, to correct our thinking, and to proceed.

Right now I am sitting with a neck that is so stiff, it sounds like shattering pasta when I rotate my head. I have a stabbing pain when I look over my shoulder, and for that, I am grateful. The pain tells me that I need to ask "Why so serious?" to the mirror. To revisit where I am, what I have become and to decide if the stress I have created for myself is useful. Is this pain useful? We'll see. Is it a reminder that I have my eyes cast down, seeking problems, instead of lifting my head up to see the solutions? I think so.

Better to be grateful for what you have, for tomorrow you may grieve its loss.

The portrait above is Darren, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Living small

Most people would expect the title to be "Living Large", and indeed, that was what I was going to lead in with. In a quiet moment, however, I realized that honestly, I've been living small. Someone asked me the other day if I realized how talented I was (I believe the term she used was GENIUS) and I responded without thinking, "No, I don't." All our lives, we are taught to be modest about our accomplishments, as though being successful will offend someone like a fart in a crowded room. But really, who teaches that? What parent squashes their child with "That's a pretty bad painting, son... I think you should give up on that." No, my parents didn't say that. So where did we get this idea? Ego. It is ego, that quiet voice that whispers, "Not good enough" in the night, as we go to sleep. It is ego that shouts "You'll never make it!" just before we attempt cliff-diving for the first time. It is ego that convinces us not to be better than our friends, for the sake of fitting in.

Why would we attempt to fit in, when we've been given gifts to make us unique? Why look like one seagull amongst the flock, when we could fly solo, like an eagle, instead? When I asked myself that question, I realized that I've been laying low and being "modest" about my work, when I should be standing up and expressing myself instead. All around us are people whose own gifts have made them genius; I should be exercising my own gifts to capture that spirit, and in doing so, become the photographer I am meant to be, not the one that blends in. Do we admire William Shatner because he blends in? Tom Waits? How about Jeff Healey? Did Heath Ledger blend in? No, we admire these people because of their gifts, and their courage to exercise their talents, and in doing so, entertain us.

So that is the direction we must take. When given the choice between living small and blending in, we must stand up and say "No." When given the choice between good enough and great, we must make the effort to choose great. And as we do so, we elevate ourselves from Guy with Camera to Artist.

The above photo was taken after the rain, in Naramata BC.

Meet Abby.

It's been a few days since I posted here, and I wanted you to meet the reason why. Abby is a 4 year old Lhasa Apso that we've adopted. She's very relaxed, likes going for walks through orchards and neighborhoods, and has an aversion to cameras. (and so far, black dogs) We're hoping she gets over that. A dog this cute should be in pictures!

Adopting a dog has been an incredible experience. Like having a furry, snaggle-tooth child that eats dog food! Suddenly, responsibilities take on new meanings when you have someone worshipping your every move. Is that what having children is like?