I’m pretty sure that, for most of my life, I’ve gotten two things mixed up: when to slow down, and when to speed up. I have a friend who–usually with a sigh and an eye roll–tells me not to “OA” (over-analyze) a decision, a response, or some work that I am doing. This is often legitimate, as I can mire myself in self-doubt at times when a much quicker action or resolution would be just fine. And, yet, I hover over decisions as if world peace depended on what I choose or do, which makes me annoyingly slow, to both myself and others.
At many other times, however, I find myself rushing pell mell through my day, in pursuit of that undeniable satisfaction of “checking something off my list.” Doubtless, some of the things on that list are just fine to be objects of a smug checking-off (I’m happy to spend as little time as possible in line at the gas station), but others actions surely merit more sitting back and considering. More analyis. More immersion. Or, just more noticing.
Two days ago, I woke with the decision to work on becoming more adept at using the manual exposure settings on my camera. Surely this meant that I would zip outside and take a few stellar photos, thereby learning what there was to know. Check. Except, no.
There was no zipping, and no checking. First of all, the rain and wind were making themselves known in quite a dramatic way. This meant revising the where and the how. I looked out the window and decided I would do a little study of the water in the fountain that I see every day from my desk. When and how to accomplish this was the stuff of hilarity (and something I am, happy to say, no one else witnessed). Suffice it to say that there was a great deal of water, a good amount of less than graceful photographer positioning, all number of creative ideas for waterproofing a camera and hundreds (yes, hundreds) of really bad photographs.
But, here’s the thing. I think I’m getting more patient, Early on in what turned out to be an adventure that spanned three days, I decided there would be no quick fix, and that I should just slow down and notice. The rhythm of trying new settings (sometimes after taking a break to read yet another blog or article on the subject), figuring out where to be, and what to notice, became something to enjoy and not berate myself about not knowing. Paying attention to the tiniest changes in positioning, light, reflection, and movement became a pleasure and a challenge.
This is not to say that over the three days I attained mastery over–well, anything–really. I learned a teensy bit more about f-stop, shutter speed and ISO. I learned that a thin plastic baggy works really well to cover a camera in the rain. I learned that I should check my camera battery and remember to put the memory card back in the camera after removing it. And I learned that there is truly joy in the journey. The process was the reward; not a perfect end result.
I am fully aware that the mere time to learn this lesson is a grace and a gift. I am no longer mothering four sons at home, or working full-time. And a Covid-imposed stop on many other activities has been an additional impetus to do this “paying attention thing.” Who knows what tomorrow will bring with regard to another more urgent draw on my time? But, today, I am grateful for the lesson and the opportunity to practice it, and I am determined to draw on it in the future, when I am surely either tempted to “OA” or jump headlong into a race to complete too many things at once.
Below are some of the fruits of the days’ experiments. The first two were taken from inside the house, looking through the window. Each photo is the result of me playing with various settings to see what kinds of effects I could get. (The last two are just because I thought the subjects were so pretty. They have nothing to do with fountains, but lots to do with raindrops and noticing.)
