Autumn is here. Well, not here, exactly. It was arriving, and here it is already leaving. Unlike its epilogue, winter, with fall there is no static moment where it settles in to stay. Rather, it is the story itself: changing, moving, rising and sighing. Yet for all of its dynamism, it is a quiet season. Amid the bursts of color and sudden shocks of frost are the hushed reminders to not only pause, but stop and look around at the glorious swells of ember and ochre. To not just breathe, but taste the cool, misted air. To not merely be, but be with the beautifully wild world.
Each year during this time, I remember those well-worn words from Robert Frost: “Nothing gold can stay.” That line of poetry plagues me in my happiest moments. I know those moments will end, and I regret that ending before it’s even arrived. Like autumn, I see each moment as transient - coming or going, but nowhere in between. I’m anticipating, it or I’m already missing it.
But, isn’t that just life? A flash of brilliance that blinds us just as it’s vanishing? I suppose that’s the magic I see in photography. Every image is a little illusion, bringing us back to a place where perhaps we never really were.
In some ways, photographing a moment makes me less present. I simply can’t focus all of my attention on experiencing my surroundings if I’m also trying to preserve them. But, once the shutter button clicks, there is a sense of relief. Another moment has been saved, can be revisited, will live on. It feels awfully clever to have this power of capturing little bits of life, of turning something fleeting into something eternal. It’s a certain kind of alchemy.
And yet, for all of its ephemerality, life is still generous to those of us who live it - especially if we can learn to embrace its unknowable and constantly changing nature. We live that old metaphor of the roller coaster ride with the ups and downs and all of that. In each of our coaster cars there is a little toy steering wheel, and most of us cling to it so tightly. We tell ourselves we know which turns are coming and how fast. And then when the car drops sudddenly instead of climbing as we expected, we feel tricked. But we’ve only tricked ourselves.
It’s only when we release our white-knuckle grip on that steering wheel and let our hands fly overhead that we can really embrace all life has to offer. From the terror to the elation, it’s all the same ride. Don’t blink, or you’ll miss it.
So in this season of constant change, I’m trying to find little places where I can slow down and drink up my life. Driving 30 minutes along my daily 6AM commute. Summiting a 4,000 foot peak. Cooking yet another simple weeknight dinner. Hugging my husband hello when he gets home from a long day at work. Spending a weekend at the lake with family. For every moment, from the mundane to the fantastical to the painful to the delightful, I am grateful. All is one.