There is no time to stop these days. I am busy trying to build a sturdy foundation for my life. I spent so many years cast adrift. I had bought into the idea that I could find happiness amid corporate America. Three years later, I have begun to acknowledge how wrong I was. Windowless walls hold no joy for me, and I yearn for something better.
Saturday I stopped in Bennington to take pictures. The Contoocook broke over the dam, rushing downstream. Just below lay rapids flanked by dozens of jumbled rocks. The sun beat down, taking the chill in the air, and I admired the scene for a moment. Afterwards I made my quiet way down to the river.
I made my way along, but there was untrustyworthy foothold. My feet lost traction, skittering over tiny pebbles and sandy rocks. After a moment I was able to dig in and stop. I looked down, my feet only inches from the water. My arm was bruised and my hand was covered in scrapes. Yet long ago I realized that getting banged up was part of this.
To take unique photos, and gather stories, nature beats you up. I never minded, I accepted this as part of doing something I loved. I am willing to do anything to myself to capture these beautiful things. I have found something that I am willing to throw my whole soul into. For better or worse.
Even during the harshest moments, I appreciate being outside. Those scrapes tell a story. The pictures gain greater significance with such stories behind them. Every moment I am thankful I have such chances. I have realized that this is where my path needs go. I belong out here among these rocks, watching as the river passes by.